by Erin Hunter
“But how do we avoid grief?” Whitetail asked. “Our loss is all around us.”
“We look forward,” Onestar responded, his voice full of determination. Glancing across at Crowfeather, he added, “First we figure out what is really in the tunnels.”
Crowfeather looked back at his Clan leader and gave him a single nod. Even though they both shared doubts over Hootpaw’s claims of seeing ghost cats, Crowfeather knew that Onestar was happy to have a clear task. A patrol to establish the safety of their borders after the Great Battle might be just the thing that would restore calm to WindClan.
CHAPTER 3
“I think we should stick together in the tunnels,” Breezepelt announced as the patrol headed down the hill. “Who knows what might be lurking in there?”
How stupid! Crowfeather’s neck fur rose with his annoyance. “Do you have bees in your brain?” he asked harshly. “How can we possibly expect to search the whole tunnel system if we stick together? No, we’ll have to split up into smaller groups.”
Breezepelt glared at him, seeming about to defend himself, then turned away abruptly and bounded off down the hill, leaving the rest of the patrol behind. Too late, Crowfeather felt a twinge of regret, realizing that his son had probably suggested that they should stay together because he was afraid. But it was still mouse-brained.
“Did you have to be so brutal?” Nightcloud asked, echoing his thoughts as she came to pad alongside Crowfeather.
“Oh, who’s that? You’re speaking to me now, are you, Nightcloud?” Crowfeather retorted, not sure whether he was pleased or annoyed. “I didn’t realize. You’ve barely said a word to me since the Great Battle.”
Nightcloud let out an irritated sigh. “I didn’t have anything to say before. I do now.”
Crowfeather rolled his eyes. “Well, this should be good. Go on, then. I’m listening.”
“Surely you’ve seen how the other warriors behave toward Breezepelt?” Nightcloud continued, slowing her pace so that they dropped behind the rest of the patrol. “You need to set an example for the others, and start being kinder to him. How is the rest of the Clan going to accept him again if even his own father treats him like rotten prey?”
“It’s kind of hard to bond with a cat who only thinks of himself,” Crowfeather told Nightcloud, suppressing a sigh. “One who’s so quick to think that every cat is against him. One who is so stubborn he can’t even pretend he feels bad about the mistakes he’s made.”
“Really?” Nightcloud murmured. “That sounds awfully like another tom I know.”
That’s a load of badger droppings. Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with resentment at the comparison, though he knew that just as a cat could inherit the color of their parents’ eyes or fur, they were also likely to inherit parts of their personality and character.
Even so, neither Crowfeather nor Nightcloud was an angry, hateful cat. So how had their son turned out to be so angry all the time, always ready to fight? Where had Breezepelt’s hatred come from?
A chill ran through Crowfeather from ears to tail-tip. What if Breezepelt is simply an evil cat?
“Don’t you see how desperately Breezepelt wants approval from his Clanmates?” Nightcloud went on in a low and furious voice. “That must be because he feels so distant from his own father—a cat who is supposed to love him!”
Crowfeather glanced away, fearing that Nightcloud might see revealed on his face the thought that was running through his mind.
I’m not sure I can love Breezepelt like a son. I’m not sure if I ever did.
“I understand why it was no good between you and me,” Nightcloud continued. “You never loved me, and I couldn’t bind us together as a family.” Her voice caught, and she looked away for a moment. Then she turned back to him. “But that’s not important now. Breezepelt is what matters, and if his own father is so dismissive of him, so quick to bicker with him—well, it might give the rest of our Clanmates the impression that he can’t be trusted. And if that happens, and he still hasn’t been properly accepted back into the Clan, it might push him away again.” Her voice grew lower still, her fury fading into anxiety. “I couldn’t bear that. Could you?”
Crowfeather didn’t know how to respond. Nightcloud was right: Crowfeather hated to think that his son might even leave the Clan—or, worse, commit some act of treachery that would get him banished. But he couldn’t find the right words to respond to his former mate.
