by Erin Hunter
“Are you sure that will work?” Crowfeather asked. “Some cats are so determined to believe Breezepelt is guilty, Nightcloud herself could appear to all of them to tell them the truth, and they’d still have doubts,” he finished harshly, remembering how unfairly some of his Clanmates had treated Breezepelt. I treated him unfairly, too.
“Of course.” Kestrelflight twitched his whiskers. “The Great Battle has made life hard for all of us, and we all recover in our own way. Different cats make up different stories to explain what happened. But Breezepelt is still among us, and he wants to be a loyal WindClan cat, so his name must be cleared.” His eyes narrowed. “No WindClan cat will accuse me of lying—or at least they’d better not.”
“Thank you,” Crowfeather responded, impressed by the discovery of the young medicine cat’s more formidable side, and beginning to feel hopeful. It was reassuring, too, that another cat could feel the same way he did, and wanted to help. Maybe I have one friend, at least. And maybe for once we can take some good news back to our Clan.
When Crowfeather and Kestrelflight reached the last rocky slope up to the Moonpool, the other medicine cats were just ahead of them. As he scrambled up the rocks, Crowfeather was acutely conscious of the group of them staring down at him.
“What are you doing here?” Jayfeather demanded, glaring at Crowfeather as the two WindClan cats reached the row of bushes that edged the hollow of the Moonpool. “This place isn’t for warriors.”
“I’m not the first warrior to come here,” Crowfeather retorted, guessing that Jayfeather was angry with him for convincing him to lead Bramblestar into Onestar’s unjustified attack.
“And the others had good reason,” Jayfeather snapped. “What’s yours?”
Crowfeather felt awkward as he searched for an answer. He didn’t want to admit that Onestar had made an error in judgment. “Does it matter?” he asked eventually, wishing he could have a conversation with one of his sons without getting into an argument.
He wondered, too, what was the right way to be a loyal WindClan warrior. Do I just obey Onestar, as he seems to think, or do I speak up when I think he’s wrong?
“No, it really doesn’t,” Leafpool murmured in response to Crowfeather’s question, resting the tip of her tail lightly on Jayfeather’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re wasting moonlight.”
“Well, he’s not coming down to the pool,” Willowshine of RiverClan put in, giving Crowfeather a hostile stare. She was alone, Crowfeather noticed; for some reason Mothwing hadn’t come with her. “I’ll claw your pelt off if you try.”
Huh! Like you could! Crowfeather thought.
Littlecloud of ShadowClan shook his head testily. “We’re medicine cats,” he told Willowshine. “We don’t claw pelts. But she’s right,” he added to Crowfeather. “You stay here, outside the hollow.”
“Fine,” Crowfeather snapped. “I have no interest in your little get-together, so you can all relax. I’d rather be home sleeping, believe me.”
With a last huff of annoyance, Jayfeather turned and stalked up to the bushes, his scrawny frame slipping easily between the branches. Leafpool gave Crowfeather a sympathetic look as she followed, and Crowfeather dipped his head in return, no longer trying to explain. Leafpool always understood me.
Kestrelflight was the last of the cats to push his way through. “I won’t forget,” he promised Crowfeather before he disappeared.
Left alone, Crowfeather settled himself in the shelter of the bushes, his paws tucked under him while he looked out across the moon-washed landscape. He could see the dips and swells of the moor, and far away in the distance a dark mass that must be the forest. Behind him he could hear the soft splashing of a waterfall, and imagined the starlit cascade falling endlessly into the Moonpool. After a short while, he slept.
Once again he was in the tunnels, following Ashfoot, who whisked around the corners ahead of him in a swirl of pale light.
“What are you trying to tell me now?” he called after her. “Are you really here, or am I just dreaming?”
But Ashfoot didn’t reply. This time she led him out of the darkness and through a forest filled with translucent dawn mist. Dew-laden grass brushed at Crowfeather’s pelt and soaked it as he trod in his mother’s paw steps.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked Ashfoot.
His mother did not reply. Instead she halted at the top of a shallow dip in the ground, and waved Crowfeather on with a swish of her tail. Looking down into the hollow, Crowfeather recognized the pool at the bottom, surrounded by ferns, where he had found Nightcloud’s blood and her scent, almost overwhelmed by the reek of fox.
