by Erin Hunter
No, how could I? Crowfeather reflected bitterly. I thought I was the only one who worried about them. That’s why I went to ThunderClan in the first place.
“We have to get rid of the stoats before they cause ThunderClan to meddle even more,” his Clan leader went on. “That might be what Kestrelflight’s vision meant. After all, the dark water emerged from our end of the tunnels, which meant it could have come from ThunderClan, right? What if the vision was warning us to be suspicious of our closest neighbors? Maybe their new leader, Bramblestar, is the biggest threat to us. Maybe the engulfing water means that ThunderClan will take over our territory and drive us out.”
And maybe our Clan leader can’t see beyond the end of his own whiskers, Crowfeather thought sourly. I know ThunderClan is annoying, but would they really attack us now, so soon after the Great Battle? Sure, they might—and hedgehogs might fly!
Once again, Crowfeather felt himself being tugged apart. As a loyal warrior, should he follow his leader unquestioningly, or speak his mind if he thought the leader was wrong? Mindful that he wasn’t Onestar’s favorite cat right now, he struggled to listen in silence as Onestar continued.
“This is our plan: We’re going to block up the tunnel entrances with twigs, rocks, and brush—anything we can find.”
Crowfeather cringed. That wouldn’t even make sense if the stoats were our only problem.
“It’ll be a tough project, and we’ll need every warrior to help,” Onestar added with a hard glare at Crowfeather and Breezepelt, “but it’s the best way to deal with the stoats—and it will stop ThunderClan using the tunnels to spy on us.”
“That’s the most mouse-brained plan I’ve ever heard!” some cat exclaimed, and Crowfeather realized with horror that it had been him. His disgust at what he had just heard must have driven out all thoughts of being tactful, or of not getting deeper into trouble with Onestar. Well, it’s too late to take it back now. He took in a breath and went on, “Haven’t you thought it through at all?”
“Thought it through?” Onestar repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. “Maybe I haven’t. Give us the benefit of your wisdom, Crowfeather.”
Crowfeather flicked his ear, uncomfortable. It seemed clear that calling Onestar’s plan mouse-brained hadn’t been exactly . . . sensible. Breezepelt was staring at him, wide-eyed with shock, and one or two other cats were drifting toward them, drawn by the sudden tension and the way Onestar’s fur was lifting all along his spine.
But I can’t stop now. I have to tell him what I think!
“Blocking the entrances probably won’t stop the stoats,” Crowfeather continued. “They’ll just push the blockages away from the inside. Or, if they don’t, they’ll be driven out to hunt on ThunderClan’s side—and how do you think Bramblestar will react to that?”
Onestar swiped his tongue over his jaws as if he had just swallowed a succulent bit of prey. “That’s the best part of the plan,” he purred. “I’m just in the mood to send Bramblestar a little present. Let’s see how he likes stoats marauding all over his territory.”
“Then you’re even more mouse-brained than I thought,” Crowfeather meowed roughly. “And if no other cat is prepared to tell you that, I will. Trouble with ThunderClan is the last thing we want right now. I don’t think StarClan wants any of the Clans to treat each other as enemies.”
“So you’re a medicine cat all of a sudden?” Onestar asked, his voice still deceptively calm, contrasted with his bristling fur and glaring eyes. “How lucky I am to have you to advise me!”
“I don’t need to be a medicine cat to know that you’re leading our Clan into danger,” Crowfeather snapped. “Bramblestar came to offer ThunderClan’s help—and StarClan knows we need it—but instead you turned him down and insulted him, and now you’re looking for ways to antagonize them. We should be making ThunderClan our ally!”
Onestar drew his lips back into a snarl. Faced with his fury, it was all Crowfeather could do not to take a step backward.
“Very well, Crowfeather,” he growled. “I’ve warned you, over and over, and I’m not warning you again. If you like ThunderClan so much, you can go and look for Nightcloud on their territory. In fact, go wherever you want—just not here. I don’t want to see you in WindClan!”
“What?” For a moment Crowfeather felt unsteady on his paws, as if some creature had hurled a rock at him. “Am I . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to complete the question out loud. Am I being banished?
