by Erin Hunter
The small white animal tottered toward them; its legs looked weak, and Crowfeather guessed that it must be ill, or maybe had been wounded in the battle.
“So that’s a stoat!” Leafpool exclaimed, her voice sounding intrigued. “I’ve never seen one before. It looks . . . disgusting.”
“They are,” Crowfeather told her, remembering how the WindClan apprentices had underestimated the creatures. “They don’t look that threatening, but they’re vicious fighters. We need to—”
He broke off as the stoat, drawing nearer to them, suddenly made a dart at Leafpool, who started back, scattering the herbs she had been carrying. With a yowl of outrage, Crowfeather dashed in and intercepted it. Even though the stoat had looked sick, it was still a wild, ferocious fighter, rearing up and slashing its small claws at Crowfeather’s face.
Crowfeather was terrified that the stoat would tear at his eyes and blind him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he managed to grip the sleek creature with his forepaws and drag it to the ground with him, battering at his opponent with his hind paws.
But the stoat was wiry and sinuous, and Crowfeather couldn’t hang on to it. He felt it slip out of his claws, followed by an intense, sharp pain in his hind leg. Opening his eyes, Crowfeather saw the stoat with its teeth fastened in his leg just above his paw. Leafpool had bounded up and was slashing at the stoat’s hindquarters.
“No! Get back!” Crowfeather yowled, terrified that the vicious creature would turn on her.
Swiping a forepaw at the stoat’s head, Crowfeather knocked it clear. It scrambled to its paws and looked around, its malignant gaze fastening on Leafpool, who was still within a fox-length of it.
As the stoat leaped for her, Crowfeather found a sudden burst of energy. No way will I let Leafpool die on WindClan territory! Intercepting the stoat before it could reach Leafpool, he gripped its shoulder with his teeth and dragged it away. He raised one paw, claws extended, to slash at the creature’s throat, but before he could strike, the stoat twisted its body, thrust its hind paws at Crowfeather, and managed to wrench itself free. Scrambling out of range, it fled for the tunnels.
I guess it doesn’t want to fight anymore, Crowfeather thought. Well, I won’t give it the choice.
Crowfeather was about to follow the stoat when Leafpool darted in front of him. “Don’t!” she meowed anxiously. “You’re injured.”
Blinking in confusion, Crowfeather looked down at his hind leg. Blood was gushing from the place where the stoat had bitten him.
“Look at that! Now we have another injured WindClan cat. The bleeding’s bad, Crowfeather,” she added. “Try not to go to sleep.”
Crowfeather wondered vaguely why he would want to sleep out here, away from his den. But now that the fight was over, his energy ebbing, the pain in his leg grew until it seemed to take over his whole body. His ears were filled with a sound like rushing water.
Rushing dark water . . . ? As he stumbled on toward the camp, Crowfeather thought once more about Kestrelflight’s dream, wondering whether the stoats were what the dark water, gushing from the caves, was pointing to.
Am I going to die? The first death in a series that will end in . . . what? The fall of the Clans? His vision of the second wave, the one that engulfed everything, was somehow mingled with the sight of his Clanmates that morning, lying wounded in the middle of the camp. And somewhere in all the confusion he could hear the amused purring of a long-haired white kittypet.
Harespring’s voice seemed to come to him from a great distance. “I heard yowling. What happened?”
Leafpool’s voice sounded far away, too, and faded in and out so that Crowfeather could hardly make sense of her words.
“. . . fighting a stoat . . . bleeding is so bad . . . Harespring, find me some cobweb.”
Crowfeather sensed movement around him, and a firm touch on his leg, followed by Leafpool’s distant voice again. “Harespring, help me lift him . . . get him to your camp.”
When did I fall to the ground? Crowfeather wondered. He felt strong paws begin to raise him, the movement sending a stab of pain through him that took his breath away. With a sigh of relief, he gave himself up to swirling darkness.
CHAPTER 27
Dark clouds whirled around Crowfeather, shot through with flashes of lurid red light, as if the sun were setting through a storm. Now and again he caught glimpses of familiar faces: Nightcloud, Feathertail, Leafpool, and their kits, but as he imagined they had been in the nursery: innocent young cats with no idea of the pain they would have to suffer. Crowfeather tried to reach out to them, but they were swept away from him into a roaring darkness. At last a great wave surged up around him, closing over his head and leaving him to float in starless night.