Horrified, Crowfeather turned back toward Ashfoot. “Why?”
But his mother had disappeared. Reluctantly, every step an effort, Crowfeather padded down toward the edge of the pool. Before he reached it, the fern fronds stirred slightly, and he saw that a cat was lying among them. A black she-cat, with blood pulsing from a wound in her side . . .
“Nightcloud . . . ,” he whispered.
Nightcloud raised her head to look at him, fury glaring from her eyes. “Don’t you see me?” she hissed. “Don’t you?”
Crowfeather jerked into wakefulness. His legs were shaking and his heart was pounding as if it was going to burst out of his chest. What does it mean? he asked himself. He heard an echo of Nightcloud’s words in his mind, and desperately tried to hold on to her fading image. Grief stabbed at him as they slipped away from him like water through his paws. Have I missed something?
The sound of paw steps and the murmuring voices of cats came from behind the barrier of bushes. Crowfeather sprang to his paws and gave his pelt a shake, desperate not to show how distraught he was. If I had to explain myself to Jayfeather . . .
His ThunderClan son was the first cat to emerge from the bushes. He swept one sightless glance across Crowfeather and then ignored him, leaping sure-pawed down the rocky slope. Leafpool followed, giving a polite dip of her head to Crowfeather, with Willowshine and Littlecloud after her.
Kestrelflight was the last to emerge. As soon as Crowfeather saw him, he knew that something had happened. The medicine cat was bristling with excitement, and his eyes shone like small moons.
“Did you find her?” Crowfeather demanded, stepping up to him.
Kestrelflight paused, checking that the other medicine cats were on their way home, well out of earshot. “Ashfoot or Nightcloud?” he asked.
“Either. Both.” But Ashfoot couldn’t be in StarClan, he reminded himself. She was just with me, here.
“Well, I didn’t see Ashfoot . . .” Kestrelflight was drawing out his news, almost teasingly. “But I found Barkface. And he said that Nightcloud isn’t anywhere in StarClan. That means that there must be hope for her!”
Crowfeather stared at him, briefly confused. He wondered, could Nightcloud be with Ashfoot, trapped between here and StarClan? Could she, too, be trying to tell him something? But then he realized that if that were true, Ashfoot would have told him long before. He had given up on Nightcloud too easily. She asked me, “Don’t you see me?” Is this what she meant?
Crowfeather’s grief gave way to a great surge of hope and optimism, like a massive wave carrying him away.
She’s alive!
CHAPTER 18
The sun was rising, shining palely through a thin covering of cloud, when Crowfeather staggered back into camp, exhausted after his trek across the moor and the excitement of discovering that Nightcloud might be alive.
Yawning and foggy from lack of sleep, Crowfeather’s first instinct was to look for Breezepelt. At last I have some good news to tell him! And if Nightcloud’s alive, we have to figure out why she hasn’t come back.
But as he headed for the warriors’ den, Crowfeather spotted a group of cats clustered around the medicine-cat den, and his ears pricked at the sound of their excited chatter. He exchanged a puzzled glance with Kestrelflight.
“That’s odd . . . ,” the medicine cat murmured. He bounded over
to join their Clanmates, and Crowfeather followed.
“What’s going on?” he asked Whitetail.
The small white elder turned to him with gleaming eyes. “Featherpaw is awake!” she purred.
A huge wave of relief surged through Crowfeather. “That’s great news!” he exclaimed.
Kestrelflight had already vanished into his den. Crowfeather thrust his way through the crowd of cats until he came to the entrance. As he reached it, the medicine cat reappeared in the cleft, looking pleased and harassed at the same time.
“No, you can’t come in,” he meowed, speaking in general to all his Clanmates. “Featherpaw is going to be fine, but she needs rest and quiet. Go hunt, or kill a few stoats or something, but don’t hang around here.”
Crowfeather was about to withdraw again, then halted as Kestrelflight spotted him and beckoned him with a wave of his tail. “You can come in, Crowfeather,” he mewed. “She wants to see you.”