“Do I have to repeat myself?” Onestar hissed. “I think you need some time alone to think about what makes a loyal warrior, Crowfeather. And until you do, I don’t want you in our camp and on our territory. For the next quarter moon . . . you are not a WindClan cat! Take some time and think about your actions. When you think you’ve figured out where you went wrong, you may request my permission to return.”
So I am being banished? Crowfeather swallowed hard, barely able to believe this was happening. But not really banished. Only for a few days . . . He looked around and found himself in the middle of a crowd of bewildered, staring cats. But to come back, I’ll have to grovel, he realized. Onestar wants to make me swallow my pride.
He noticed that Breezepelt, at the front of the group, looked shocked out of his fur, his eyes wide and his pelt bristling.
Some cat speak up for me, Crowfeather begged silently. You know I’m loyal . . . I’m WindClan through and through! I’ve given up so much for this Clan! Tell him! Tell him he’s being unreasonable!
But no cat spoke. It seemed that no cat was willing to risk Onestar’s ire . . . not for Crowfeather.
Not even Breezepelt, Crowfeather thought ruefully. And just as I thought we might be getting closer. He’s probably glad to get a break from me.
As his shock faded, anger settled over Crowfeather. Well, nice try, Onestar! If this is a battle of wills, I’m sure mine is stronger. I’m not going to apologize when I’m right. . . .
He braced himself, meeting Onestar’s furious gaze with his head held high.
“Permission to return!” he snapped. “Ha! If WindClan doesn’t need me, then I don’t need WindClan.”
He turned, thrust his way through the crowd, and stalked up the slope toward the edge of the camp.
No cat called him back.
CHAPTER 19
Walking without thinking, Crowfeather headed across the moor toward the border stream that divided WindClan territory from ThunderClan. The early morning sun had vanished; clouds were massing above the hills, gray and heavy, and so low they almost seemed to skim the top of the pile of memorial stones.
As he drew closer to the stream, Crowfeather tried to recover from his shock and think this through. Where should I go? He stopped. Where does a cat with no Clan go? If I ever wanted to try my luck with another Clan, I suppose this would be my chance. . . .
For a moment he imagined himself crossing into ThunderClan territory, heading for their camp, and offering himself to Bramblestar as a ThunderClan warrior.
Leafpool will be there. . . .
But it took only a few moments for Crowfeather to realize how stupid that would be. Leafpool hadn’t loved him for seasons, and if he was honest, his love for her had faded, too. If anything, he missed the way he had felt when he loved her—how young and foolish and hopeful they had been. Besides, asking the ThunderClan medicine cat to be his mate would be the quickest way to get himself banished from yet another Clan. Bramblestar won’t take kindly to my showing up, announcing my sudden loyalty to ThunderClan, and then taking one of their medicine cats.
It would never work. Besides, in ThunderClan he would have to deal with Lionblaze and Jayfeather, and StarClan alone knew how that relationship could be anything but a disaster.
Bramblestar probably wouldn’t want me . . . and I’m not a ThunderClan cat, he added, struggling not to feel sorry for himself. A hollow place seemed to open up inside him. I’ve been WindClan all my life. If I’m not a WindClan cat anymore, what am I?
Crowfeat
her reached the border stream and stood on the bank for a moment, unsure what to do. He bent his head and lapped the icy water, delaying for a few heartbeats the time he would have to move on. Then he turned and headed upward, away from the lake, away from ThunderClan, making for the open moor. He couldn’t stifle the memory of setting out from here with Leafpool, once, long ago, when he had believed that they could leave their Clans behind them and make a new life together.
I was so happy then.
But now all that was left to Crowfeather was bitterness. Leafpool had abandoned him to return to her Clan and her duty as a medicine cat. He had taken another mate, a cat of his own Clan, but he had never really loved Nightcloud, and his relationship with Breezepelt was clearly a mess. All that had remained to him was his Clan, and now that was gone, too.
I gave up so much for WindClan, he thought, and this is the way it ends. I spoke the truth to Onestar, and he banished me for it.
Crowfeather knew he was right: It was a mouse-brained idea to block up the tunnels and antagonize ThunderClan. But no cat had listened to him, or spoken up for him. Not even Breezepelt.
