by Erin Hunter
Crowfeather met Breezepelt’s gaze, unsure of what he was hoping to find there. Support? Maybe sympathy? Or does he agree with the others? He’s never been shy about letting me know how frustrated he is with me.
But Breezepelt showed nothing of what he was thinking, lowering his head to look at the ground while he scuffled his forepaws on the earth floor of the den.
“My den isn’t the right place for this argument,” Kestrelflight declared. While the others had been talking, he had poulticed the wound on Featherpaw’s back and plastered cobweb all over it to hold the herbs in place. “I want you all to leave and give Featherpaw some peace and quiet.”
“No—I want to stay with her!” Sedgewhisker objected.
“But she needs to rest,” Kestrelflight pointed out. “If you stay, she’ll only try to get up and prove what a brave warrior she is.”
“He’s right,” Emberfoot meowed, padding up to Sedgewhisker and nudging her to her paws. “Come on. Kestrelflight will let us know as soon as Featherpaw wakes up.”
“Of course I will,” Kestrelflight promised.
Reluctantly Sedgewhisker allowed her mate to coax her out of the den. Breezepelt and Hootpaw followed. Crowfeather brought up the rear after one last long look at Featherpaw’s inert form.
Outside the den, Harespring had returned with the rest of the warriors. He was assembling the wounded, picking out the ones with the worst injuries for Kestrelflight to see first.
“How is Featherpaw?” Gorsetail asked.
Crowfeather shook his head. “Not good,” he admitted.
“And why was she even there?” Crouchfoot added. “I thought the apprentices were forbidden from taking part in the battle.”
“They were. They disobeyed,” Crowfeather responded. “But I did tell Featherpaw to be assertive,” he added reluctantly.
Shocked exclamations rose from the crowd of warriors; Leaftail’s voice rose above the rest. “I can’t believe you’d say that to an apprentice right before a battle! You couldn’t have encouraged them more if you’d sharpened their claws yourself.”
Crowfeather felt the accusing glances of his Clanmates like a whole gorse bush full of thorns driving into his pelt.
They’re right. I made the wrong decisions at nearly every turn. But there’s one thing I wasn’t wrong about. The threat in the tunnels can’t be ignored.
“There’s something I want to say,” he announced, raising his voice to be heard above the murmurs and pain-filled mews of the crowd of cats.
Harespring turned toward him. “Go on, say it, then,” he ordered curtly.
“Maybe I expressed it wrong,” Crowfeather meowed. “But I wasn’t wrong that the apprentices—and all of us—need to be brave and assertive. Have you all forgotten Kestrelflight’s vision? The dark water that emerged from the tunnels, whipped by the wind, fierce enough to swamp WindClan and ThunderClan—maybe ShadowClan and RiverClan too? Suppose that we don’t manage to deal with this stoat problem, and something else follows them? What if the Clans are so tired and wounded from fighting with the stoats that we don’t have the strength to handle another threat?”
Hootpaw’s fur bushed out as he stood in front of Crowfeather with alarm in his eyes. “What are you saying?” he demanded, seeming to forget that he was an apprentice talking to a senior warrior. “That there’s going to be another battle? That the Dark Forest cats will return?”
“No, I’m not saying that,” Crowfeather responded, trying to reassure Hootpaw. “Because I don’t know for sure. But there must be a reason Kestrelflight had that dream. And what worries me is that a new conflict—maybe a threat from outside, maybe trouble within the Clan—is going to fall over us like the shadows in the tunnels, and maybe wash us away like a great flood.”
Some cat in the crowd muttered, “He’s got bees in his brain,” but Crowfeather ignored the insult.
The idea he needed was in Crowfeather’s mind like an elusive piece of prey. So close, but always just out of reach . . . “I know there’s an answer there,” he mewed. “I can feel it.”
The cats gathered around Crowfeather were exchanging dubious glances, as if none of them believed what he was trying to tell them. To Crowfeather’s surprise, Breezepelt was the first to speak.