Crowfeather was aware of one or two disapproving hisses as he slipped into the den behind Kestrelflight, but he ignored them. He felt too happy to start a quarrel with any Clanmate. I got Featherpaw into this mess, and she still wants to see me!
Sedgewhisker and Emberfoot were crouching beside the apprentice’s nest, relief and excitement in their eyes. They rose to their paws as Kestrelflight entered, leading Crowfeather. Sedgewhisker bent her head over her daughter and murmured, “We’ll fetch you some fresh-kill and a nice clump of wet moss.” She and Emberfoot slipped past Crowfeather; to his relief, they didn’t notice him as he drew back into the shadows beside the den wall.
When they had left, Crowfeather padded forward to see Featherpaw lying in her nest of moss and bracken; she raised her head and blinked sleepily at Crowfeather as he approached.
“Featherpaw, I’m so sorry I put you in danger,” Crowfeather mewed, crouching down beside her.
His apprentice’s eyes stretched wider at his words. “But you didn’t!” she protested. “I don’t remember much of what happened, but I know it wasn’t your fault. Hootpaw and I and the others decided we wanted to be in the battle. You didn’t force us to do anything.”
“But I’m your mentor. I shouldn’t have told you to be so aggressive. I put you in danger, and—”
“No,” Featherpaw interrupted. “That was just advice, and it was good advice. The other apprentices and I made the choice to join in the battle. We were angry at being left out, and when we got there, we thought the stoats didn’t look so threatening—but we were wrong. You’re the best mentor in all the Clans!”
I wish that were true, Crowfeather thought. “I’m just glad you’re going to be okay,” he mewed huskily, touching his nose to hers.
Featherpaw closed her eyes and let out a drowsy sigh. “I’ll be fine.”
Crowfeather crept quietly away; as he left the den, he came face to face with Sedgewhisker and Emberfoot returning. Sedgewhisker was carrying a plump mouse, while Emberfoot had a bundle of dripping moss.
Feeling awkward, Crowfeather stepped back, but this time there was no avoiding them in the narrow opening. He braced himself for Featherpaw’s parents to blame him again for her injuries. Then he realized that they looked just as uncomfortable, clearly finding it hard to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry, Crowfeather,” Sedgewhisker mewed, setting down her prey. “We were too hard on you before.”
“I deserved it,” Crowfeather responded with a dip of his head. “Part of it, at least.”
“No cat could have deserved what we said to you,” Sedgewhisker insisted. “It’s just that she’s our kit, and we were so worried. . . .”
“I understand,” Crowfeather reassured her. “I care about her, and I’m just her mentor. I can only imagine how you felt.” As he spoke, he saw the deep concern and caring in the eyes of Featherpaw’s parents, and realized again how long he had withheld that from his own son.
A bright image flashed into his mind, of Breezepelt bumbling around the camp as a kit, falling over his own paws and chasing his tail. He had been so lovable, so vulnerable, and Crowfeather remembered how intensely he had wanted to protect him. But he had held back from loving him as a father should. I was afraid to love any cat.
Emberfoot’s voice drew him out of the memory. “I know you do your best to train Featherpaw,” the gray tom was meowing, speaking with difficulty around his mouthful of wet moss. “If you could just . . . in the future . . . be a bit more careful?”
Crowfeather felt a twinge of annoyance. I tried to be careful! And apprentices have to learn. But he remembered in time that Emberfoot was a father who had just nearly lost his kit. He could understand that, after his fear for Lionblaze in the Great Battle, or for Breezepelt wounded by the stoats. He responded in a heartfelt tone, “I would never want any more harm to come to Featherpaw. From now on, I’ll do everything I can to protect her.”
Emberfoot gave him an approving nod, and the two cats headed into the den to see their daughter.
Turning away, Crowfeather spotted Breezepelt with Weaselfur and Larkwing, padding over to the fresh-kill pile, their jaws loaded with prey. At last! Crowfeather thought. I can’t wait to see Breezepelt’s face when I tell him about Nightcloud!
He waited until the other two warriors had moved away before joining Breezepelt and beckoning him over to a quiet corner behind the nursery.
“What now?” Breezepelt asked, sounding surprised.