Some son he turned out to be! I must have had bees in my brain to think I could ever mean as much to him as Nightcloud did.
WindClan scent drifted into Crowfeather’s nose, and he realized he was approaching the border with the moorland. Beyond that was unknown territory. He halted on the border, but before he could take the final step that would cut him off from his Clan forever, he heard some cat calling his name.
Crowfeather turned to see Heathertail bounding across the moor toward him, with Breezepelt a few paw steps behind. His muscles tensed and he dug his claws into the ground as he stood waiting for them.
“What do you want?” he asked harshly as the two cats skidded to a halt and stood panting in front of him.
“Onestar led the Clan down to the tunnels to start blocking the entrances,” Heathertail explained, her chest heaving as she fought for breath. “We slipped away and picked up your scent trail.”
The bitter pain in Crowfeather’s heart eased a little, to think that Heathertail and Breezepelt had come looking for him, but he found it hard to respond. Breezepelt was standing a pace or two behind Heathertail, his gaze fixed on his paws, the familiar awkward, sullen expression on his face. He looked as if he didn’t want to be there, and at the sight of him Crowfeather’s heart hardened again.
“Why would you do that?” he snapped. “You care enough to chase me, but not enough to speak up for me in front of Onestar? Well, thanks but no thanks.” He turned and began to continue on his way.
“Wait!” he heard Breezepelt call behind him—a brief, desperate cry. When he paused and turned around, Breezepelt was looking at the ground—but Heathertail spoke.
“We’re sorry we didn’t speak up for you, Crowfeather, but you made it pretty difficult. You may have been right—but a loyal warrior still respects his leader.”
Crowfeather let out a derisive snort, but didn’t move. All right, he thought, I’ll hear them out.
“After you left, we talked to Onestar,” Heathertail went on, casting a faintly exasperated glance over her shoulder at Breezepelt. “We wanted to give him time to cool down. He was hard on you, Crowfeather, but you gave it right back—telling him you don’t need WindClan. Did you really mean that?”
Now it was Crowfeather’s turn to stare at the ground, clawing at an imaginary bug as though he were fascinated. At the time I did, he thought. But perhaps it was a flea-brained thing to say.
Heathertail shook her head, seeming frustrated, and went on. “You’re not always the easiest cat to talk to, Crowfeather. Anyway, I think he’s sorry that he lost his temper with you. If you came back to camp tomorrow with some prey and apologized to him, I’m pretty sure he’d let you back into the Clan.”
“Really?” In his relief, Crowfeather looked at Breezepelt, who still wouldn’t meet his eye. What, does he not want me to come back? Maybe he thought he was free of me. . . . “What do you think, Breezepelt?” he challenged his son. “Is Heathertail right?”
Breezepelt scuffled his forepaws like an apprentice caught misbehaving. “Uh . . . I guess,” he muttered.
“I guess”? The worst of Crowfeather’s suspicions confirmed, his fury exploded. “It’s obvious to see who doesn’t want me back!” he exclaimed. “You’ve barely said a thing this whole time. You’re just following the cat you love, trying to impress her with your loyalty to your foolish father!”
Breezepelt looked up at him, a stung expression in his eyes. He’s embarrassed I caught on, Crowfeather thought. “And there’s no way I’m apologizing. I was right! And you both know it.”
“Yes, sure, you were right.” Heathertail’s voice was soothing. “As I said. Most of the Clan thinks it’s a mouse-brained idea to block up the tunnels. But you still disrespected your Clan leader, in front of the rest of the Clan.”
“Onestar deserved it!” Crowfeather snarled. Glaring at Breezepelt, he added, “It’s better this way. I can have the freedom I’ve always wanted, and you can be free of me. I’m leaving, and WindClan will never have to worry about me again!”
The two younger cats stared at him in silence for a moment. At last Heathertail mewed quietly, “What about looking for Nightcloud?”
“You can look for Nightcloud,” Crowfeather retorted, trying to ignore the guilt that settled over him like a cloud of dust. “She won’t want to see me anyway.” That’s probably true, at least.
“Of all the mouse-brained—” Breezepelt began angrily.
