Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

It must have been hard for her, he thought as he and the rest of the WindClan cats headed for their camp, knowing that for so long my heart lay across that border. Maybe now she won’t be so angry. And maybe in future the Clans can finally learn to get along in peace.

CHAPTER 32

An icy wind swept across the moor, buffeting Crowfeather’s fur as he stood watching his apprentice. Featherpaw had picked up the scent of a rabbit where it crouched in a clump of long grass, and now she chased it up the hill, her muscles bunching and stretching as she gradually gained on her quarry. His heart warmed to see her speed and strength, as if she had never been injured.

The rabbit doubled back, and without a heartbeat’s hesitation Featherpaw changed direction, not chasing the rabbit anymore, but seeming to know instinctively where it would run. She leaped on it with outstretched paws; Crowfeather heard the rabbit’s squeal of terror, abruptly cut off as Featherpaw killed it by biting its throat.

He waited for his apprentice as she trotted back to him, her prey dangling from her jaws. “Was that okay?” she asked, her eyes shining as she dropped the rabbit in front of him.

“No, it wasn’t okay,” Crowfeather meowed, then added quickly before Featherpaw had time to look disappointed, “It was magnificent. Well done!”

Featherpaw blinked up at him happily. “It’s your catch really,” she purred. “You’re such a great mentor!”

Crowfeather felt a tingle of satisfaction in his paws, reflecting that even though he hadn’t been the best father when his kits were growing up, he was at least a good mentor now. Maybe that can make up for my other failings. . . .

“We’d better head back,” he meowed, picking up the rook he had caught earlier and leading the way down the hill and into the camp.

“What shall we do now?” Featherpaw asked, dropping her rabbit on the fresh-kill pile.

Glancing around the camp, Crowfeather spotted the other three apprentices dragging soiled bedding out of the elders’ den. “Go and help them,” he mewed, angling his ears in that direction.

Featherpaw’s tail drooped. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you do. Life isn’t all rabbit-chasing, you know.” Crowfeather let out a little purr of satisfaction. “Tell them I said you made the best catch this season.”

“Yes!” Energized again, Featherpaw dashed across the camp to join her denmates.

I’ll miss her when it’s time for her to become a warrior, Crowfeather thought as he watched her go. But she’s shaping up to be a really fine one.

He turned toward Kestrelflight’s den to visit his son. Several days had passed since the final battle against the stoats, and Breezepelt was the only one of the injured warriors who hadn’t returned to his duties. His recovery hadn’t gone as quickly as Crowfeather had hoped. He spent much of the time in a troubled, unhealthy sleep, and when he was awake, he was dull and listless. The day before, he had looked up at Crowfeather and called him Lionblaze before shaking his head and seeming to come to his senses.

Maybe he’ll be better today, Crowfeather told himself, but it was hard to make himself believe it.

As Crowfeather approached the medicine-cat den, Heathertail emerged and hurried over to him. “Where’s Nightcloud?” she asked.

Crowfeather pointed with his tail to where the black she-cat was crouched near the fresh-kill pile, sharing a pigeon with Sedgewhisker. Immediately, Heathertail bounded over to her, and Crowfeather followed.

“I want you both to come to Kestrelflight’s den,” Heathertail meowed when she reached Nightcloud.

Alarm in her eyes, Nightcloud immediately sprang to her paws, gulping down her mouthful of prey. “What happened?” she demanded.

“I went to visit Breezepelt this morning,” Heathertail explained as she led the way back to the den, “and he’s taken a turn for the worse. You need to see him.”

Crowfeather and Nightcloud exchanged a look of alarm as they followed Heathertail. Inside the den, Crowfeather saw that Breezepelt was awake, but his eyes were glazed, and when Crowfeather touched his shoulder, he could feel heat radiating from his pelt. He didn’t seem to recognize any of them, but he was muttering to himself. “Stupid stoats . . . kill you all . . .” His head kept sagging to one side, as if he was half-asleep.

Kestrelflight appeared from the back of the den, carrying a mouthful of borage leaves in his jaws.

“Eat those,” he meowed, setting the leaves down in front of Breezepelt. “They’ll help bring down your fever.”

“What’s the matter with him?” Nightcloud asked anxiously.

“Most of his wounds are healing nicely,” Kestrelflight told her, while Heathertail coaxed Breezepelt to eat the herbs. “But there’s one very bad bite, the one on his belly, and it’s infected. If it gets any worse, I’m afraid he won’t make it.”

Crowfeather stared at the medicine cat in horror. Won’t make it? What about his future with Heathertail? What about my chance to be a real father to him? “There must be something you can do,” he meowed.

“I have plenty of herbs for the pain and the fever, but the remedy for infected bites is burdock root,” Kestrelflight explained. “And I’m all out of it. I used up the last of my supply on Breezepelt and the other injured warriors after the battle.”

Crowfeather raised his head, his expression grim with determination. “It’s settled, then. We’ll go and search for burdock root if you tell us what to look for and where we might find it.”

“This is leaf-bare,” Kestrelflight replied. “The leaves die back, and without the leaves it’s hard to know where the roots are. But I can send cats to the other Clans to ask the medicine cats if they have any to spare. I’d go myself, but I need to keep a close eye on Breezepelt.”

Nightcloud spun around to gaze at Crowfeather. “You should go to ThunderClan and ask Leafpool,” she meowed. “She won’t say no to you.”

Kestrelflight glanced away and gave his shoulder an embarrassed lick, clearly uncomfortable at being reminded of Crowfeather’s history with the ThunderClan cat.

Feeling awkward, Crowfeather hesitated. Is Nightcloud really asking me to go visit Leafpool?

A hint of her old rage glimmered in Nightcloud’s eyes, but it wasn’t jealousy that Crowfeather saw there. “You must!” she insisted fiercely. “Leafpool won’t let your son die if she can stop it. Crowfeather, you owe it to me and to Breezepelt to ask her. You have to do everything you can.”

Crowfeather realized that she was right. This is no time to start raking over old troubles. “Of course I’ll go,” he mewed.

Crowfeather stood on the bank of the border stream, his shoulders hunched against a thin drizzle that had started as he crossed the moor. He was waiting for a ThunderClan patrol. His claws tore impatiently at the grass as he wondered how long it would be before any cats appeared.

If they’re waiting for the rain to stop, it could be too late for Breezepelt.

Crowfeather’s paws itched to leap across and hurry toward the camp on his own, but he knew it would be a bad idea to trespass when he had come to ask a favor.

I wish I’d thought to bring another cat with me, he thought. Featherpaw, for example . . . We could have done some training, and then I wouldn’t have the time to worry about Breezepelt.

But when Crowfeather had asked Onestar’s permission to visit Leafpool, his Clan leader had told him to go alone. “You won’t have any trouble,” Onestar had assured him. “Not since you’re on medicine-cat business.”