Nightcloud waited for a couple of heartbeats, then huffed out an exasperated breath and picked up her pace until she caught up with the others. Crowfeather trudged along at the rear of the patrol, wondering whether any cat would allow him to forgive Breezepelt on his own terms, and in his own time.
If I ever can forgive him.
At the foot of the hill Breezepelt waited beside the nearest tunnel entrance. Harespring led the rest of the patrol to join him, halted a tail-length away from the dark, gaping hole.
“We’ll stick together until we reach that cave where several passages lead off,” Harespring announced. “After that, we’ll split up. Crowfeather, you go with Heathertail. Nightcloud with Breezepelt. And Furzepelt, you’re with me.”
“What then?” Crowfeather asked.
“That depends on what we find,” the Clan deputy replied. “But we’ll meet back here at the entrance in . . . oh, in about the time it takes to do a dawn patrol. And may StarClan watch over us all.”
He turned and led the way with Furzepelt into the tunnels. Nightcloud and Breezepelt followed, leaving Crowfeather and Heathertail to bring up the rear.
Crowfeather padded along warily in the dimness. The tunnel stretched in front of them, wide and straight and lit by thin shafts of light that penetrated through chinks in the tunnel roof. His paws quickly started sticking to the damp and sandy floor, and he shivered as the raw cold probed into his pelt.
Opening his jaws to taste the air, Crowfeather couldn’t pick up any scents except for his own and his Clanmates’, and of moist moss and the occasional clump of fern growing from cracks in the rock. All he could hear was the sound of their own paw steps and their soft breath. But even though there seemed to be no danger, Crowfeather couldn’t stop his shoulder fur from rising. Uncomfortably, he remembered his glimpse of something white, and his dream of Ashfoot.
It seems quiet and safe, but I know there’s something down here. . . .
The patrol did not take long to reach the cave Harespring had mentioned, its roof a mesh of interlacing tree roots. From here, several passages led off into darkness. Crowfeather knew that each of the tunnels sloped steeply downward, farther into the ground, and stifled a shiver at the thought of the weight of all that soil and rock above his head.
“This is where we split up,” Harespring announced. “Be careful, all of you.”
Breezepelt’s back was arched and his eyes were wide as Nightcloud began walking into one of the passages, but he held his head high and padded purposefully after her. Crowfeather thought that he was handling his fear well.
Heathertail beckoned Crowfeather with a jerk of her head. “Let’s go this way.”
Who died and made you Heatherstar? Crowfeather almost objected to being ordered around by a younger warrior who had once been his apprentice, but he decided it wasn’t worth it. He followed the tabby she-cat without comment.
Almost at once the light died away behind them and they padded along in complete darkness. Crowfeather pricked his ears, straining to hear the slightest sound from the passage ahead, and kept his jaws parted, tasting the air for the weird scent they had picked up outside on the day before. But at first there was nothing.
A flow of colder air told Crowfeather that they were passing a side tunnel, and from that direction he picked up the faint sound of lapping water.
“Is that the underground river we can hear?” he asked Heathertail, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.
“Oh, no, we’re not nearly deep enough for that.” Heathertail’s voice was cheerful and c
onfident. “Water often collects down there. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“You know your way around these tunnels very well,” Crowfeather remarked, impressed in spite of himself.
“Well . . .” There was a trace of guilt in Heathertail’s voice as she replied. “I often used to explore down here when I was an apprentice.”
“I never knew that!” Crowfeather’s pelt bristled with outrage. Back then he had felt Heathertail was a model apprentice, and now she was admitting she had done something that would have earned her tick duty for a whole moon if he had found out.
Heathertail let out a mrrow of laughter. “You weren’t supposed to know! You would have clawed my ears off.”
“You’re right. I would have. Now let’s get going.”
Crowfeather padded onward in the black night of the tunnels, his anxiety rising with every paw step. No star will ever shine here. Does that mean we are hidden from StarClan’s eyes? Once again he remembered his dream of Ashfoot, and how she hadn’t shone with the frosty glimmer of a StarClan warrior. Why hasn’t she gone to StarClan, where she belongs?