Crowfeather took a deep breath, remembering what Kestrelflight had told him the night before. He hoped Breezepelt wouldn’t get his hopes up too much, imagining that they would discover where Nightcloud went and bring her home: It would crush him so badly if his mother turned out to be dead after all.
“You know I went with Kestrelflight to the Moonpool last night?” he meowed. Breezepelt nodded. “Kestrelflight said that he would look for Nightcloud in StarClan, and . . . she isn’t there. That could mean she’s alive!”
Breezepelt took in a sharp, gasping breath, but for a moment he didn’t say anything. Crowfeather couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“I truly thought she was gone,” he explained, assuming his son would be angry that he hadn’t searched harder. “I’m sorry . . . I’m still not entirely sure what it means, but I didn’t mean to make you grieve unnecessarily.”
Breezepelt shook his head, and Crowfeather realized that he was more confused than angry. “No . . . that’s okay.” He met his father’s gaze, and Crowfeather saw hope begin to creep into his eyes. “I’m just glad we might still find her. This isn’t about us, Crowfeather. It’s about saving Nightcloud.”
Crowfeather nodded, impressed by his son’s mature reaction. “I’ve been thinking about it, and if she’s alive,” he began, “there has to be some reason she isn’t coming back to us. She’s the most loyal WindClan cat there ever was. Suppose she’s trapped, or in danger? We need to start searching for her again, together.”
Breezepelt licked one forepaw thoughtfully and drew it over his ear. “We had a hard enough time looking for her before. Where do you suggest we start?”
“We’ll have to go back to the spot on ThunderClan territory where I found her blood,” Crowfeather replied.
Breezepelt let out a snort. “That should please Bramblestar!”
“Well, I don’t intend to ask for Bramblestar’s permission,” Crowfeather mewed dryly. “Anyway, if she made it out of the tunnels and we haven’t found her—it must have been over there.”
“But it’s been a half-moon since then. Won’t her scent have faded by now?”
“Maybe not.” Crowfeather hadn’t thought about that before. Afraid that his son was right, he struggled with disappointment, then braced himself, trying hard to sound optimistic. “It hasn’t rained since then. Anyway, it’s the best chance we have. Let’s go talk to Onestar.”
Crowfeather led the way across the camp toward Onestar’s den and spotted the Clan leader just outside, in conversation with Harespring. As Crowfeather and Breezepelt approached, Harespring g
ave a brisk nod and bounded away toward the warriors’ den.
“Well?” Onestar asked, turning toward Crowfeather. “What mouse-brained idea have you gotten into your head this time?”
Crowfeather was aware that his leader still hadn’t forgiven him for going to ask ThunderClan to help. His tone was icy and his eyes narrowed, irritable. This is the worst possible time to ask him for a favor, Crowfeather thought worriedly.
The Clan leader listened without comment as Crowfeather repeated his story of what Kestrelflight had discovered at the Moonpool, and his intention to go with Breezepelt to search for Nightcloud.
“Do you have bees in your brain, Crowfeather?” Onestar asked when he had finished. “You really think this is the right time to go trespassing on ThunderClan territory?”
“Yes—if it’s the only way to find Nightcloud—” Breezepelt began desperately, before Crowfeather could respond.
Onestar lashed his tail dismissively. “I care about Nightcloud too,” he meowed. “But she’s been missing for a long time, and you don’t really know where to look.”
“We’ll start with the last place I found her scent,” Crowfeather mewed, his expression grim. Breezepelt stood beside him, eyeing Onestar expectantly. For that moment, at least, they were a united front. Onestar looked back and forth between the two of them and finally sighed in surrender.
“Okay, I won’t stop you trying, but it will have to wait. Today we have more urgent matters to deal with.” He glared at Crowfeather. “As usual, you have to be reminded to put your Clan’s needs above your own.”
“What urgent matters?” Crowfeather asked, ignoring Onestar’s jibe. He had accepted that Onestar would be angry with him for a long time to come, but that didn’t mean that Clan business would come to a halt.
“Have you forgotten the stoats?” Onestar asked, a sarcastic edge to his voice. “Or the conversation with Bramblestar yesterday?”