by Erin Hunter
The birth had been a difficult one. There were two other kits in the litter—one had been born dead, and the other lived for only a few moments. But Breezepelt had been perfect and strong.
How did I get so far from that feeling?
Crowfeather became aware of scarlet light from the sunset seeping into the den, and then the remaining daylight fading into night. Kestrelflight was asleep in his nest and Crowfeather was dozing when Breezepelt finally stirred.
Crowfeather looked up to see that his son’s eyes were open, and they weren’t glossy and unfocused as they had been earlier—they were now sharp and alert.
“How do you feel?” Crowfeather asked him. “You’ve been really ill. We were all worried about you.”
“I’m fine . . . ,” Breezepelt murmured. He raised his head and looked around him, blinking in vague surprise to see the sleeping Kestrelflight and the darkness outside. “You’ve been here all night?” he asked.
“Yes, well . . .” Crowfeather felt uncomfortable as he realized that Breezepelt was touched to see him there. “Heathertail was watching over you,” he went on rapidly, “but she got so exhausted that I talked her into going for a rest. She and Nightcloud will be back at dawn to see how you are.”
“That’s good,” Breezepelt responded. “Heathertail is . . . amazing.”
“She certainly is,” Crowfeather agreed.
“I can’t believe she actually wants to be with me,” Breezepelt continued, a bewildered but happy expression on his face.
“Why on earth not?” Crowfeather touched Breezepelt’s shoulder with his tail-tip. “You’re a loyal WindClan warrior, and one of the bravest.”
Breezepelt met his gaze, disbelief in his eyes. “You really believe that?”
“I really do.”
Talking softly to his son in the dark, Crowfeather felt like things truly were changing. He was keeping the promise he’d made to Ashfoot, and to himself. This is good, he thought. Why was it so difficult before?
Soon Breezepelt went back to sleep, and Crowfeather felt reassured enough to do the same. At once he found himself on a hillside, with wind rippling the grass and blowing through his fur, flattening it to his sides. The air was full of wild moorland scents. The sky glittered with stars, and light came from somewhere behind him, so that he cast a long, wavering shadow out in front. Turning, Crowfeather saw Ashfoot.
His mother stood facing him. Her gray fur shone with the pale glow he had seen before in his dreams, but this time her ears shimmered faintly, and there was a frosty sparkle around her paws.
“You made it to StarClan!” he exclaimed, overawed by how beautiful she was.
Ashfoot dipped her head. “It was time,” she mewed. “I’m so proud of you, Crowfeather. Proud that you’re finally listening. No cat can be a good warrior, or a loyal Clanmate, with a closed heart. Now you have opened yours . . . and WindClan is better for it.”
Deep happiness flowed through Crowfeather at his mother’s praise, but apprehension was mixed with it, too. “It scares me a little,” he admitted. “Caring, when for so long I tried not to. Any cat you love, you can lose.”
“The loss is worth it,” Ashfoot purred warmly. “I loved you . . . so much . . . and now it hurts to part. But I’m better for it, and so are you.”
“Then I won’t see you again?” Crowfeather asked, feeling as if a forest tree had crashed down on top of him.
“Not like this,” Ashfoot responded. “But I’ll always watch out for you, from StarClan.”
Crowfeather heaved a long sigh, forcing himself into acceptance. “Good-bye, then,” he meowed. “I’ll always love you, and miss you.”
“Take care of your kin,” his mother meowed. “And remember that I’m always with you. . . .”
Her voice died away on the last few words. Crowfeather saw her shape begin to fade, until it was no more than a frosty glimmer in the air, and then was gone.
CHAPTER 34
The sun was almost touching the top of the moor as Crowfeather and Featherpaw carefully pressed a flat stone against the side of one of the tunnel entrances, shoring up a spill of crumbling earth.
“Good,” Crowfeather meowed, stepping back with a purr of satisfaction. “We should get this job finished before nightfall.”
More than a half-moon had passed since the battle against the stoats, and so far none of the survivors had returned. Even their scent had well and truly faded. Onestar had ordered the tunnel entrances to be blocked more securely, all except for one, and had decided that WindClan needed to patrol the tunnels to discourage any other animals from settling there in future.
