Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

Onestar, meanwhile, had turned to Nightcloud.

“I’m truly glad to see you back with us,” he meowed. “You’ve always been a loyal WindClan warrior. Later there’ll be time for us to talk about what happened to you, but for now you should go and rest while we clear up the camp.”

“Thank you,” Nightcloud responded with a respectful dip of her head. “But I don’t need to rest. For the last quarter moon, I’ve been living the life of a kittypet— not my choice, I’m sure you understand—with nothing to do except lie around all day and stuff myself with kittypet food.”

Onestar gave her a curious look, as if he would have liked to ask her more, but said nothing.

“I’d like to do my part,” Nightcloud continued. “You said Kestrelflight is overwhelmed—perhaps he could use my help, too.”

Onestar gave her an approving nod and stepped back a few paces. Crowfeather stared at him, dreading what his Clan leader might say to him, but also desperately needing to hear it. Am I allowed back or not? Onestar’s expression was unreadable.

Crowfeather turned nervously to Nightcloud. Now that their adventure was over, he wasn’t sure what to say to her. He had shared so much with this cat, and yet he still felt uncomfortable around her. If I’m still banished from the Clan, this might be the last time I ever speak to her.

While Crowfeather was trying to gather his thoughts, Nightcloud gave an angry flick of her tail. “Don’t worry,” she mewed. “It’s not like you have to talk to me or anything.”

Without waiting for a reply, she strode off toward the medicine-cat den.

Crowfeather felt as if he were sinking down into the ground. I blew that. Here I’ve been doing so well with Breezepelt, but I still don’t know what to say to Nightcloud. As his gaze followed her across the camp, he wondered, Have I learned anything at all? Crowfeather’s sense of guilt loomed over him like a storm cloud as he reflected on all the things he had never realized about his former mate: how brave and industrious she was, how well she had trained Hootpaw, how she had found the patience to be kind to a kittypet . He didn’t understand how he could ever have been mates with a cat he felt like he barely knew.

As Nightcloud disappeared into Kestrelflight’s den, Crowfeather realized that Onestar was standing at his shoulder. “Well, Crowfeather,” he sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

Crowfeather turned to face his Clan leader, once again not knowing what to say. Every hair in his pelt started to rise at the thought of apologizing, when he knew he had been right to ask for ThunderClan’s help, right to challenge Onestar about blocking up the tunnels. But at the same time his heart quailed when he imagined himself walking out of the camp again, a cat without a Clan.

“I never intended—” he began.

At the same moment, Onestar spoke. “Crowfeather, you’re the worst cat I’ve ever known for getting under my fur. But I have to admit that this time, you might have had a point. I shouldn’t have tried to block the tunnels.”

Crowfeather stared at him, scarcely able to believe what he had just heard. Is he apologizing to me ?

Onestar looked down at his paws, digging his claws into the ground. “Do you want to come back?” he asked, not meeting Crowfeather’s gaze.

Crowfeather wanted to yowl, “Yes!” but he made himself appear calm, and dipped his head respectfully to his Clan leader. “Yes, I’d like that, Onestar,” he mewed.

“Then you are a WindClan cat again.” Onestar raised his head, and his voice dropped into a menacing growl. “I’m welcoming you back because you rescued Nightcloud, and because the Clan needs every able-bodied warrior. But there’s a border, Crowfeather, between being difficult and being disloyal. Make sure that your paws stay on the right side of that border.”

Crowfeather tried to sound humble. “I will, Onestar.”

“Then get yourself over to Kestrelflight and ask him what you can do. And Crowfeather—see that I don’t have to remind you about this conversation. Ever.”

Crowfeather was crouching outside Kestrelflight’s den, chewing a mouthful of marigold for a poultice to put on Sedgewhisker’s wound. Sunhigh was just past, and he felt exhausted in his mind and body. The work was hard, and pain tore at his heart to see the injuries among his Clanmates. The air was filled with the scents of blood and fear, almost overwhelming Crowfeather, and his ears ached from the continual yowling of injured cats. There were too many wounds, and not enough herbs, and Kestrelflight had to make tough choices about which cats needed treatment most urgently.

“I still can’t believe those stoats are pure white,” Crouchfoot muttered; he was sitting nearby, licking one forepaw where a claw had been torn away. “Except for the black tips to their tails. Whoever saw an animal like that before?”

“Maybe they are ghosts after all,” Whiskernose suggested, twitching his whiskers as blood trickled down from a wound in his ear. “Its almost like they have something personal against WindClan.”

“Nonsense!” Kestrelflight, who had been out on the moor collecting more herbs, halted beside the two toms and mumbled around the bunch of chervil in his jaws. “They’re not ghosts. They’re just stinky, aggressive invaders.”

Crouchfoot and Whiskernose looked at each other but didn’t respond.

All around the medicine-cat den, cats were moaning in pain. Crowfeather felt even more guilty that there was so little he could do to help. I should have gone to the Twolegplace by myself, he thought. I’m glad we found Nightcloud, but Breezepelt and the others would have been more use here. Maybe with more warriors, there wouldn’t have been so many cats wounded. Then he admitted to himself that he would never have managed the hazardous journey through the forest and the Twolegplace if he had been alone. This must be the way it was meant to happen.

Kestrelflight stumbled as he approached the den, letting his bundle of chervil fall. His eyes were dull with weariness.

“Sit down,” Crowfeather meowed. “For StarClan’s sake, you need to rest. You’ve been up all night.”

Kestrelflight let his gaze travel over the camp and the mass of injured cats, then shook his head. “I can’t. There’s far too much to do.”

“We’ll be in even more trouble if you pass out,” Crowfeather told him. “Sit down.”

Letting out a long sigh, Kestrelflight obeyed. His eyes were full of despair as he looked at the injured cats who were still waiting for his help. “I’m not sure I can do this alone,” he whispered. “Well—not alone,” he corrected himself at once, ducking his head apologetically at Heathertail and Nightcloud, who appeared at that moment with mouthfuls of dripping moss. “But I’m the only medicine cat. . . .”

“We need help,” Crowfeather declared, suddenly realizing how true that was. “There are too many injured warriors, and not enough medicine cats or herbs. We need help from another Clan.”

“You’re right.” Kestrelflight rose to his paws again with another heartfelt sigh. “But Onestar will never agree to it.”

Crowfeather glanced across the camp to where Onestar was supervising the work on the warriors’ den. He remembered the last time he had gone to ThunderClan for help, and how badly that had turned out. Crowfeather’s instinct was to blame Onestar for being unreasonable, but he had to admit to himself that he had been to blame, too. He shouldn’t have brought in ThunderClan without knowing how Onestar would react.

Now, when WindClan really needed ThunderClan, Crowfeather knew that his earlier rashness had made everything harder. But he knew too that he had no alternative: He had to convince Onestar to send for Leafpool or Jayfeather.