“I think you could be right,” he began. It surprised Crowfeather even more that Breezepelt, of all cats, was on his side. “After all, there were two waves in the vision. The wind defeated the first one, but the second one overwhelmed everything. So do you think getting rid of the stoats will ward off this bigger threat?” His tone was thoughtful, as if he was taking his father’s worries seriously. “How do you think we can do that? There were so many of them in the battle, and there must be more of them lurking in the tunnels. We’ll be outnumbered, and they know the tunnels much better than we do. It’s not easy to lure them out into the open.”
Crowfeather nodded. “That’s true.” He paused for a moment, uncertain of how to respond to his son, though the idea he needed to capture was still lurking at the back of his mind. Maybe I should treat it like cunning prey, he thought. Pretend to ignore it, and trick it into overconfidence . . .
Then, like a stoat peering out of the shadows, the thought emerged into the light. And like the stoats, what I have to say won’t be welcome. He took a deep breath. “If we’re going to succeed in wiping out the stoats and clearing the tunnels,” he meowed, “we’re going to need help. We’re going to need ThunderClan.”
Murmurs of dismay arose from the cats clustered around him. One voice rang out above them, from somewhere behind Crowfeather. “Absolutely not!”
Turning, Crowfeather saw that Onestar had padded up to join his warriors, and was glaring at him with cold disapproval.
“Crowfeather, I can’t believe you would even suggest we turn to ThunderClan,” he growled. “WindClan can handle itself. What’s happened here is none of ThunderClan’s business. There’s no way I’m going to allow the other Clans to find out that we’re vulnerable right now. Firestar was always meddling in our business,” he added. “I don’t want to set that precedent with Bramblestar, or soon ThunderClan will be sticking their noses into all our problems.”
“And especially if we can’t even trust all the cats in our own Clan,” Leaftail mewed, with a nasty look at Breezepelt.
Even before Leaftail had finished speaking, Heathertail whipped around to glare at her Clanmate. “How dare you say that!” she hissed. “Breezepelt was the first to kill one of the stoats. You should be grateful.”
Leaftail’s only response was a disdainful flick of his tail.
“I don’t need you to defend me,” Breezepelt informed Heathertail, fur rising all along his spine. “In fact,” he added, his cold stare raking across his Clanmates, “I don’t need any of you.”
Heathertail’s eyes widened in shock and hurt at Breezepelt’s response. Crowfeather was surprised, too, when Heathertail had done nothing but defend his son. He knew that Breezepelt was just lashing out in anger and frustration, but he guessed that when he calmed down, he would regret snapping at Heathertail. She was one of the only true friends he had in the Clan.
“Traitor!” Crouchfoot yowled as the clamor continued.
More yowls rose from the assembled cats, most of them accusing Breezepelt, though a few tried to make themselves heard in his defense. With bristling pelts and claws sliding out, the cats were heartbeats away from attacking one another. Weaselfur pushed past Crowfeather, almost knocking him off his paws, as he squared up to Leaftail, his lips drawn back in a snarl.
Crowfeather could do nothing but stand in dismay as he watched his beloved Clan falling apart before his eyes.
“That’s enough!” Onestar’s caterwaul rose above the outcry. “Sheathe your claws!” As the warriors turned toward him, he added, “Don’t you think the stoats would enjoy seeing us fight among ourselves?”
Crowfeather crept off into the medicine-cat den. The sounds of argument faded away as Onestar got control of his Clan and,
with Harespring’s help, sent the uninjured warriors out on hunting patrols. Crowfeather didn’t want to be chosen.
I’m sure every cat would rather chew off their own tail than patrol with me.
“Do you mind if I stay in here for a while?” he asked Kestrelflight. “I could help you watch Featherpaw.”
To Crowfeather’s surprise, Kestrelflight gave him a sympathetic glance. He must be the only cat who doesn’t think I’m a waste of space.
“That would be a real help,” Kestrelflight replied. “I’ve been sorting out the herbs I need to treat the other injuries, but I don’t want to leave Featherpaw alone. Can you stay with her until I get back?”
“Sure.”
Kestrelflight padded out of the den with a leaf wrap of herbs in his jaws. Left alone with Featherpaw, Crowfeather settled down beside her nest and lowered his head to give her a sniff. Though she was still unconscious, the clean tang of comfrey and marigold was stronger than the scent of blood, and her breathing seemed to be deeper and steadier than before.
