Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

“She got it!” Hootpaw exclaimed.

“Brilliant catch!” Harespring meowed heartily as Nightcloud padded back to the rest of the patrol.

“Yeah, good job,” Crowfeather added when her eyes briefly met his.

Nightcloud swiftly looked away from him. “Thanks, Harespring,” she mewed.

Crowfeather swallowed a rumble of annoyance, not wanting to look angry in front of the apprentices. How petty! She can’t even accept my praise.

When Nightcloud had finished scraping earth over her rabbit to collect it later, the patrol continued farther down the hill. Crowfeather was the first to spot the black-tipped ears of a hare poking up from where the creature was crouching in a shallow dip in the ground.

“Who can tell me what the problem is here?” Harespring asked the apprentices in a low voice.

Featherpaw waved her tail excitedly but had the sense to speak in a quiet murmur as she answered. “The breeze is blowing from us to the hare.”

“Right,” Harespring mewed, while Crowfeather felt proud that his apprentice had spoken first. “So it’s going to scent us long before we can get up close enough to pounce. What do you think we should do about that?”

This time it was Hootpaw who replied. “Move around so we’re in a better place?”

“Good,” Harespring praised him. “And this is one of the times when it can be better to hunt in a team, rather than alone. Crowfeather, I’m going to work my way around until I’m on the far side of the hare. When I give the signal, I want you to chase the hare over to me.”

Crowfeather nodded, thinking that if he had been leading the patrol, he would have given that task to one of the apprentices. But I must be mouse-brained, because Harespring’s the deputy. What do I know? “Okay.”

Harespring set off at once, creeping along with his belly fur brushing the ground, taking advantage of every scrap of cover. Crowfeather could barely make out his brown-and-white pelt among the tussocks of wiry grass. The apprentices watched, their claws flexing in anticipation.

But before Harespring was in position, a stronger puff of wind passed over the ground. The hare’s head lifted from its cover, its nose twitching.

Then it sprang, fleeing back up the hill, forcing itself along with powerful strokes of its hind legs. Harespring rose to his paws, his tail lashing in frustration. “Fox dung!” he exclaimed.

Crowfeather hurled himself after the hare, quickly noticing that a black shape was streaking alongside him. Nightcloud.

“I’ll try to overtake it,” she gasped. “Drive it back to you.”

She put on an extra burst of speed, flashing past the hare and turning to confront it with teeth bared and claws extended. The hare almost tripped over its paws as it doubled back, skidding downhill. Crowfeather bunched his hind legs, launching into a leap, then landed on top of it and sank his fangs into its throat.

Once the hare was dead, Crowfeather stood back, panting, and waited for Nightcloud to rejoin him. He wanted to share the triumph of a successful kill, just as he would with any of his Clanmates, but Nightcloud padded past him toward the others as if she were hardly aware that he existed. Who made dirt in her fresh-kill? Crowfeather gave a shrug, picked up the hare, and followed her. If that was how she wanted things to be between them, he was not going to give her the satisfaction of showing her that he cared.

“Wow, it’s huge!” Slightpaw exclaimed as Crowfeather dropped his prey at Harespring’s paws.

Crowfeather gave the deputy a nod. “Like you said, teamwork,” he mewed dryly.

Harespring looked slightly discomfited. “Let’s go farther down,” he suggested. “We might find some smaller prey nearer the stream, and the apprentices can have a try.”

“That will take us past the place Onestar asked us to check out, too,” Nightcloud added.

When they had buried the prey, Harespring took the lead again, making for the stretch of woodland on the WindClan side of the border stream. Before they reached the trees, the deputy drew to a halt at the edge of a gorse thicket that straggled over the hillside. At the foot of the slope a stretch of flat ground led to a steep bank riddled with holes.

“Onestar thinks there’s something odd going on here,” he meowed. “Let’s see if we can find out what it is.”

Hootpaw’s tail shot straight up into the air. “Are we going to explore the tunnels?” he asked. “Cool!”

“ You aren’t going to explore anywhere,” Nightcloud informed him sternly, flicking his shoulder with her tail. “All the apprentices, keep back.”

“We never get to do anything ,” Hootpaw grumbled, his tail drooping.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll get to do the elders’ ticks,” his mentor warned him. “Now, let’s all see what we can scent.”

Crowfeather opened his jaws to taste the air, and at once an unfamiliar scent trickled past them. “Can you smell that?” he asked.

“Weird . . . ,” Harespring murmured. “I feel like I should recognize it, but . . . I’m not sure.”

“It might be coming from the tunnels,” Nightcloud pointed out.

Crowfeather turned a slow circle, looking about them. The tunnels that gaped in the bank stretched for countless fox-lengths underneath the territory, joining WindClan to ThunderClan. The nearest hole in the side of the steep bank gaped open only a few tail-lengths away. It was quite possible that some kind of animal had made its den inside there.

“There’s nowhere else it can be coming from,” he responded to Nightcloud. “Maybe we ought to take a look.”

Even though Crowfeather had made the suggestion, his pelt prickled with apprehension at the thought of padding down into the darkness under the earth. So few cats used the tunnels now that he had no idea what condition they were in these days. “Featherpaw, you were told to stay back,” he added, as his apprentice craned her neck to peer into the gaping hole.

Harespring paused thoughtfully, jaws open, then shook his head. “The scent is pretty stale,” he meowed. “Whatever left it might be long gone.”

Or maybe they’re just camped out very deep inside the tunnel. Crowfeather didn’t speak this thought aloud, though. The Clan’s new deputy had obviously decided not to investigate, and Crowfeather admitted to himself that he was relieved to stay out in the open air.

“So are we hunting or not?” Nightcloud asked irritably.

“Sure we are,” Harespring responded. “Why don’t we see what we can find around here? If the scent is stale, the prey might be coming back.”

“Good luck with that,” Nightcloud muttered. “It’s been scarce on this side of the territory since just after the Great Battle.”

Harespring shrugged. “We can still give it a try. And we may find out something useful.”

The three warriors split up, each taking their own apprentice. Crowfeather caught no prey-scents on the ground, and only faint traces in the air, but eventually he spotted a sparrow perched on a jutting spike of rock. Perfect for an apprentice’s practice.

Just as he was beginning to advise Featherpaw on how to pounce on it, a loud yowl split the air from farther along the bank.

“Great StarClan!” he exclaimed. “What’s that?”

He whipped around and raced alongside the bank toward Hootpaw, who was standing rigid, his gaze fixed on another of the dark tunnel entrances. His fur was so bushed up, he looked twice his size.

Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with apprehension as he wondered what could have spooked the apprentice like that. Hootpaw wasn’t easily frightened; he was usually a bold and adventurous young cat.