Heathertail shook her head at him and silenced him with a touch of her tail-tip on his shoulder. “It’s no use, Breezepelt,” she murmured. “Not right now.” Fixing Crowfeather with a sorrowful blue gaze, she added, “I’m sure there’ll be a way back for you, Crowfeather, if you want to take it. I hope that you do.”
For a moment the young she-cat’s sympathy almost made Crowfeather give in. Then he pictured himself creeping back into the camp and groveling in front of Onestar. No way will I ever do that!
“You’d better go,” he meowed curtly. “You don’t want Onestar to find out you’re missing. He’s in a lousy mood.”
“Okay,” Heathertail sighed. “Come on, Breezepelt.”
For a couple of heartbeats Breezepelt gazed at Crowfeather hesitantly, as if there was something he wanted to say. Crowfeather guessed that a word would have encouraged him, but he felt as though his throat were stopped up by a tough bit of prey, and no words would come. Finally Breezepelt ducked his head awkwardly; then the two young cats turned away and headed across the moor, back to the rest of the Clan. Crowfeather watched them go.
Everything I said to them is true, he thought. I don’t need WindClan. I don’t even need my mouse-hearted son, Breezepelt, and I certainly don’t need that mange-pelt Onestar. I’ll show him! I can get along fine by myself.
But the hollowness, the pain of loss inside him, wouldn’t go away.
The shapes of Breezepelt and Heathertail dwindled and finally were lost to Crowfeather’s sight. At last he took a deep breath and stepped across the border, heading into unexplored territory. I suppose I’m a loner right now.
As he traveled up a long moorland slope, the sky grew darker still, and he thought he could see tiny specks of white floating in front of his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, but the white specks didn’t go away, and as one landed on his nose, the cold shock told him that they were the first tiny flakes of snow.
“Mouse dung!” he grumbled aloud. “That’s all I need!”
Crowfeather realized that if he wanted to hunt, he had better do so soon, before the snow drove every piece of prey into their holes. Aware of hunger for the first time since he left the camp, he padded on, setting down his paws even more lightly, his ears pricked and his jaws parted to taste the air.
For a long time he found nothing. The flakes thickened, swirling around him, settling on the ground until he was plodding through snow a mouse-length deep. Hi
s paws were so cold he couldn’t feel them anymore. Snowflakes clotted in his dark gray pelt and clung to his whiskers.
Crowfeather was thinking that he had better give up and start looking for a place to shelter when a hare started up almost underneath his paws. It fled up the hill, and Crowfeather hurled himself after it, his muscles bunching and stretching. His gaze fixed on the bobbing black tips of the hare’s ears, which were all that he could see clearly; the rest of its white pelt was almost invisible in the snow.
The hare disappeared over the brow of the hill and Crowfeather followed. But as he raced downward, his hind legs skidded out from under him and he lost his balance. Letting out a yowl of shock, he rolled over and over down the slope, his legs flailing as he struggled to stop himself.
Then Crowfeather felt a sharp pain in his head as his body slammed into something solid. The white world exploded into blackness, and he knew nothing more.
Crowfeather found himself crouching in utter darkness. The pain in his head was overwhelming, and for a few moments he could do nothing but keep still, clenching his teeth to keep back moans of pain.
At last he opened his eyes, but the darkness didn’t lift. Sheer panic pulsed through Crowfeather. Have I gone blind?
He couldn’t smell or feel anything, but he sensed that a number of cats were gathered around him. Are they my Clanmates? he wondered wildly. Have they come to find me?
At first the cats were still, but after a little while they began to move, weaving around him in a circle, so close that now and again he could feel their pelts brushing against his.
At last one of them spoke, its voice low and gentle but somehow ominous. “Greetings, Crowfeather.”
Now Crowfeather was sure that these were not WindClan cats. He struggled to rise to his paws and face them in the darkness, but his legs wouldn’t support him, and he slumped back to the ground. “Who are you?” he asked hoarsely.
“You know who we are, Crowfeather,” a second voice murmured. “You have met us before.”
“No, I haven’t!” Crowfeather protested. “Stop playing games and tell me what’s going on.”