by Erin Hunter
“Greetings, Crowfeather,” Ashfoot meowed. This time her tone was approving. “Finally, you’ve taken the lessons of your dreams to heart.”
“Lessons?” Crowfeather asked, stifling an incredulous mrrow of laughter. “What were the lessons? I’ve nearly worn my brain out trying to understand why I’m even having these dreams!”
“I’ve told you the most important lesson.” Ashfoot’s voice was a gentle murmur. “To love. You must open yourself to love again. And I sent you the dream of Hawkfrost and Hollyleaf to show you how much you care about all your kits, whatever happens to them. You must reopen your heart to Breezepelt and be a father to him.”
Guilt weighed heavily on Crowfeather’s shoulders as he replied. “I see that now,” he admitted. “I only hope I can be as good a father to Breezepelt as you were a mother to me.”
Ashfoot’s gaze was warm and brilliant. “I’m proud of you, Crowfeather,” she purred. “At last, you’re beginning to change.”
Crowfeather stared at his mother. All at once, he felt a terrible ache in his heart as he realized that their private chats were over. His love for her was simple and overwhelming—the love of a kit for his mother.
Maybe that’s how Breezepelt feels about me, he realized, even though I haven’t always deserved it. But I will, he promised himself, watching the image of his mother weaken.
As the dream faded and Crowfeather blinked awake, back in the medicine-cat den, he decided once and for all that things would be different.
I will make sure Breezepelt knows I love him, just like Ashfoot loved me, he vowed to himself. Changing is hard . . . but if it saves Breezepelt, it will be worth it.
CHAPTER 28
The full moon floated over the lake as Crowfeather pushed his way through the bushes that surrounded the clearing on the Gathering island. WindClan was the last to arrive; the other three Clans were already mingling on the moonwashed grass, their heads together as they exchanged news and gossip. Onestar picked his way through the crowd and leaped up to join the other leaders in the Great Oak.
Many days had passed since the stoats had attacked the WindClan camp. Most of the injured cats had recovered, though Crowfeather still felt a twinge of pain when he put his weight on his wounded hind leg. Leafpool and Mothwing had returned to their own Clans and now sat close to the Great Oak with their fellow medicine cats.
As soon as Onestar had settled himself on a branch, Blackstar lifted his head to get every cat’s attention: “Before we begin, let us remember the fallen . . .”
As he had done at the last gathering, Blackstar spoke the names of the warriors lost in the Great Battle.
As soon as he’d finished, Bramblestar stepped forward and started the real meeting. The chatter in the clearing died away as the ThunderClan leader reported that his patrols were keeping an eye on foxes visiting their territory, and that they had chased away a Twoleg’s stray dog.
“Yes, you chased it onto our territory,” Blackstar complained, rising to his paws. “Thank you very much. Its Twolegs came looking for it, stomping all over the forest with their huge paws. But it’s gone now, so no more problem.”
Bramblestar dipped his head politely, then waved his tail at Mistystar for her to begin her report.
“RiverClan is doing fine,” Mistystar reported. “The prey is running well, considering it’s leaf-bare, and the lake is full of fish. Onestar,” she continued, turning to the WindClan leader, “how are your injured warriors?”
“I hope they’re recovering,” Bramblestar added.
Onestar dipped his head politely to the two leaders. “They are all doing well,” he responded. “Thank you for your help. And I think you have all heard that Nightcloud isn’t dead after all. We welcome her back to her Clan.”
“Nightcloud! Nightcloud!” the cats in the clearing yowled, echoing Onestar’s welcome.
The black she-cat, who was sitting a tail-length away from Crowfeather, dipped her head in thanks, her eyes gleaming with pleasure that cats from other Clans were happy to see her again.
You wouldn’t get that living with Pickle and the Twolegs, Crowfeather thought.
“And what about the stoats in the tunnels?” Mistystar asked. “Have you been able to deal with them?”
Crowfeather forced himself not to wince. That was a question that Onestar would find hard to answer.
“We haven’t forgotten, but our Clan has been concentrating on healing,” the WindClan leader replied.
