Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

“I met him, too,” Crowfeather interrupted. “That’s how we knew to come and search for you in the Twolegplace.”

Nightcloud nodded. “Yew is a weird cat, but decent,” she mewed. “He’s the one who gave me the idea to go ask for help from the Twolegs. ‘Just wail pitifully,’ he told me, ‘and they’ll do anything for you.’”

“So what did you do then?” Heathertail asked.

“I took Yew’s advice and crossed the Thunderpath into the Twolegplace,” Nightcloud replied. “I reckoned the foxes wouldn’t dare follow me there. I ended up in the garden of that den where you found me.

“Those Twolegs took me to a den full of disgusting smells. The Twoleg that lived there gave me some kind of round white seed that made me go to sleep. When I woke up, she’d fixed my wound—look.”

Nightcloud turned to one side. Looking at her more closely, Crowfeather could see a patch on her side where the fur had been scraped away and was just starting to grow back. In the middle of the bare patch was a long wound, the edges fastened together with tiny scraps of tendril.

“Weird . . . ,” he murmured, giving the wound a sniff. “I wonder if Kestrelflight could fix wounds like that?”

Nightcloud shook her head. “Maybe. It seemed terribly complicated. Anyway, then the Twoleg medicine cat put that stupid white thing around my neck,” she went on, gesturing at the leaf with her tail.

“And then what happened?” Breezepelt asked. He was gazing at his mother with awe, perhaps at the story she was telling, perhaps still unable to believe that they really had her back at last.

Nightcloud shrugged. “Not much. The Twolegs took me back to their den, and I figured I’d stay there until I felt well enough to escape and come back to camp.”

Crowfeather hesitated. He couldn’t quite put his paw on what he was feeling, but he knew that he didn’t like thinking about the white kittypet, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. “What about that tom?” he meowed at last.

“Pickle?” Nightcloud let out a small mrrow of laughter. “He was my friend. He was nice, for a kittypet.”

Nice? A kittypet? Crowfeather stared hard at his former mate. How badly were you hurt? Or has the Twoleg medicine done something to your mind?

Clearly Nightcloud wasn’t prepared to say any more, and at last Crowfeather let his gaze soften. “I’m impressed you survived all that,” he declared.

“Of course I did. I’m a WindClan warrior, aren’t I?”

A slightly awkward silence fell as the cats padded wearily through the trees. Looking up, Crowfeather could see the tracery of leafless branches outlined more clearly against the sky, and realized that dawn was not far off.

How will Onestar react when I return to camp? He won’t be happy that I went after Nightcloud without telling him, and brought these cats with me. . . . I can only hope he won’t be too angry with me when he sees we’ve brought Nightcloud home.

It was Nightcloud who broke the silence at last. “I’m surprised you came for me.”

Crowfeather’s heart clenched and he felt his pelt grow hot. Slightly stung, he repeated her own words. “Of course I did.”

“We never would have given up on you,” Breezepelt put in.

“I know you never would,” Nightcloud meowed, giving his ear a quick nuzzle.

A pang of jealousy and guilt shook Crowfeather as he watched his former mate and his son. He envied both of them, and their easy affection with each other. And Nightcloud was right . . . he had given up on her. He had been right when he’d thought that they weren’t really a family. I don’t belong with them. I wish . . . but it’s no use wishing.

The sky was glowing with the approach of sunrise by the time the WindClan cats crossed the ThunderClan border. Crowfeather explained how they had met Ivypool and her patrol on their way out, and had permission to cross on the way back.

Nightcloud looked unimpressed. “So that’s why you all stink of ThunderClan!” She gave a disdainful sniff. “I’m not sure I trust ThunderClan to keep their promises,” she added. “It’s best if we don’t meet any of their cats.”

Crowfeather agreed, and the patrol slunk cautiously across the rival Clan’s territory, making use of every scrap of cover. When they came in sight of the border stream, Hootpaw started forward, ready to dash up to the bank and leap across, but Gorsetail sprang in front of him and blocked him.

“Wait, mouse-brain!” the gray-and-white she-cat hissed.

Crowfeather halted and tasted the air. “The ThunderClan scent markers are stale,” he reported. “That means the dawn patrol hasn’t been along yet. I think it would be safer to wait until they’ve passed.”

Nightcloud nodded. “Good idea. And we could all do with a rest.”

Crowfeather led the way into the shelter of a bank of ferns, where he and his Clanmates crouched with ears pricked for the approach of the ThunderClan cats. Breezepelt and Heathertail settled down on either side of Nightcloud, masking her scent with the smell of ThunderClan that still clung to their fur.

“Where are they?” Breezepelt muttered. “All snoring in their nests?”

At last Crowfeather heard the sound of voices and felt the ground quiver from approaching paw steps. Peering cautiously out from underneath the ferns, he spotted the ThunderClan patrol padding by, with Dustpelt in the lead. Every cat paused, a tail-length from the WindClan cats’ hiding place, while Poppyfrost set a scent marker at the edge of the stream. Crowfeather hardly dared to breathe.

Finally the patrol moved on; Crowfeather waited, limp with relief, until he had given them time enough to get well away. He emerged from the clump of ferns, signaling with his tail for the others to follow him. Swiftly they headed for the bank, then leaped across the stream, pelted through the trees, and burst out onto the moor.

“Thank StarClan! We’re home!” Heathertail gasped.

Home, Crowfeather thought. But is it mine? Will Onestar have me back?

He had little time to muse on this, because the rest of the journey back to camp was a long and arduous trudge through the snow. By now the sun had risen, and every cat was exhausted; Crowfeather felt as if his paws were going to fall off. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept, and he began to feel a squirming like worms in his belly when he wondered how Onestar would react to his return. I’d like to find the fattest rabbit on the fresh-kill pile, then curl up in my den and sleep for a moon! he told himself. But I’ll probably find myself wandering about on the moor again.

But as he and his Clanmates drew closer to the camp, Crowfeather began to feel even more uneasy. He thought he could hear the voices of cats raised in distress. And as the wind veered around to blow straight at them from the camp, it brought a foul odor along with it.

Crowfeather had to stop himself from retching. “What is that?” he demanded.

CHAPTER 25

No cat responded to Crowfeather’s question. For a heartbeat they gazed at one another with a terrible realization, then turned as one and raced over the last swell of the moor, until they reached the top of the hollow.

“Oh, StarClan, no!” Heathertail exclaimed.

Looking down into the camp, Crowfeather saw a scene of complete devastation. Bedding from the nests was scattered everywhere, and the gorse bushes that sheltered the nursery and the elders’ den were half torn away. Worst of all, the center of the camp seemed to be covered with the bodies of injured cats; Crowfeather couldn’t tell how many of them might have been dead. The reek of blood filled the air, along with a lingering, horrible, familiar smell.