Crowfeather's Trial

Leafpool’s expression was full of relief as she took a pace forward to stand beside Crowfeather. Crowfeather knew very well she hated to think of cats in need, whatever their Clan might be. All the warmth and affection he had once felt for her threatened to well up again inside him, and he ruthlessly pushed it down again.

All that was over a long time ago. But even while he admitted that, Crowfeather asked himself whether he had ever felt as strongly as that about Nightcloud. No, I never did. Is that a bad thing?

He forced himself out of his musing to hear Harespring thank Bramblestar. “We should leave right away,” he meowed. “Every moment might count for the injured cats.”

Bramblestar dipped his head and turned away, heading back to his den. The rest of the cats began to disperse, back to their duties.

Leafpool touched Crowfeather on the shoulder with the tip of her tail. “Wait for me a moment,” she mewed. “I need to fetch some herbs.”

She bounded away toward the medicine-cat den, with Jayfeather beside her. He was telling her something, his tail twitching as he spoke. I can’t imagine that’s anything good, Crowfeather thought. He’s probably warning her to beware of the vicious, treacherous WindClan cats.

Leafpool reappeared from the den a few moments later, a leaf wrap of herbs in her jaws, and with Harespring in the lead the three cats headed out of the camp. Crowfeather relaxed as they emerged at the far end of the thorn tunnel, away from all those curious ThunderClan eyes.

Once they were out in the forest, Harespring drew a little way ahead; Crowfeather guessed he wanted to give him and Leafpool the chance to talk.

I’m not sure that’s a good idea. There’s not much we have to say to each other anymore.

But Leafpool seemed quite unembarrassed to be alone with the warrior she had once valued more than both her Clan and her calling as a medicine cat. “Ivypool told me you went looking for Nightcloud,” she began, managing to talk around the leaf wrap. Her gaze was friendly and sympathetic. “Did you find her?”

“Yes,” Crowfeather replied. “Some Twolegs were looking after her, and we had to rescue her from their den. She’s fine now.”

“I’m so glad!” Leafpool hesitated, then went on more diffidently, “Now you and Nightcloud will have the chance to work things out. After all, having kits ties you together forever, no matter what happens after that…”

Her voice trailed off, and she cast Crowfeather an awkward, flickering glance before padding on with her gaze fixed firmly on her paws.

Like we did… Crowfeather too looked at the ground to hide his discomfort. What Leafpool had just said applied to them, too, of course, but neither of them dared say it aloud.

After a few moments, Crowfeather summoned the courage to continue. “It’s true what you say. And I would like to be friends with Nightcloud, if I ever manage to tell her so.”

He remembered how he and Nightcloud had been allies during her rescue and on the journey home, but that closeness hadn’t survived their return to camp. He still didn’t really know what to say to her.

By the time Crowfeather and Leafpool crossed the border stream and left the trees behind to climb up onto the moor, Harespring was out of sight. Crowfeather wondered whether he had gone on ahead to tell WindClan that help was on its way.

Then Crowfeather spotted movement behind an outcrop of rock, and thought that the deputy must be waiting there for them. But the creature that emerged into the open wasn’t Harespring. Instead of the deputy’s bright eyes and brown-and-white pelt, Crowfeather saw blinding white fur and sharp teeth.

It’s one of those StarClan-cursed stoats!

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.