“So you haven’t done anything?” Bramblestar’s tone was respectful, but he was obviously determined to get at the truth. “The stoats are still a problem—still a threat to more than one Clan?”
“We haven’t dealt with them yet,” Onestar told him reluctantly. “The stoats have broken through some of the entrances that we stopped up, so that plan won’t work.”
“And do you have another plan?” Bramblestar asked.
“I’ve discussed the problem with my senior warriors,” Onestar told him. “But so far we haven’t come up with an alternative.”
Crowfeather remembered that meeting, a few days after the attack on the camp. No cat had come up with a solution, except to ask ThunderClan for help again, and they were all reluctant to test Bramblestar’s good nature any further.
Crowfeather was aware of cats stirring around him, exchanging glances and muttering under their breath. His fur began to rise all along his spine as he realized they were blaming WindClan for not dealing with the invaders. He was tempted to agree, but he knew that problems always seemed easier to solve when you weren’t the cat trying to solve them.
“Huh! I’d like to see them trying to fight with the vicious little mange-pelts,” Nightcloud hissed.
Crowfeather gave her an approving nod. “Yeah, they don’t know what we’re up against,” he agreed.
Bramblestar raised his voice to be heard over the rising noise in the clearing. “Cats of all Clans!” he announced. “This is not just WindClan’s problem. Already in ThunderClan we’ve had to deal with some of these creatures coming onto our territory. If they aren’t stopped, they could easily spread to ShadowClan and RiverClan.”
“What?” Blackstar started up, as if he had been half dozing. His eyes were wide with alarm.
He’s starting to look old, Crowfeather thought. How much use will he be to deal with a crisis like this?
“Onestar,” Bramblestar continued, “I’ll make you the same offer that I made before. ThunderClan is ready to help. We must work together; it’s the only hope we have of driving out the stoats.”
“Great StarClan!” Nightcloud whispered in Crowfeather’s ear, “Let’s not have another argument like the one in our camp. Breezepelt told me all about it, and I couldn’t believe what Onestar said!”
“Onestar wouldn’t say the same now—not at a Gathering,” Crowfeather responded, though he wasn’t at all sure that it was true.
Onestar hesitated for a long moment, staring at the ThunderClan leader. Then, slowly, he dipped his head. “Very well. WindClan thanks you, Bramblestar.”
“RiverClan will help too, if we’re needed,” Mistystar meowed. “And ShadowClan too, Blackstar?”
Blackstar gave his pelt a shake. “I suppose so,” he grunted.
The decision made, the cats in the clearing were settling down again when Crowfeather noticed that his son Lionblaze was looking uncomfortable, shifting impatiently as if he wanted to speak. What’s biting him? he wondered.
Lionblaze suddenly leaped to his paws. “Bramblestar, I want to say something!”
His Clan leader looked down at him, a slight look of disapproval in his eyes. “Very well. Go on,” he mewed.
Crowfeather saw Lionblaze’s glance swivel around the clearing until it lighted on Breezepelt. For a couple of heartbeats the two half brothers glared at each other. Dread bubbled up inside Crowfeather as he realized where this was going.
“I don’t want to fight beside Breezepelt,” Lionblaze growled, with an angry glare at the WindClan
warrior, who was sitting beside Heathertail in the shadow of the bushes. “He tried to kill me in the battle with the Dark Forest.”
I thought all that was over. Crowfeather’s heart sank as he had to accept that he was wrong. It was many days since he had heard a WindClan cat speak out against Breezepelt, but he had forgotten how Lionblaze might still be bearing a grudge.
“And I still think WindClan was spying on us when we caught Crowfeather and Breezepelt in the tunnels,” Berrynose added, coming to stand beside Lionblaze.
Crowfeather could hear other ThunderClan warriors murmuring agreement, and was bracing himself to stand up. He didn’t want to make a scene at a Gathering, and he had the horrible feeling that whatever he did, he was going to upset one of his sons. But he couldn’t let the chance pass of showing support for Breezepelt.
However, before Crowfeather had decided what to say, Bramblestar waved his tail for silence once again.