“Imagine if a family of badgers decided to live there!” he had meowed.
As Featherpaw went off to find more stones, Nightcloud and Hootpaw emerged from the entrance and stood beside Crowfeather, shaking dust from their pelts.
“That’s done!” Nightcloud exclaimed. “The whole place is clear of the last of the old prey.”
“It was disgusting!” Hootpaw added, passing his tongue over his jaws as if he could taste the crow-food. “I thought we’d never finish.”
“Well done,” Crowfeather mewed with an approving nod, surprised at how comfortable he felt around Nightcloud now.
“You’ve done enough!” Heathertail’s voice came from farther along the bank; Crowfeather turned to see her with Breezepelt. “Onestar has chosen you to go to the Gathering, so you should rest first.”
Breezepelt gave her a friendly shove. “I’m perfectly fine,” he mewed.
Crowfeather could hardly believe how carefree Breezepelt sounded, as if more had been healed within him than just the infection from the stoat bite. It’s good to hear him like that.
He exchanged an amused glance with Nightcloud as they listened to the two young cats’ amiable wrangling.
Nightcloud leaned closer to him and whispered into his ear, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there are new kits in the nursery soon.”
“Really?” Crowfeather asked. “I know you said that before, but—”
“Just look at them, mouse-brain!” Nightcloud’s words were harsh, but her eyes were sparkling and her tail curled up playfully.
“Kits . . . ,” Crowfeather murmured. “Great StarClan, this soon . . . ?” I’m just figuring out how to be a father. . . .
Onestar’s voice, calling the Clan together, interrupted his musing. The sun was beginning to set, casting scarlet light across the moor. A chilly breeze had sprung up, but the sky was clear, a good omen for the night’s Gathering.
“Duties are over for the day,” the Clan leader announced as his cats padded up to him. “We’ll head back to the camp, and the cats I’ve chosen for the Gathering should go to their dens and rest.”
At least, Crowfeather thought as he began to climb the hill behind his Clan leader, this time we have good news to report.
Crowfeather slipped into the shifting mass of cats in the clearing beneath the branches of the Great Oak. Once again WindClan was the last to arrive, but the Clan leaders seemed to be in no hurry to start the meeting. The WindClan cats had time to mingle with the earlier arrivals, greeting their friends from other Clans.
Crowfeather found a space for himself not far from the roots of the Great Oak, where Harespring had taken his place with the other deputies. Not far away, he spotted Leafpool and Jayfeather with their fellow medicine cats.
For a long time before the battle against the Dark Forest, Crowfeather had been barely able to look at either of them, but now all he could feel toward them was gratitude.
Leafpool had helped him heal his heart after Feathertail died, even though in the end they couldn’t be together, and Jayfeather might still hate Breezepelt, but he’d done what was right to save his life.
Finally, Blackstar lifted his head to get every cat’s attention: “Before we begin, let us remember the fallen . . .”
This again, Crowfeather thought, although it did feel important to not forget the fallen warriors.
As soon as h
e’d finished, Blackstar then declared that prey was running well in ShadowClan territory. “My patrols picked up fox scent near the Twoleg greenleafplace,” he continued, “but it faded quickly and hasn’t returned. We think that the fox was only passing through.”
He stepped back, waving his tail for Mistystar to speak for RiverClan. The blue-gray she-cat dipped her head in acknowledgement before she began.
“All is well in RiverClan,” she announced. “This last moon we had several cases of whitecough, but Mothwing and Willowshine were able to treat it before it turned to greencough, and the sick cats are recovering well. Mothwing, Willowshine, your Clan thanks you.”
The RiverClan cats joined in chanting the names of their two medicine cats, as Bramblestar stepped forward to begin his report.
“Life is good in ThunderClan,” he meowed. “Two of our apprentices, Cherrypaw and Molepaw, have completed their training, after Whitewing took over and worked with Cherrypaw. We welcome them as warriors, Cherryfall and Molewhisker.”
“Cherryfall! Molewhisker!” Yowling erupted from the assembled cats, while the two new warriors ducked their heads, looking happily embarrassed.
