Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

At that moment, a paw step sounded outside the den and Nightcloud entered, carrying a vole in her jaws. “Fresh-kill,” she meowed, dropping it beside Crowfeather’s nest and giving Leafpool a long look with narrowed eyes.

Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with the awkwardness of being so close to two she-cats who had each been his mate. Leafpool gave him a meaningful gaze, and he was pretty sure of what she was trying to tell him.

“Thank you, Nightcloud,” he mewed. “That’s kind of you. Do you want to share?”

Nightcloud’s eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced across at Leafpool, as if she was wondering whether Crowfeather had offered to share in an attempt to make the ThunderClan she-cat jealous.

“No, I already ate.” Nightcloud’s tone was abrupt, but she settled down beside Crowfeather, tucking her paws underneath her.

“I’d better be going,” Leafpool put in, rising to her paws with a polite nod to Nightcloud. “I have to check on the other wounded cats.” Picking up a bunch of chervil in her jaws, she padded out of the den.

Crowfeather, who had taken a bite of the vole, quickly swallowed. Though he was struggling to find the right words, he remembered Leafpool’s advice, and realized that he had to try. “Nightcloud, I’m sorry if I offended you yesterday,” he meowed. “I wasn’t sure what to say to you, now that you’re back.”

Nightcloud gave him a hard stare, and for a moment Crowfeather was afraid that once again he had said the wrong thing. Then the black she-cat seemed to soften.

“The truth is, I was badly hurt in the tunnels,” she began after a heartbeat’s hesitation. “And as much as I told those kittypets that I was a Clan cat, and I belonged with my Clan . . . honestly, after the Twolegs rescued me, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to come back to WindClan.”

“Not come back?” Every hair on Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with shock. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this from Nightcloud. She’s the most loyal WindClan warrior I know!

“At least, not right away,” Nightcloud continued. “I felt so weak and tired. . . . I never seriously thought that I would stay away forever, but for the time being it was good to be a kittypet—to have food and warmth and safety without having to chase prey, or risk my life fighting foxes. And I was . . . well, I was adored just for who I was. I had never felt that before, and it was sort of nice. Even when I was prickly, my Twolegs and Pickle never stopped trying to make me happy and comfortable. Pickle may have been a kittypet, but he was kind to me. He let me share his nest, and gave up his best napping spots for me. He shared his favorite toys with me, even when I told him I didn’t play with toys. He acted like I was the most important cat in the world.”

Pickle? Stupid name! Stupid cat!

But despising Pickle couldn’t keep Crowfeather from hearing Nightcloud’s words . . . or from feeling the guilt they brought out. I never treated her that way, he realized. I never thought of her as being important. There had been warmth in Nightcloud’s voice as she described her life with Pickle. Kittypet or not, he’d tried to make her happy.

I was her mate. . . . I should have made her feel happy and valued like that, but I didn’t. I failed.

His pelt grew hot with shame as he remembered that he had never paid much attention to Nightcloud’s nest or what she was eating, even when she was pregnant with their kits. He had always assumed she could take care of herself. And that, he realized, was because he had never loved her as he had loved Feathertail or Leafpool. Pain stabbed through his heart as he recognized how that must have felt for Nightcloud.

“Mind you,” Nightcloud went on, “if you tell any other cat I said that, I’ll claw your fur off and use it to line my nest.”

Crowfeather let out a mrrow of laughter. “You would, too!”

Suddenly the tension between them seemed to have vanished. Hungrily Crowfeather gulped down a few more mouthfuls of the vole, then dared to meow quietly, “I’m sorry, Nightcloud. I never treated you like your feelings were important. I’m sorry you had to wait to get that from a kittypet.”

Nightcloud said nothing, but when she looked down at him, her eyes were warmer than he had ever seen them.

“Should we . . . should we be mates again?” Crowfeather suggested hesitantly. Is that what I’m supposed to say?

Nightcloud shook her head, but when she spoke, her voice was gentle. “No, and if you’re honest with yourself, Crowfeather, you don’t want that either. Admit it: We don’t love each other, and maybe we never did.”

Reluctantly, Crowfeather had to recognize the wisdom in the she-cat’s words, though a pang of regret pierced him as he responded. “I think you’re right. But . . . I do admire you, Nightcloud. You’re an amazing warrior.”

Nightcloud let out a tiny snort. “You’re not so bad yourself. And remember,” she added, “Breezepelt will always be our kit. We owe it to him to try to get along.”

“True,” Crowfeather sighed. “Nightcloud, I’m sorry that I’ve treated you badly. Can we be friends . . . if only for Breezepelt’s sake?”

“I’d like that,” Nightcloud purred. Rising to her paws, she stooped over Crowfeather and rubbed her cheek against his. “You need to rest, Crowfeather. Maybe we’ll talk later.”

Crowfeather watched her as she padded out of the den. She was right that he needed rest: Their conversation had taken as much out of him as a patrol around the whole of the territory. He finished the last mouthful of vole, curled up, and closed his eyes.

Oh, StarClan, please don’t send me back into that terrible dream. . . .

As soon as Crowfeather slipped into sleep, he saw the pale shape of his mother, Ashfoot, in front of him. This time he wasn’t chasing her through the tunnels: She was sitting beside a pool in a lush forest clearing where ferns arched over the water and a tiny spring trickled down from the rocks above.

“Greetings, Crowfeather,” Ashfoot meowed. This time her tone was approving. “Finally, you’ve taken the lessons of your dreams to heart.”

“Lessons?” Crowfeather asked, stifling an incredulous mrrow of laughter. “What were the lessons? I’ve nearly worn my brain out trying to understand why I’m even having these dreams!”

“I’ve told you the most important lesson.” Ashfoot’s voice was a gentle murmur. “To love. You must open yourself to love again. And I sent you the dream of Hawkfrost and Hollyleaf to show you how much you care about all your kits, whatever happens to them. You must reopen your heart to Breezepelt and be a father to him.”

Guilt weighed heavily on Crowfeather’s shoulders as he replied. “I see that now,” he admitted. “I only hope I can be as good a father to Breezepelt as you were a mother to me.”

Ashfoot’s gaze was warm and brilliant. “I’m proud of you, Crowfeather,” she purred. “At last, you’re beginning to change.”

Crowfeather stared at his mother. All at once, he felt a terrible ache in his heart as he realized that their private chats were over. His love for her was simple and overwhelming—the love of a kit for his mother.

Maybe that’s how Breezepelt feels about me, he realized, even though I haven’t always deserved it. But I will, he promised himself, watching the image of his mother weaken.

As the dream faded and Crowfeather blinked awake, back in the medicine-cat den, he decided once and for all that things would be different.

I will make sure Breezepelt knows I love him, just like Ashfoot loved me, he vowed to himself. Changing is hard . . . but if it saves Breezepelt, it will be worth it.