“The trouble with the Dark Forest is over,” the ThunderClan leader meowed decisively. He turned a cold gaze on Lionblaze and Berrynose. “Raking up old quarrels will do no cat any good. We must all learn to trust one another. We must move forward and not think about the past.”
Lionblaze, though he was obviously unhappy about his leader’s rebuke, dipped his head and sat down again. Berrynose sat beside him and muttered something into Lionblaze’s ear.
Crowfeather could hear more grumbling remarks from the cats around him. Though most of them were too low-pitched for him to make out the words, he had a good idea of what was being said.
“ThunderClan would feel that way.” That was Weaselfur; he was sitting so close to Crowfeather that he had no trouble hearing him. “They had cats who trained with the Dark Forest, but no real traitors.” His eyes narrowed with hostility as he turned his head to gaze at Breezepelt.
Crowfeather saw from Breezepelt’s hostile glare at the gray-and-white she-cat that he had noticed, and that he understood Weaselfur’s implication that he was a real traitor, since he had fought on the side of the Dark Forest.
His Clanmates still don’t trust him, Crowfeather thought sadly. Even after all he’s done, battling the stoats and helping to bring Nightcloud home.
For the first time, instead of becoming angry and uncomfortable himself, Crowfeather imagined how his son must be feeling. He rose to speak, but before he could, Breezepelt leaped to his paws and spoke in a voice so confident, his words rang out across all the clearing.
“No cat has to trust me, or the other Dark Forest warriors. We will prove ourselves, and then no other cat will dare to doubt our loyalty.”
“Yes! You’ll see!” Whiskernose yowled.
“We’re just as loyal as the rest of you!” Larkwing added.
Harespring backed up his Clanmates sturdily. “We trained in the Dark Forest to help our Clans!”
The yowls of support for Breezepelt rose up everywhere in the clearing from the other cats who had been deceived by the Dark Forest. They must all be feeling that they have something to prove, Crowfeather realized, not just Breezepelt. Onestar had made a Dark Forest warrior his deputy, Crowfeather knew, but not all the Clan leaders had made such public displays of acceptance and support. I wonder how the Dark Forest cats in other Clans are getting along.
The rest of the cats fell silent; glancing around, Crowfeather could tell that some cats had at least had been convinced by Breezepelt’s bold declaration.
Mistystar spoke from her branch of the Great Oak, her blue eyes gleaming and the moonlight turning her blue-gray fur to silver. “Then it’s agreed,” she meowed. “WindClan and ThunderClan will cooperate to tackle the stoats, and will call on RiverClan and ShadowClan if the need arises.”
No cat raised a voice in protest, though Crowfeather noticed that Lionblaze and Berrynose, who had started the argument, still looked unhappy.
“The Gathering is at an end,” Bramblestar announced.
The four leaders leaped down from the Great Oak. While Mistystar and Blackstar gathered their warriors together for the journey home, Onestar and Bramblestar held back, deep in conversation, and signaled to their cats to go ahead without them.
Jumping down from the tree-bridge, Crowfeather spotted Breezepelt and Heathertail just ahead of him, padding along the shore of the lake. He picked up his pace and caught up with them, inwardly flinching a little at the wary look Breezepelt turned on him. But if Crowfeather had learned anything, it was that he couldn’t let moments like this stop him from being a father to Breezepelt.
“Breezepelt,” he began, “I was really impressed by what you said back there.”
For a moment, Breezepelt looked surprised. “Well,” he said. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”
“I don’t doubt you,” Crowfeather continued, realizing with a jolt of surprise that what he said was true. “Whatever you need . . . you have my support.”
Breezepelt hesitated for a moment, and Crowfeather realized that Heathertail had dropped back, leaving him alone with his son. He felt suddenly as exposed and vulnerable as if an eagle were hovering over him on the open moor.
Breezepelt looked awkwardly down at his paws. He looks just as uncomfortable as I am, Crowfeather thought.
“I trained with the Dark Forest to become a stronger warrior,” Breezepelt explained at last. “I needed some cat to believe in me, and the Dark Forest cats did—or at least they seemed to. But I wasn’t fighting against the Clans. I’ll always be a WindClan cat first. This battle with the stoats is my chance to prove myself,” he finished resolutely.