Gradually, Crowfeather became aware of quiet movement around him and the sharp tang of herbs in his nose. He opened his eyes to find himself in Kestrelflight’s den, with a blurred tabby shape sorting herbs a tail-length away from him.
“Leafpool?” he murmured, managing to focus his eyes. For a moment he wondered why a ThunderClan medicine cat would be working in the WindClan camp. It was seasons since he and Leafpool had been alone together, and Crowfeather half believed she was still part of his hectic dream.
Leafpool turned to him, her eyes wide and welcoming. “Oh, you’re awake!” she purred. “Thank StarClan!”
“What am I doing here?” Crowfeather asked, confused and trying to shake off sleep. “Why are you in Kestrelflight’s den? What happened?”
“Don’t you remember coming to ThunderClan? And then the fight with the stoat?” Leafpool asked. “It gave you a bad bite on your leg, and you lost a lot of blood, but you’re going to be fine.”
“The stoats . . .” Crowfeather blinked in confusion, then suddenly remembered everything: Kestrelflight’s vision, the attack on the camp, and his journey to ThunderClan to fetch Leafpool.
“I’d better be fine,” he muttered, struggling to sit up and shaking scraps of bedding from his pelt. A twinge of pain on his leg reminded him of where he had been bitten. “Onestar needs every warrior—”
“Onestar will have to get along without this warrior for the time being,” Leafpool interrupted tartly. “You’re weak, and you’ll need time to recover.” As Crowfeather was about to protest, she raised her tail to silence him. “Don’t you dare argue.”
She moved to the back of the den and returned a moment later with a mouthful of wet moss. “There,” she mewed, setting it down beside Crowfeather. “Drink. I’ll go and find some cat to fetch you fresh-kill.”
Crowfeather watched her as she slipped out of the den, then lowered his head to lap water from the moss. It was cool and reviving, and he let out a sigh of resignation.
Being injured isn’t bad, he reflected. It’s kind of a relief to have to let some other cat take care of me.
Crowfeather was drowsing in his nest again when Kestrelflight came into the den and stood over him, giving the wound on his leg a good sniff. “That’s coming along okay,” he commented. “No sign of infection.”
“How is the rest of the Clan?” Crowfeather asked.
“Also coming along okay,” Kestrelflight replied with a purr of satisfaction. “Thank you so much for convincing Onestar to ask for help from other Clans. Mistystar sent Mothwing, and she’s helping to tend to the injured cats. We have enough herbs for every cat, and all the wounded are being looked after.”
“That’s really good news,” Crowfeather meowed. “I wonder what we’ll do about the stoats now.”
“Nothing, for the time being,” Kestrelflight replied. “We must get all our cats healthy first, and then we can decide.”
At that moment, Leafpool reappeared at the entrance to the den with a spray of leaves in her jaws. “Thyme leaves,” she mewed, dropping the spray in front of Crowfeather. “Eat them. They’re good for shock.”
“I don’t need—” Crowfeather began, then broke off as Leafpool pushed the leaves closer to him.
“Do as you’re told, you daf
t furball.”
Crowfeather rolled his eyes but licked up the thyme leaves without further protest.
Kestrelflight glanced from Crowfeather to Leafpool and back again. There was a wary look in his eyes. “Crowfeather, I’ll leave you in Leafpool’s capable paws,” he meowed. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”
“I thought you said something about fresh-kill,” Crowfeather complained when the medicine cat was gone. “My belly thinks my throat’s torn out.”
“It’ll be along in a few moments,” Leafpool responded in an amused tone. Settling down beside him, she added, “How do you feel?”
Crowfeather shifted experimentally. “My leg hurts as if a badger is trying to gnaw it off, but otherwise I’m fine.”
Leafpool fixed a steady gaze on him from warm amber eyes. “Are you really, Crowfeather?” she asked. “Tell me the truth.”
