Crowfeather's Trial

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.