by Erin Hunter
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.
“Hang on, I’m coming!” Crowfeather called out as he charged up, half expecting to see a fox or a badger emerging from the tunnel. Except that wasn’t fox or badger scent.
As Crowfeather halted beside Hootpaw, he thought that he spotted something white and shining at the mouth of the tunnel, whisking out of sight into the blackness.
That looked like a tail . . . , he thought. Or am I seeing things?
Featherpaw joined him, panting, while Nightcloud hurried up with a vole in her jaws. Harespring and Slightpaw ran up shortly after.
“What happened?” Nightcloud asked, dropping her prey. “Hootpaw, tell me you didn’t go into the tunnel, after what I told you!”
“I didn’t!” Hootpaw protested. “But I . . . I saw something in there. An animal I’ve never seen before, like a glowing, pure white cat! It looked right at me, like it wanted to tell me something.”
“Oh, for StarClan’s sake, don’t be so mouse-brained,” Nightcloud snapped. “There’s no such thing as glowing white cats—only StarClan, and they glitter like stars. Honestly, you made such a noise, I thought a badger must be ripping your fur off!”
“I know what I saw,” Hootpaw mewed stubbornly. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It was scary!”
Harespring looked thoughtful. “Smoky from the horseplace told me once that kittypets sometimes came back after they died, all shining white, to visit their Twolegs. He said he’d seen ghosts with his own eyes.”
“That’s the most flea-brained thing I’ve ever heard!” Crowfeather exclaimed, glaring at Harespring. It was bad enough that Hootpaw was scared out of his fur. They didn’t need Harespring encouraging him. “Maybe kittypets believe that, but they don’t even commune with StarClan.” Harespring returned his glare for a moment but finally looked away as if he was embarrassed. He should be, Crowfeather thought, annoyed. This is who Onestar chose over me? A warrior who can barely catch a rabbit and now believes in ghosts? Some deputy.
“I saw a glowing white cat,” Hootpaw insisted. His fur was lying flat again, but his eyes were still wide and frightened, and Crowfeather could see that Featherpaw and Slightpaw were beginning to look apprehensive as well, casting nervous glances at the tunnel entrance as if, at any moment, whatever the apprentice had seen was going to come charging out of the shadows.
Crowfeather knew it was nonsense, but all the same, something was niggling at the back of his mind. If there were ghost cats, he thought, this would be the right time for them to show up. We lost so many of our Clanmates in the Great Battle. But he quickly dismissed the thought. Clearly, he was letting the apprentices—and their mouse-brained deputy—get to him. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever Hootpaw had seen, but now wasn’t the time to find it.
“I think we’ve done enough hunting for one day,” he meowed decisively. “Let’s carry our prey back to camp.”
Harespring opened his mouth as if to argue, but he quickly snapped it shut and nodded his head. Crowfeather knew the deputy was probably irritated that he was calling the shots, but since he was eager to leave the area, he went along with him. Without any further discussion, the patrol set off, collecting their prey as they went. The deputy loaded up the apprentices and sent them on ahead, while he padded along behind with Crowfeather and Nightcloud. Crowfeather couldn’t help noticing how subdued the apprentices seemed now, so different from their earlier playfulness.
“I have no idea what got into Hootpaw.” Nightcloud still sounded cross. “He’s usually so sensible.”
“I know,” Harespring responded. “That’s why I believe him.” At Nightcloud’s annoyed expression, he continued. “Look, I’m not saying they were glowing white cats, but he must have seen something.”
“He did,” Crowfeather mewed thoughtfully. “I know because I saw something, too.”
“Oh, really, you ‘saw something’?” Nightcloud turned an incredulous gaze on him. “Not a glowing white cat, by any chance?”
“No.” Featherbrain. Crowfeather swallowed his anger, not wanting to get into an argument with Nightcloud. “But something white . . . like maybe a tail vanishing down the tunnel. There could have been another animal there.”
“But there aren’t any white animals on the moor,” Harespring objected. “Still . . . perhaps we should report it to Onestar.”
“What can he do about it?” Nightcloud asked.
“I’m not sure,” Harespring replied. “But we were told to check out this area, and that’s what we’ve found. Besides, suppose this is the start of some kind of trouble, and we didn’t report it. The Clan would be unprepared, and if anything terrible were to happen, it would be our fault. Onestar needs to know what’s going on in his own territory.”
Crowfeather was surprised to find himself murmuring in agreement. Harespring might not have been the deputy he would have chosen, but he had to admit that everything he’d just said was true. He gave Harespring a sideways glance. Maybe the tom wasn’t the worst deputy Onestar could have appointed after all.
Crowfeather picked up his pace until he caught up with the apprentices. Featherpaw was trudging along, carrying the rabbit Nightcloud had caught earlier; as she glanced up at Crowfeather, he could see the worry in her eyes.
“It’ll be okay, you know,” Crowfeather reassured her. “If there is anything in the tunnels, Onestar will help us figure out what to do about it.”