Crowfeather wanted to speak to her, but guilt made the words stick in his throat. I’ve failed her, just like I failed Breezepelt.
“Featherpaw, I’m so sorry I encouraged you to go into danger,” he mewed at last. “I should have been more careful with what I said to you, and as soon as I saw you out there by the tunnels, I should have sent you straight back to camp. But I never thought everything would go so wrong, so quickly.”
His mind drifted back to his sense that some greater threat was looming over the Clans, and that the only way to deal with the stoats was to involve ThunderClan. But Onestar won’t hear of it, he thought resentfully. He’d hoped that, after the Great Battle, the Clans would realize they needed one another more than ever. Instead it felt like they were even more divided.
And what about WindClan? he wondered. There’s not only fighting between the Clans . . . there’s fighting within, too. Was WindClan doomed to tear itself apart with arguments? Could they ever work together when so few cats trusted Breezepelt?
“And then there’s Breezepelt himself,” he murmured aloud. “What’s going to happen to him?”
He wondered if Breezepelt could ever get over his anger and hurt at the events of the Great Battle. Will the Great Battle haunt us always?
Crouched in the quiet of the medicine-cat den, Crowfeather felt sleep stealing up on him. The stress of the battle, Featherpaw’s injuries, and the quarrels among the Clan had sapped his strength. His own wounds, even though they were minor compared to Featherpaw’s, stung as if a whole swarm of bees were attacking him. Crowfeather struggled against sleep for a while, then curled up even closer to Featherpaw so that if she moved she would rouse him, and let himself slip into darkness.
Instantly Crowfeather found himself running through the tunnels, faster and more confidently than he ever had in the waking world. A pale gray light just ahead of him told him that Ashfoot was there, though at first he couldn’t see her.
“Wait for me!” he called out to her. “Why do you keep doing this?”
Then an even brighter light shone in front of Crowfeather. He burst out into the open and saw that he had reached a forest clearing. A full moon was overhead, shedding a silver light over the trees and bushes, and stars blazed down through gaps in the branches. A small pool in the center of the clearing looked as if it was made of liquid starlight.
Fear and wonder shivered through Crowfeather until he felt as if his blood were turning to ice. Where am I? he asked himself. The full moon alone told him that this wasn’t the world he lived in when he was awake. Yet he knew that only medicine cats were allowed to enter StarClan before they died.
“Crowfeather?” His mother’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “Why are you standing there gaping as if you expect prey to come and fly into your jaws?”
Now Crowfeather spotted Ashfoot sitting in the shadow of an arching clump of ferns. He padded over to her, hardly feeling as if his paws were his own.
“What is this place?” he asked hoarsely.
Ashfoot gave an impatient twitch of her whiskers. “It’s your dream, mouse-brain,” she responded.
“Then why have you brought me here?”
“I’m still trying to make you see sense,” Ashfoot told him. “And since you won’t listen to me, I’ve brought a friend.”
A rustling came from the bushes behind Crowfeather. He spun around, his pelt prickling with apprehension. He stared as the undergrowth parted and a silver tabby she-cat stepped into the open. Her plumy tail was raised high, and her blue eyes glowed with love for him.
“Greetings, Crowfeather,” she mewed.
“Feathertail!” Crowfeather breathed out. Astonishment and disbelief gripped him like giant claws, and the ache of loss awoke again in his heart. “Is it really you?”
The last time he had seen the beautiful RiverClan she-cat had been in the mountains, in the cave where the Tribe lived. There she had leaped to the cave roof and gripped a pointed stone until it had given way and plummeted downward to drive into the heart of Sharptooth, the ferocious lion-cat. But Feathertail had fallen with it; her courageous action had cost her her life.
She saved the Tribe, and she saved me. Oh, Feathertail . . . I loved you so much!
Crowfeather stood still, stunned by shock, while Feathertail padded forward, twined her tail with his, and nuzzled him affectionately. He could feel the warmth of her pelt and taste her sweet scent as it wreathed around him. He could hardly believe that this was only a dream.
“I’ve missed you,” he choked out.