Farther and farther down they went, until Crowfeather began to pick up a new scent drifting on the dank air.
“What’s that?” he muttered.
He realized that Heathertail had halted when he blundered into her and felt her tail swipe across his face.
“It’s foul . . . like crow-food,” she mewed.
“It is crow-food,” Crowfeather decided after another sniff. “Something must be bringing prey into the tunnels and then leaving it to rot.”
“That’s mouse-brained!” Heathertail exclaimed. “What does that?”
“Not ghost cats, that’s for sure,” Crowfeather muttered. He wished he could take the lead, but the passage was too narrow for him to push past Heathertail, so he added, “Keep going. But be very careful.”
A few fox-lengths farther on, Crowfeather could tell from the echoing of their paw steps that they had emerged from the tunnel into a larger space. The stench of crow-food had grown and grown until it was almost overwhelming.
“Yuck!” Heathertail’s voice sounded as if she was going to be sick. “I’ve just stepped in something. It’s all slimy and horrible.”
“Something has been stockpiling prey here,” Crowfeather remarked. “So at least we know that there are animals in these tunnels. And whatever they are, they’re obviously not planning to move on anytime soon. There’s masses of prey.”
“And they’re going to eat it?” Even in the darkness Crowfeather could imagine the disgust on Heathertail’s face. “What sort of creature eats spoiled prey?” she asked again.
“I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to know,” Crowfeather responded grimly. “Let’s get back and report.”
But before they could do more than turn toward the tunnel they had entered by, Crowfeather heard a fierce snarling and a rush of pattering paw steps. The sounds were followed by a jolt of pressure on his pelt. Something barreled into him; his paws skidded on the slick surface of the rock, and he landed on his side with a thump that drove the breath out of his body. He felt his attacker’s weight pin him down before he could get to his paws, and then a burst of pain in his shoulder where sharp teeth sank into his fur and flesh.
Letting out a yowl, Crowfeather desperately lashed out with his hind legs. One paw hit something solid and he raked his claws, feeling them slash across a furry body. He heard a high-pitched screech from the creature that was attacking him, and it released its grip on his shoulder.
A growl sounded beside Crowfeather’s ear and he realized it was Heathertail, flinging herself into the battle.
“Got it!” she gasped. “It—” She broke off with a shriek of pain.
Crowfeather hurled himself in the direction of the sounds. His outstretched paws clamped down on a long, thin body, pinning it to the ground. It writhed under his claws, but for a moment he managed to hold it.
“Heathertail, are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine.” The answer came out of the darkness. “The fox dungeating mange-pelt bit my tail!”
As Heathertail spoke, the creature under Crowfeather’s paws gave a massive heave, throwing him off. For a moment he tottered, his paws sliding on something sticky and rank-smelling.
“Crowfeather, this way!” Heathertail’s voice was urgent. “We have to get out of here.”
“I’m with you.” Crowfeather stumbled after the sound of her paw steps and realized they had reentered the tunnel. For a few heartbeats he heard the skitter of claws on the tunnel floor as the animal followed them, and then the sound died away behind.
“Thank StarClan!” he panted.
He was thankful too for Heathertail’s knowledge of the tunnels; he would never have found his way out if he had been alone. Sooner than he would have thought possible he saw a faint light filtering down the passage, and he burst out after Heathertail into the first cave. Heartbeats later they emerged into the open air, to see the sun casting long shadows across the moor, and Harespring and Furzepelt waiting for them.
“What happened to you?” Furzepelt asked, her eyes stretching wide with amazement as Crowfeather and Heathertail padded up. Her nose wrinkled. “Great StarClan, you stink!”
“Thank you for that insight,” Crowfeather mewed dryly. “You would stink too if you’d been where we’ve been.”
“There was a cave full of crow-food,” Heathertail explained, and went on to describe the pile of rotting prey and the vicious creature they had encountered in the tunnels.