Crowfeather half expected Bramblestar to mention the battle against the stoats, but the ThunderClan leader gave his place to Blackstar without saying any more.
He must be leaving that piece of news to Onestar, Crowfeather thought, as Bramblestar sat on his branch again with a nod to Onestar to give his report.
Crowfeather thought that his Clan leader looked proud as he rose to his paws and let his gaze travel over the assembled cats on the ground below him. And no wonder, after all the problems at the last Gathering. So much has changed since then.
“WindClan fought a battle with the stoats in the tunnels,” Onestar began. “Many of the stoats were killed, and the survivors fled. The tunnels are now clear again. But WindClan did not fight alone. ThunderClan came to our aid, and without their bravery and the generous help they gave us, we could never have won this victory. Bramblestar, WindClan thanks you and your Clan from the bottom of our hearts.”
Onestar paused, dipping his head deeply toward Bramblestar; Crowfeather could see how much he now respected the young ThunderClan leader. Bramblestar’s amber eyes glowed in response, as if praise from the older and more experienced leader meant a lot to him.
“I also want to mention another cat,” Onestar went on. “A warrior from my own Clan, with whom I’ve had my differences, but who never gave up on his determination that the stoats must be driven out. Crowfeather, while we’ve butted heads, I appreciate your devotion to WindClan.”
Crowfeather felt a warming beneath his pelt as Onestar nodded in his direction. Don’t go softhearted on me, he thought, but in his embarrassment he managed to nod his head to show his appreciation. Onestar nodded back, then went on.
“I must also mention the cats who fought with special bravery and deserve our collective thanks,” Onestar went on. “From ThunderClan, Mousewhisker, Birchfall, Thornclaw, and Blossomfall; from WindClan, Harespring, Larkwing, Whiskernose, and Breezepelt.”
As Onestar spoke the names, a murmur arose from the gathered cats, as they realized that these were the cats who had trained with the Dark Forest behind their Clanmates’ backs.
As soon as Onestar had finished speaking, Rowanclaw, the ShadowClan deputy, sprang to his paws from where he sat on the roots of the Great Oak. Crowfeather felt dread rise in his belly, knowing very well that Rowanclaw was about to disrupt the spirit of friendship that was growing among the Clans.
“So they should fight bravely!” he snapped. “They’ve got a lot to make up for before any cat trusts them again.”
Bramblestar rose, glaring down at Rowanclaw, but before he could speak, Lionblaze leaped up and faced the ShadowClan deputy.
“Shame on you, Rowanclaw!” he meowed. “Every cat knows that those cats were tricked. They thought they were becoming stronger warriors to protect their Clans. They’ve taken an oath of loyalty, and have proved themselves since then. Breezepelt saved my life when the stoats swarmed over me. If I can forgive Breezepelt for his part in the Great Battle, then you, Rowanclaw, have no excuse.” The golden tabby tom turned his head until his cool amber gaze rested on Breezepelt. “I, for one, think the past should be left in the past,” he finished.
Rowanclaw subsided onto his root with a glowering look, but he said no more. While Bramblestar briefly thanked Onestar and brought the meeting to an end, Crowfeather kept his gaze fixed on Lionblaze.
What a straightforward, generous, candid cat Lionblaze is, he thought. He’s a strong warrior, and any cat should be proud to call him kin. A little wryly he admitted to himself that being raised by Bramblestar probably had a good deal to do with his having turned out to be that kind of cat. Maybe one day I’ll thank Bramblestar for that.
Crowfeather padded between Onestar and Harespring as they crossed the moor on their way back to the WindClan camp. Thin clouds scudded across the sky, driven by a stiff breeze, but the moon floated serenely above them all, and the warriors of StarClan glittered from horizon to horizon.
“That was a great Gathering,” Harespring remarked, blinking in satisfaction. “It’s good that there’s peace among all the Clans.”
“Yes,” Crowfeather agreed. “Now there’s time for the Clans to grow strong, unthreatened by one another.”
For several heartbeats Onestar was silent; his eyes were dark and inward-looking. “Are you okay?” Harespring asked him.
