Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

But he knew that his bravado was pointless. There was nothing he could do.

Now the light was strengthening, but this time it came from behind Crowfeather, casting his shadow out in front of him. With a sudden tingling of hope, he realized that this light was different, clear and silvery like the radiance of the full moon.

The Dark Forest cats froze, staring with wide, horrified eyes at something beyond Crowfeather. Then, letting out a chorus of eerie caterwauls, they turned tail and fled.

“Great StarClan, Crowfeather!” A familiar voice spoke behind him. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Crowfeather whirled around. “Ashfoot!” he exclaimed.

CHAPTER 20

Crowfeather’s mother stepped delicately over to him and sat down beside him with her tail wrapped neatly around her paws. With a grunt of relief Crowfeather slumped to the ground beside her.

“What in StarClan’s name do you think you’re doing, Crowfeather?” his mother asked him. Her voice was exasperated, but her eyes were warm. “You should be helping your Clan, not wandering about on the moor in the snow.”

“You do know that I was banished, right?” Crowfeather retorted. “I was banished for following your advice, and Feathertail’s. You told me to go behind Onestar’s back and ask Bramblestar for help.”

Ashfoot gave her whiskers a twitch, seeming briefly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’d hoped that Onestar wouldn’t refuse to let ThunderClan help, or insult Bramblestar. But, Crowfeather,” she added more briskly, “you know you could have been more tactful in dealing with Onestar. A good deputy needs to judge his leader’s mood.”

“But I’m not deputy,” Crowfeather reminded her sourly. “Right now I’m not even a WindClan cat.”

“That can be put right,” Ashfoot assured him, with a dismissive flick of her tail. “The most important thing is for you to convince Onestar to take Kestrelflight’s vision seriously. Don’t you remember the second wave of water, the one that engulfed all the Clans? Don’t you understand what it means? The stoats are threatening WindClan now, but they’re only the forerunner of a much greater threat.”

“That’s what I thought! What threat?” Crowfeather asked, suppressing a shiver.

“I don’t know,” Ashfoot admitted. “I’m not sure that even the warriors of StarClan can see so far ahead. But I know this—when trouble strikes, WindClan will need you.”

Crowfeather let out a snort of disbelief. “I wish you would tell Onestar that! He doesn’t seem to need me at all right now.”

“Then you have to make him see sense,” Ashfoot pointed out. “You need to stop worrying about yourself and start worrying about your Clan and the cats who love you.”

“‘Love’?” Crowfeather tried to put all his contempt into the single word. “If any cats ‘love’ me, why didn’t they speak up to defend me?”

“Don’t be such a daft furball!” Ashfoot scolded him. “Of course Breezepelt loves you! And there are many more cats who respect you—Heathertail, for one. Didn’t they come after you and try to persuade you to go back?”

Crowfeather wasn’t sure that he believed his mother, but he wasn’t about to argue with her anymore. “But how can I put things right?” he asked her. “Those . . . those other cats—they said I was dying.” He shuddered, remembering the soft voices that had tempted him to go with them.

“You won’t die.” Ashfoot touched her nose to his ear. “It is not your time to journey to StarClan.”

“Then . . . then I won’t end up in the Dark Forest?”

Ashfoot’s tail curled up in amusement. “Crowfeather, you may be the most annoying furball in all four Clans, but not even your worst enemy could call you evil. Those cats were trying to trick you.” The light around her began to fade, and her pale shape began to blur in front of Crowfeather’s eyes.

“Don’t go!” he begged.

“You’ll see me again,” Ashfoot mewed, her voice seeming to come from an immense distance. “For now, wake up and get on with it.”

Crowfeather struggled to open his eyes; snow was crusting his lids, and a sharp pain stabbed through his head as if some cat were pounding it with a spike of rock. He was lying on his side; above him the broad head and muscular shoulders of a cat were outlined against the sky.

With a hiss of defiance, Crowfeather tried to spring to his paws, but the explosion of pain in his head made him stagger and he sank to the ground again. He could feel a smooth wall of rock at his back.

“Keep still, flea-brain,” the cat grunted. “I’m trying to fix your head.”

Crowfeather became aware of some kind of sticky juice trickling into his head fur, and picked up the clean tang of some kind of herb. “Are you a medicine cat?” he asked, confused.

“Why do cats keep asking me that? I’m a cat who helps other cats.”

Crowfeather felt even more bewildered as the pain in his head eased and his vision cleared. The cat tending to him was a huge tabby tom, with white chest and paws, and amber eyes fixed in concentration as he squeezed out the healing juices from a mouthful of leaves. Crowfeather had never set eyes on him before.

“Who are you?” he asked. “You’re not a Clan cat.”

The strange cat spat out the leaves and began to massage the juices into Crowfeather’s fur with one forepaw. “Oh, you’re one of those lunatics who live in the forest,” he meowed. “No, I’m not one of them. I like to keep myself to myself. My name’s Yew.”

“You?” Crowfeather decided he was still in some weird dream. “Like ‘Hey, you’?”

“No, flea-brain,” the tabby tom responded, with an exasperated twitch of his whiskers. “ Yew , like the tree.”

“Oh, sorry,” Crowfeather mewed, then added after a moment, “I’m Crowfeather. Thanks for helping me.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve learned a bit about patching up injured cats in my time, and I like to help out when I can.” Yew finished his massage and stood back, rubbing his paw in the snow to clean off the juices. “Try sitting up.”

Crowfeather obeyed; his head swam, and every one of his muscles shrieked in protest, but he managed to stay upright. He found himself in the lee of a large, jutting outcrop of rocks, with only a thin powdering of snow covering the tough moorland grass. Beyond the shelter, all the hills were hidden in a thick layer of snow, the white expanse stretching in all directions as far as Crowfeather could see. More flakes were slowly drifting down. Though clouds hid the sun, he guessed that sunhigh would be long past.

“How did you find me, in all this?” he asked.

Yew looked thoughtful. “That was strange,” he replied. “I was hunting, down there on the edge of the forest. Then I saw a gray she-cat—the prettiest cat I ever laid eyes on. She beckoned me to follow her, and she brought me up here. But when we got here, I couldn’t find her . . . only you, half buried in the snow and looking just about dead.” For a moment his bold amber gaze softened. “Her fur glittered like stars. . . .”

Feathertail! Warmth spread through Crowfeather from ears to tail-tip, as if he were basking in the sun of greenleaf. She saved me! Injured and unconscious in the snow, he would have frozen to death if no cat had found him.

“Thank you,” he repeated. “I guess I would be dead if it weren’t for you.”

Yew let out another grunt, looking faintly embarrassed. “I don’t know about that,” he muttered. “I guess you’ll be fine once you have some prey inside you. Rest for a bit and I’ll see what I can find.”

He rose and loped off, vanishing around the other side of the rock.