Listening to him, Crowfeather remembered the terrible moment in the battle when Breezepelt had attacked Lionblaze. That hadn’t been the action of a traitor, he realized now, but of a cat driven to desperation by his sense of failure and isolation.
Now, looking at Breezepelt’s determined face, Crowfeather felt a wave of tenderness wash over him. He could see in his son something of the innocent kit—so eager for new challenges and adventures—that Nightcloud had first presented to him, before it had all gone wrong.
“Like I said, I’ll do whatever I can to help,” he assured Breezepelt. His voice was hoarse with the strangeness of the words and his anxiety that his son wouldn’t accept what he was offering. “I know I haven’t always been the father you deserve,” he added, “but now I want to change that.”
Breezepelt said nothing. He only ducked his head awkwardly, but the warmth in his eyes told Crowfeather all he needed to know.
As he padded along beside his son, their pelts brushing, Crowfeather felt an answering warmth welling up inside him.
This is what it must feel like to be a real father, he thought.
CHAPTER 29
The day after the Gathering dawned damp and cloudy, and there was a tang of rain in the wind that blew from the top of the moor. By now most of the snow had disappeared, except for drifts in sheltered hollows, but frost furred the tough moorland grass, and every pool was rimmed with ice.
My paws are cold enough to fall off, Crowfeather thought.
He shivered as he headed toward the ThunderClan border along with Onestar and a chosen group of WindClan warriors. Harespring padded along at his leader’s shoulder, while Nightcloud and Breezepelt followed closely behind. Heathertail was bringing up the rear.
After the Gathering had ended, Onestar and Bramblestar had remained behind and talked. They’d decided that they would meet at the border to discuss how their Clans would work together to defeat the stoats. Crowfeather could only hope that this time they would come up with a plan that would succeed.
As they left the moor behind and entered the strip of woodland beside the stream, Crowfeather became aware of a strong ThunderClan scent just ahead. Drawing closer to the border, he spotted a large group of the ThunderClan cats assembled on the opposite bank; Bramblestar and Squirrelflight stood in the center, with Jayfeather on one side of them and Lionblaze on the other.
Crowfeather couldn’t help noticing how many of the ThunderC
lan warriors looked wary and distrustful, muttering to one another as the WindClan cats padded up. His pelt prickled with apprehension at the sight of them.
How will we unite to fight the stoats if we can’t get along among ourselves?
In particular, Crowfeather noticed that Lionblaze and Breezepelt were glaring at each other.
However, Bramblestar dipped his head politely to Onestar as the two leaders faced each other across the stream. “Greetings, Onestar,” he meowed.
Equally polite, Onestar returned the greeting, and Crowfeather breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, no cat was going to mention Bramblestar’s lack of experience or Onestar’s failure to control the stoats on his own.
“So,” Bramblestar began, “what do you suggest, Onestar?”
“We’ve tried going down the tunnels to fight the stoats,” Onestar replied, “and it was a disaster. The stoats know the tunnels better than we do, and there are too many places for them to hide. There are more of them, and they’re smaller than us, so they fight better in tight corners. Somehow we have to get them out into the open.”
Bramblestar looked thoughtful. “Of course, ThunderClan has some experience with underground fighting . . . ,” he mused.
Crowfeather slid out his claws. Seasons ago, when Firestar was still ThunderClan leader, WindClan had attacked ThunderClan in the tunnels and been soundly defeated. Later he had learned that Hollyleaf, who had once lived down there, had trained her Clan in special fighting techniques.
Is Bramblestar genuinely offering to use their special skills, he wondered, or is he finding another, more subtle way to insult Onestar? Not that Onestar doesn’t have it coming, he added wryly to himself, remembering Onestar’s scathing attack on Bramblestar in the WindClan camp.
But Onestar seemed unaware of any possible insult, or perhaps he’d realized he couldn’t afford to be insulted. “I still think we need to get them out,” he mewed. “But whatever we decide, we will have to kill a good number to have any real chance of getting rid of them.”