“I’ve missed you, too.” Feathertail took a pace back and looked deeply into Crowfeather’s eyes. “But you’re not quite the same cat that I knew back then.”
“What do you mean?” Crowfeather asked.
“You remember that I’m in both StarClan and the Tribe of Endless Hunting,” Feathertail meowed. “The Tribe has given me permission to come and speak to you. I’ve been watching you, and I’m troubled by what I’ve seen.”
“What do you mean?” Crowfeather asked.
“I’ve seen how you are with Breezepelt,” Feathertail replied. “The Crowfeather I knew had so much love to give. Why have you been withholding love from your own son?”
Crowfeather turned his head sharply to gaze at Ashfoot. “Are you ganging up on me now?”
Ashfoot shrugged. “I had to make you see . . . and I knew she was the one cat you would always listen to.”
With a long sigh, Crowfeather turned back to Feathertail. “What you say is true,” he admitted. “I’ve tried to set things right with Breezepelt, but I’m worried that it’s too late. Everything went wrong between us because of what I did—or didn’t do—when Breezepelt was just an apprentice, and I can’t go back in time, however much I might want to. Now Breezepelt is still troubled. What more can I do?”
Feathertail blinked at him affectionately. “You can accept Breezepelt for who he is.”
“I’ll try,” Crowfeather promised. “But right now, keeping the Clan safe is the most important task for every cat. I know we need ThunderClan’s help to clear the stoats out of the tunnels, but Onestar just won’t see that.”
Feathertail’s blue eyes sparkled with sympathy. “Then there’s only one thing you can do,” she mewed. “Be true to yourself.”
Crowfeather’s whiskers twitched in surprise. “If I were being true to myself . . . I suppose I would go to Leafpool,” he murmured. But would Feathertail really suggest going to the only cat he had loved after her—and disobeying his Clan leader to do it? “Should I go behind Onestar’s back?” he asked.
Feathertail stared at him intensely. “Crowfeather . . . ,” she began, but her voice trailed off.
“Leafpool would be able to persuade Bramblestar that it’s for the good of ThunderClan to help me,” Crowfeather went on as the pieces came together in his mind. “And once I get rid of the threat, Onestar won’t care how I did it.”
Ashfoot leaned forward. “Crow
feather . . . the Clan is what matters. You must put the good of the Clan above everything else.”
Her voice faded on the last few words, and the brilliant moonlight in the clearing began to fade too. Before darkness fell, the last things Crowfeather saw were Feathertail’s eyes, as warm and blue as the sky in greenleaf.
Crowfeather blinked awake in the dim light of the medicine-cat den. Featherpaw was still unconscious beside him, and Feathertail and Ashfoot were gone, but their words remained fresh in his thoughts. He rose to his paws and arched his back in a good long stretch.
Sedgewhisker was right, he thought. I haven’t really been present since the Great Battle, not for my Clan. Even though I’m not deputy, I seem to be the only cat who can see reason. It’s time for me to put my Clan first.
Now Crowfeather knew what he had to do.
CHAPTER 16
Crowfeather slipped through the undergrowth in the wooded area at the edge of WindClan territory. He didn’t like the damp sensation of moist earth under his pads, or the feeling of being closed in by branches above his head. He longed for the springy sensation of moorland grass, and the feeling of cold wind in his whiskers as he raced across the hillside.
No wonder ThunderClan cats are so weird, when they live in the forest all the time!
On leaving camp, Crowfeather had considered cutting through the tunnels to reach ThunderClan territory, his paws and fur itching with the urge to kill a few stoats on the way. But if I tried that, I might never come out on the other side, he realized.
As he headed for the border stream, Crowfeather seemed to hear Kestrelflight’s voice. A wild wind kicked up and drove the water back. But eventually the wind dropped, and the water kept on rushing and gushing . . . until it swallowed up everything. The image the medicine cat had spoken of was so vivid that Crowfeather felt that he could see the restless waves for himself, almost as if the vision had been his, a special message sent to him from StarClan.
After everything that had happened since, particularly how Nightcloud and Breezepelt had suffered so much from the stoats in the tunnels where the floodwater came from, Crowfeather couldn’t shake off the feeling that somehow the responsibility for fixing this problem rested on his shoulders.