Onestar glanced at Harespring, then at Crowfeather, and then at his own paws, padding steadily uphill. “I don’t know how long there will be peace in the Clans,” he mewed softly. “I can’t shake off the feeling that something bad is coming.”
“Do you know what?” Harespring asked his Clan leader.
Onestar shook his head. “No,” he responded, shivering. “But sometimes I have bad dreams.”
Crowfeather remembered Kestrelflight’s vision of water gushing from the tunnels, strong enough to overwhelm and drown all the Clans. I’ve thought all along that the stoats weren’t enough to explain such a terrible sign, he thought with a sudden quaking in his belly. What if I’m right? What if there is a second wave that will engulf us all?
They returned to the camp, and Crowfeather curled up in his nest. In spite of Onestar’s misgivings, he felt at peace. WindClan had learned a lesson: We must trust the other Clans.
Sinking into sleep, Crowfeather dreamed that he was lying in a sunny hollow on the moor, with the scents of fresh growth filling the air. Healthy, boisterous kits were swarming all over him, batting at him with their soft paws and letting out excited squeaks as they tumbled about. One of them, he noticed, had Heathertail’s wide blue eyes, while two of the others were as black as Breezepelt.
“Oof! Get off!” Crowfeather exclaimed, batting gently at them with claws sheathed.
“You’re a badger!” one of the kits squealed. “And we’re warriors coming to get you!”
“Yeah, get off our territory, stinky badger!” Another of them dug his paws deep into Crowfeather’s fur.
One of the kits, more adventurous than the rest, was heading off across the moor. Nightcloud intercepted her and guided her back toward her littermates. Breezepelt and Heathertail, their tails twined together, looked on with laughter in their eyes.
Crowfeather had never known such feelings of deep happiness and peace. Looking up, he saw a cloud above him suddenly shift into a familiar shape. Ashfoot’s face was looking down at him, and Crowfeather basked in the pride and love in her expression.
Thank you, Ashfoot, he thought. You taught me what I needed to learn. Everything I endured brought me to this, to give me something to fight for in WindClan.
And if trouble does come, he added to himself, then WindClan will deal with it. After the Great Battle, and the fight against the stoats, there’s surely no threat that our Clan can’t face.
READ ON FOR AN EXCLUSIVE MANGA ADVENTURE . . .
CREATED BY
ERIN HUNTER
WRITTEN BY
DAN JOLLEY
ART BY
JAMES L. BARRY
Excerpt from Bravelands: Broken Pride
HEED THE CALL OF THE WILD . . .
A NEW ERIN HUNTER ADVENTURE BEGINS
CHAPTER ONE
Swiftcub pounced after the vulture’s shadow, but it flitted away too quickly to follow. Breathing hard, he pranced back to his pride. I saw that bird off our territory, he thought, delighted. No rot-eater’s going to come near Gallantpride while I’m around!
The pride needed him to defend it, Swiftcub thought, picking up his paws and strutting around his family. Why, right now they were all half asleep, dozing and basking in the shade of the acacia trees. The most energetic thing the other lions were doing was lifting their heads to groom their nearest neighbors, or their own paws. They had no idea of the threat Swiftcub had just banished.
I might be only a few moons old, but my father is the strongest, bravest lion in Bravelands. And I’m going to be just like him!
“Swiftcub!”
The gentle but commanding voice snapped him out of his dreams of glory. He came to a halt, turning and flicking his ears at the regal lioness who stood over him.
“Mother,” he said, shifting on his paws.
“Why are you shouting at vultures?” Swift scolded him fondly, licking at his ears. “They’re nothing but scavengers. Come on, you and your sister can play later. Right now you’re supposed to be practicing hunting. And if you’re going to catch anything, you’ll need to keep your eyes on the prey, not on the sky!”
“Sorry, Mother.” Guiltily he padded after her as she led him through the dry grass, her tail swishing. The ground rose gently, and Swiftcub had to trot to keep up. The grasses tickled his nose, and he was so focused on trying not to sneeze, he almost bumped into his mother’s haunches as she crouched.