How can I answer that? Crowfeather asked himself. How can I tell Leafpool about my problems with Breezepelt and Nightcloud, and how Onestar nearly banished me from the Clan for good? He shifted uncomfortably in his nest; his chest clenched, and the pain in his leg almost made him forget his hunger pangs. “Things have been better,” he admitted. Hoping to distract Leafpool, he added, “How are you doing in ThunderClan?”
Leafpool twitched her ears at him, showing she knew very well why he was changing the subject. “I’m okay,” she replied. “StarClan has accepted me again, so I can work as a full medicine cat.”
“I’m glad.” Crowfeather paused, then went on. “And Lionblaze and Jayfeather—do they . . . ?”
“They’ve accepted me, too,” Leafpool responded. “I think they’ll always feel that Squirrelflight is their true mother, but . . . well, we get along. Hollyleaf was the cat who could never accept that she was half-Clan.”
And Hollyleaf is dead, Crowfeather thought bleakly. Before I ever had the chance to get to know her.
“Hollyleaf died nobly, protecting her Clan,” Leafpool told him, as if she could read his mind. “In spite of all that had gone before. You can be proud of her, Crowfeather. You can be proud of all your kits.”
Including Breezepelt?
Crowfeather had a sudden impulse to confide in Leafpool. Once, he had been able to open his heart to her, and although those days were past, he still felt that he could trust her more than any other cat. Besides, Leafpool was a ThunderClan cat, and wouldn’t be prejudiced against Breezepelt in the same way as his Clanmates. He could speak frankly to her without worrying what other cats would think.
“I want to be proud of Breezepelt,” he confessed. “But it’s hard. There’s so much anger inside him. I know he’s a brave and loyal warrior, but it’s as if he doesn’t know how to show that. To me or to his Clan.”
“But things may be getting better,” Leafpool responded. “From what I hear, he fought bravely against the stoats. And he did well when he went with you to search for Nightcloud.”
Crowfeather nodded, feeling a little encouraged. “He would do anything to help his mother.” Then he let out a sigh. “Nightcloud . . . I’d do anything to connect with her and Breezepelt. But somehow . . . What do you think, Leafpool? Why does it always go wrong?”
Leafpool stifled an amused mrrow. “Crowfeather asking another cat for advice!” she exclaimed. “What next?” More seriously, she added, “No matter what, Breezepelt and Nightcloud are your kin. True, you’ve had a difficult past, but you could have a good future.” She leaned closer to Crowfeather, fixing him with her amber gaze. “Admit it, Crowfeather,” she mewed gently, “you might have had a paw in your problems with both of them. You’re not the easiest cat in the forest to get along with.”
“You’re saying I’m difficult?” Crowfeather was outraged, but a heartbeat later he had to recognize the truth of what Leafpool had said. I did push Onestar too far, he admitted to himself. And I could have been more supportive of Breezepelt. “I suppose. . . .” he grumbled. “So you think I need to make more of an effort?”
“Exactly,” Leafpool agreed. “Try to talk to them about how you really feel.”
Had she been talking to his dead mother? That was almost the exact same advice Ashfoot had given him. “I’ll try, but—” Crowfeather began.
At that moment, a paw step sounded outside the den and Nightcloud entered, carrying a vole in her jaws. “Fresh-kill,” she meowed, dropping it beside Crowfeather’s nest and giving Leafpool a long look with narrowed eyes.
Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with the awkwardness of being so close to two she-cats who had each been his mate. Leafpool gave him a meaningful gaze, and he was pretty sure of what she was trying to tell him.
“Thank you, Nightcloud,” he mewed. “That’s kind of you. Do you want to share?”
Nightcloud’s eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced across at Leafpool, as if she was wondering whether Crowfeather had offered to share in an attempt to make the ThunderClan she-cat jealous.
“No, I already ate.” Nightcloud’s tone was abrupt, but she settled down beside Crowfeather, tucking her paws underneath her.
“I’d better be going,” Leafpool put in, rising to her paws with a polite nod to Nightcloud. “I have to check on the other wounded cats.” Picking up a bunch of chervil in her jaws, she padded out of the den.
Crowfeather, who had taken a bite of the vole, quickly swallowed. Though he was struggling to find the right words, he remembered Leafpool’s advice, and realized that he had to try. “Nightcloud, I’m sorry if I offended you yesterday,” he meowed. “I wasn’t sure what to say to you, now that you’re back.”