“What was it?” Harespring asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Crowfeather replied sourly. “We couldn’t see it, and we couldn’t smell anything but that disgusting prey-pile. But I can tell you one thing: It wasn’t a ghost cat. Not unless ghosts have teeth and claws.”
“You’re both hurt,” Harespring meowed, sniffing at the bite on Crowfeather’s shoulder. “Kestrelflight should have a look at that. You might need some burdock root.”
“I’ll see him as soon as we get back to camp,” Crowfeather agreed. “Did you find anything?” he asked Harespring.
The Clan deputy looked slightly embarrassed. “We got lost in the tunnels,” he admitted. “It took us a long time to find our way back to the entrance, and to be honest, once we did, we weren’t too keen on going back in. But we didn’t come across any animals—not even any ghost cats.”
“I wonder what Nightcloud and Breezepelt found,” Furzepelt mewed. “They should be back soon.”
The cats waited as the sun went down and twilight fell over the moor. They were too alert to sleep, but they remained in watchful silence as the wind swept through the trees and stars burned brightly against the darkening sky. It was a long time before Harespring shifted his paws uneasily. “They should be back by now. Maybe they got lost like we did.”
Anxiety prickled Crowfeather like a thorn as he remembered Breezepelt’s fear of the tunnels. I hope he didn’t panic and do something stupid.
Finally it was Heathertail who spoke, her blue eyes worried. “What if something has happened to them? What if they met the same creature that we did?”
“They’re both experienced warriors.” Harespring was trying to reassure her, although it was obvious that he felt just as uneasy. “They should be able to cope.”
“But they might—” Heathertail began, then broke off, flexing her claws and tearing at the springy moorland grass.
Each moment seemed to drag out like a moon. When he looked up, Crowfeather saw that all eyes were on him. He could not tell, though, if his Clanmates were waiting for him to suggest they should go after his son and former mate, or whether they expected him to go in by himself.
“Maybe . . . ,” Crowfeather suggested at last, “maybe we should go and look for them. Heathertail, you could lead us—”
A loud, terrified yowling interrupted him. Every cat spun around to stare at the tunnel entrance. A heartbeat later the yowl sounded again, and Breezepelt
exploded into the open from another entrance a few tail-lengths farther along the bank. His eyes were wide with fear, and every hair on his pelt was bristling.
Behind him Crowfeather saw what looked like some kind of white cloud surging from the tunnel entrance. But in the next heartbeat he realized the cloud was actually a pack of furious animals, snarling and hissing as they chased the fleeing Breezepelt. Their eyes glittered with malice as they poured out of the tunnel and up the slope after him. They weren’t ghosts or wayward kittypets. He’d never seen white ones before, but there was no mistaking the creatures that were about to overtake his son.
“Stoats!” Crowfeather gasped. Snow-white stoats!
CHAPTER 4
Briefly Crowfeather stood frozen in confusion. He’d never seen a white stoat before. But a moment later he had to push his astonishment aside. The crowd of stoats split in two, like a river breaking on a rock in midstream. Some of them still raced after Breezepelt, while the rest flung themselves at Crowfeather and his Clanmates, who remained still, stupefied by what they were seeing.
“Keep together!” Harespring’s yowl focused Crowfeather’s mind, and he tensed his body, ready to fight.
The stoats were smaller than the cats, but they were fast and nimble, their long, wiry bodies easily dodging the blows the cats aimed at them. Crowfeather found himself fighting beside Harespring, trying to drive the brutes back into the tunnels. But there were too many of them; when Crowfeather lashed out at one stoat, two or three others would hurl themselves at him, trying to climb onto his back or knock him off his paws. He knew that if he lost his balance and fell, he would not get up ever again. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of those thorn-sharp teeth meeting in his throat.
Now I know what it was that Heathertail and I fought in the tunnel!
After a few moments, Crowfeather lost sight of Harespring, and he had no idea where the rest of his Clanmates were. Occasionally a screech rose above the snarling and chittering of the stoats, but he couldn’t tell if they were cries of pain or of defiance. Blood was dripping from a scratch on his forehead, so he could hardly see.