Featherpaw blinked at him. “I know,” she mumbled around her prey. “I just wish we could be sure what Hootpaw saw.”
“We will be soon,” Crowfeather responded. “And then, whatever it is, WindClan will deal with the problem.”
Featherpaw’s tail shot up in the air and her gaze cleared. “Yeah! WindClan can deal with anything.”
Crowfeather gave her an approving nod, reflecting on what a bright young cat she was. She would make a great warrior. He imagined how proud he would be if he were her father. But the thought made his gut twist, and he suddenly felt guilty, thinking of Breezepelt, and how he had a better relationship with his apprentice than his son.
Returning to the camp, Crowfeather spotted Onestar outside his den, stretched out in the pale sun of leaf-bare. He sat up alertly as Harespring led his patrol across the camp toward him. “Did you find anything down there?” he asked.
Harespring began to explain about the weird scent they had picked up near the tunnels, and how Hootpaw—and maybe Crowfeather—had seen something at one of the entrances.
“It was a ghost!” Hootpaw interrupted. “A shining white ghost cat!”
Onestar looked befuddled. “A ghost?” he echoed, twitching his whiskers in confusion.
Harespring explained what he had learned from Smoky at the horseplace about how he claimed he’d seen dead kittypets returning as shining white “ghosts.” Crowfeather could see that Onestar was listening carefully, but also that he didn’t believe a word of it.
“I can see you were all very brave,” the Clan leader told the apprentices when Harespring had finished. “But I don’t think there’s any such thing as a ‘ghost cat.’ Only StarClan. What you saw must have been a trick of the light, or your imagination.”
Hootpaw still looked mutinous, but he had enough sense not to argue with his Clan leader.
“It’s that weird scent that’s bothering me,” Onestar went on. “It seems like there must be something around the tunnels, and I don’t like the sound of that. I think we should organize another patrol to take a look inside and check it out.”
“I’ll take one now, if you like,” Harespring offered.
Onestar shook his head. “The sun will have gone down before you get there,” he responded. “It will have to be tomorrow. I expect some kind of animal has made its home in the tunnels,” he continued. “It wouldn’t be the first time that has happened, especially in the cold of leaf-bare. But if there is something living there, we need to drive it out. Those tunnels are ours.” Looking down reassuringly at the apprentices, he added, “Hootpaw, you did well to spot potential danger, but I don’t want any of you to go spreading wild stories around the camp. I want every cat to keep calm. There’s really nothing to worry about.”
Crowfeather was impressed by his leader’s authority and the way he comforted the apprentices, though he doubted that Hootpaw would be able to keep his mouth shut about what he had seen. Once the first shock was over, he would be too excited to keep quiet. And too fuzz-brained.
“Okay,” Onestar meowed, “go and get yourselves something to eat. No, not you, Crowfeather,” he added, as the patrol began to move away. “I want a word with you.”
Crowfeather halted. What now? he wondered.
Onestar waited until the rest of the patrol was gone. “Tell me again what you saw. Give me as much detail as you can.”
“I ran up to the tunnel entrance when I heard Hootpaw yowl,” Crowfeather explained. “And I caught a glimpse of something white disappearing into the darkness. I thought it looked like a tail, but I can’t be sure. Maybe it was as you said—just a trick of the light . . . or my imagination making me see danger.”
Onestar listened intently, saying nothing until Crowfeather had finished. Then he shook his head sadly. “If there were a time for WindClan cats to be seeing ghosts, it would be now,” he mewed, echoing Crowfeather’s earlier thought. “We lost so many Clanmates in the Great Battle.”
Crowfeather nodded, his throat suddenly dry. It hurt to think of all the cats they would never see again.
“The loss of Ashfoot must weigh heavily on you,” Onestar went on, his eyes full of sympathy. “I know you miss her every day.”
Crowfeather met Onestar’s gaze, surprised to hear the leader mention his mother. Even the sound of her name made his chest tighten with sorrow. Talking about his grief for his mother was still too painful. He had to struggle to respond without breaking down. “Yes, it has been . . . difficult,” Crowfeather admitted finally, almost having to push the words out of his mouth.
“Perhaps you can find comfort in the rest of your family,” Onestar suggested. “Nightcloud and Breezepelt.”
Crowfeather felt his muscles tense and said nothing. Does he have bees in his brain? Onestar knows very well there’s no comfort for me there.
“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” Onestar went on. “Breezepelt tells me you haven’t so much as looked in his direction since the Great Battle. Is that true?”
Fury began to build up in Crowfeather’s belly. I don’t want to talk about this! “I suppose so,” he muttered.
“Then tell me why,” Onestar persisted. “I’ve made it clear, as Clan leader, that I’ve forgiven Breezepelt for his part in the battle. And he has sworn a new oath of loyalty to WindClan. So why, as Breezepelt’s father, do you refuse to accept that?”