Nightcloud gave him a hard stare, and for a moment Crowfeather was afraid that once again he had said the wrong thing. Then the black she-cat seemed to soften.
“The truth is, I was badly hurt in the tunnels,” she began after a heartbeat’s hesitation. “And as much as I told those kittypets that I was a Clan cat, and I belonged with my Clan . . . honestly, after the Twolegs rescued me, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to come back to WindClan.”
“Not come back?” Every hair on Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with shock. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this from Nightcloud. She’s the most loyal WindClan warrior I know!
“At least, not right away,” Nightcloud continued. “I felt so weak and tired. . . . I never seriously thought that I would stay away forever, but for the time being it was good to be a kittypet—to have food and warmth and safety without having to chase prey, or risk my life fighting foxes. And I was . . . well, I was adored just for who I was. I had never felt that before, and it was sort of nice. Even when I was prickly, my Twolegs and Pickle never stopped trying to make me happy and comfortable. Pickle may have been a kittypet, but he was kind to me. He let me share his nest, and gave up his best napping spots for me. He shared his favorite toys with me, even when I told him I didn’t play with toys. He acted like I was the most important cat in the world.”
Pickle? Stupid name! Stupid cat!
But despising Pickle couldn’t keep Crowfeather from hearing Nightcloud’s words . . . or from feeling the guilt they brought out. I never treated her that way, he realized. I never thought of her as being important. There had been warmth in Nightcloud’s voice as she described her life with Pickle. Kittypet or not, he’d tried to make her happy.
I was her mate. . . . I should have made her feel happy and valued like that, but I didn’t. I failed.
His pelt grew hot with shame as he remembered that he had never paid much attention to Nightcloud’s nest or what she was eating, even when she was pregnant with their kits. He had always assumed she could take care of herself. And that, he realized, was because he had never loved her as he had loved Feathertail or Leafpool. Pain stabbed through his heart as he recognized how that must have felt for Nightcloud.
“Mind you,” Nightcloud went on, “if you tell any other cat I said that, I’ll claw your fur off and use it to line my nest.”
Crowfeather let out a mrrow of laughter. “You would, too!”
S
uddenly the tension between them seemed to have vanished. Hungrily Crowfeather gulped down a few more mouthfuls of the vole, then dared to meow quietly, “I’m sorry, Nightcloud. I never treated you like your feelings were important. I’m sorry you had to wait to get that from a kittypet.”
Nightcloud said nothing, but when she looked down at him, her eyes were warmer than he had ever seen them.
“Should we . . . should we be mates again?” Crowfeather suggested hesitantly. Is that what I’m supposed to say?
Nightcloud shook her head, but when she spoke, her voice was gentle. “No, and if you’re honest with yourself, Crowfeather, you don’t want that either. Admit it: We don’t love each other, and maybe we never did.”
Reluctantly, Crowfeather had to recognize the wisdom in the she-cat’s words, though a pang of regret pierced him as he responded. “I think you’re right. But . . . I do admire you, Nightcloud. You’re an amazing warrior.”
Nightcloud let out a tiny snort. “You’re not so bad yourself. And remember,” she added, “Breezepelt will always be our kit. We owe it to him to try to get along.”
“True,” Crowfeather sighed. “Nightcloud, I’m sorry that I’ve treated you badly. Can we be friends . . . if only for Breezepelt’s sake?”
“I’d like that,” Nightcloud purred. Rising to her paws, she stooped over Crowfeather and rubbed her cheek against his. “You need to rest, Crowfeather. Maybe we’ll talk later.”
Crowfeather watched her as she padded out of the den. She was right that he needed rest: Their conversation had taken as much out of him as a patrol around the whole of the territory. He finished the last mouthful of vole, curled up, and closed his eyes.
Oh, StarClan, please don’t send me back into that terrible dream. . . .
As soon as Crowfeather slipped into sleep, he saw the pale shape of his mother, Ashfoot, in front of him. This time he wasn’t chasing her through the tunnels: She was sitting beside a pool in a lush forest clearing where ferns arched over the water and a tiny spring trickled down from the rocks above.