“I know that what you say is true,” Crowfeather replied, struggling not to unleash his pent-up frustrations on his Clan leader. “But . . . well, you know that I caught Breezepelt about to kill Lionblaze.”
“Lionblaze may be your son, but he is a ThunderClan cat,” Onestar responded in a level voice. “Breezepelt is a WindClan cat. It seems clear to me where your loyalty should lie.”
Crowfeather drew his lips back in the beginning of a snarl, but he could find nothing to say in answer to his leader’s arguments. He knew that what Onestar said made sense. He just found it hard to pretend that his time with Leafpool, and the kits they’d had together as a result, meant nothing to him.
But no cat would understand that but me.
For a few heartbeats, Onestar was silent. “Crowfeather,” he began again at last, “are you aware that many cats thought I would choose you as my deputy after Ashfoot’s death?”
Now Crowfeather felt even more uncomfortable. Whatever other cats had thought, the choice of a deputy was for the Clan leader to decide, and Crowfeather had never thought of objecting to Onestar’s choice of Harespring. Even if he did think it was mouse-brained.
“Yes, I knew that,” he admitted. “But—”
“Do you know why I made the choice that I did?”
Crowfeather took a deep, calming breath, wishing he could see the point of these questions. Because you’re mouse-brained? “I suppose that by choosing Harespring, you were sending a message that the Dark Forest cats can be trusted.”
“That’s true,” Onestar agreed. “But there is also a reason that I didn’t choose you.”
Crowfeather’s ears pricked in surprise. “There is?”
“Yes,” Onestar meowed sternly. “Because you care about your own anger and prejudices more than you care about WindClan.”
“That’s not true!” Is it?
“Wouldn’t you have accepted Breezepelt if it weren’t?” Onestar challenged him. “He is your Clanmate, not to mention your own son. Accepting him would clearly be the best thing for your Clan.”
Crowfeather had no answer to this. He felt his whiskers twitch with irritation as he looked away.
“I am your leader,” Onestar went on, “and I have said we will trust him. But you choose not to follow my lead. Instead of trusting your own son, you cling to your anger and disappointment.”
Crowfeather was silent, his claws flexing in and out as he struggled to calm himself. Part of him felt as if he should leap onto Onestar and rake his claws through his leader’s tabby fur. But he knew that attacking his leader would be crazy. If he lifted a claw to Onestar, he would be driven out of WindClan forever. Even thinking about doing it surprised and confused him. Why was he so angry all the time?
“I expect more from you, Crowfeather,” Onestar continued. “You are a brave and talented warrior. But you need to get to the bottom of your own problems and become a true WindClan warrior once again.”
“Do you know what I’ve given up to be loyal to WindClan?” Crowfeather demanded, his anger spilling over at last. “I’ve sacrificed so much, and you don’t give a mousetail about that!” Yet even as he said these words, guilt began to seep into his mind. There had been a time when he would have left WindClan to be with Leafpool; it was her decision that had led them back to the hunting grounds by the lake. From the way Onestar was looking at him, Crowfeather could tell that he suspected as much.
Onestar inclined his head. “I do know what you have sacrificed—or what you think you have,” he meowed. “But if you w
ere sincerely a WindClan cat above all else, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into that situation. And once you had, you would have accepted why it needed to end. You would not still be bitter about it.”
Full of rage and confusion, Crowfeather let his claws slide out and dig hard into the ground; he felt as if his blood were bubbling and his fur prickling. He didn’t know how to respond.
“You can go now,” Onestar told him with a dismissive wave of his tail. “Tonight, Kestrelflight will go to the half-moon meeting,” he added. “Perhaps StarClan will give him some guidance. And tomorrow I will send another patrol to see if we can find out what’s going on in the tunnels.”
Crowfeather waited until his fur had stopped prickling. Then he dipped his head respectfully to his Clan leader and stalked away. As he headed for the fresh-kill pile, he spotted Nightcloud and Breezepelt talking together. They broke off and raised their heads to watch him as he padded past, their eyes narrowed mistrustfully. Crowfeather thought of what Onestar had just said, about letting his anger go.
But I’m not ready to do that. Not yet.
Even more annoyed, Crowfeather seized a thrush from the pile and carried it away to the edge of the camp, far away from any other cat. He ate alone, in swift, angry bites.
I’ve given everything to my Clan, he thought resentfully. What more does Onestar want from me?
CHAPTER 2
Crowfeather chased a rabbit across the moor, reveling in the feeling of cold wind flowing through his fur, and the strength of his own muscles as they bunched and stretched to propel him effortlessly after his prey. He raced along so fast it felt as if his paws hardly touched the tough moorland grass.
A hole in a bank loomed up ahead, the entrance to one of the tunnels. The rabbit plunged into it, and without hesitating Crowfeather followed. He chased the rabbit down tunnels that twisted far more than he remembered, growing narrower and narrower until he could feel his fur brushing both sides in the blackness.