Crowfeather's Trial

“Fine,” Breezepelt replied. “You?”

Crowfeather nodded. “Let’s go and kill some stoats!”

Breezepelt instantly leaped into the battle, but Crowfeather paused a moment to take in what was happening. The open ground between the gorse-covered hillside and the tunnel entrances in the steep bank was covered by writhing bodies: cats and stoats locked together in combat. Harespring and Thornclaw had taken up their position in front of the only open entrance to make sure that the stoats couldn’t flee back into safety. Yowls and shrieks split the air, and the scents of cats and stoats were already mingling with the tang of blood.

Our blood as well as the stoats’, he realized, fury welling up inside him.

For a heartbeat his anger blinded him, so he didn’t notice that one stoat had broken away from the main battle and charged at him, until it was almost on top of him. As it sprang, he lashed out at it, scoring his claws down its side. The stoat scrabbled away, whimpering. Then fighting surged all around him, and it was all he could do to stay on his paws.

The cats were much larger than the stoats, but even the two Clans together were still vastly outnumbered. The stoats were sharp-toothed, and very fast-moving; Crowfeather saw many of them leap into the air unexpectedly, to land on their enemies’ backs and tear at their spines and shoulders. He spotted Furzepelt with a stoat clinging to her shoulders; she rolled over in a desperate attempt to get rid of it, smothering it under her weight. Next to her Mousewhisker slashed his claws down the side of a stoat that had pushed Emberfoot down; the gray tom scrambled to his paws, and the two cats together drove the stoat back into the press of its denmates.

Heading for where the fighting was thickest, Crowfeather raked his claws across the faces of stoats that got in his way. Already it was hard to move because of the bodies of stoats lying underpaw, yet he could see that many of the cats had serious injuries. He spotted Birchfall, who had blood running down his muzzle from a wounded ear, and Larkwing had a long gash down one side. Even though they were so badly injured, they were still standing, still moving forward, not letting their wounds slow them down.

It’s the cats who trained with the Dark Forest who are fighting hardest, Crowfeather realized. They’re throwing themselves into the worst of the battle.

As he looked around, Crowfeather’s heart swelled with pride as he saw his Clanmates, who had suffered so much suspicion after the mistake they’d made, showing their loyalty by risking their lives for their Clan. At the same time, rage against the stoats gave him new strength and energy.

A stoat rushed at him, rearing up to attack him with both forepaws. Crowfeather ducked underneath its forelegs, and as the stoat landed, he spun around to fasten his teeth in its throat. He pinned it to the ground, his paws gripping it determinedly until he felt a warm rush of blood; the stoat went limp and he tossed it aside. Looking up, he found himself staring into the face of Nightcloud.

“Neat kill,” she commented. “Leave some for the rest of us, won’t you?”

As she spoke, a stoat dived for her, leaping up to land on her back. But before it could get a firm grip on her, Crowfeather lashed out with one forepaw, knocking it to the ground. Nightcloud sank her claws into its throat; the stoat twitched and lay still. She gave Crowfeather a nod of gratitude before turning back to the battle.

Crowfeather and Nightcloud fought together, standing tail to tail as they turned in a circle, paws striking out at the endless surge of stoats. As soon as they killed or injured one, another would take its place. The white bodies, the small, malignant eyes and snarling fangs, seemed to Crowfeather like something out of a nightmare. He could only go on struggling, grateful for Nightcloud’s steady presence beside him.

Then pain exploded in Crowfeather’s shoulder. He turned his head to see a stoat gripping him with its claws, while a splash of drool on his muzzle warned him it was going for his throat. Crowfeather couldn’t shake it off; he dropped to the ground, buying time, but the pressing weight of the frenzied creature made him feel there was no escape. The angle of their bodies meant that he couldn’t batter at it with his hind legs. StarClan, help me! he prayed.

The stoat abruptly vanished. Crowfeather looked up to see Nightcloud holding it by the scruff, shaking it vigorously, then tossing it away into the crowd.

“Thanks,” Crowfeather gasped, scrambling to his paws.

“Anytime,” Nightcloud responded.

They turned as one to attack two other stoats that dived in from opposite directions. Even while his body remembered his battle moves, Crowfeather could reflect on how well he and Nightcloud fought together, how well they knew each other.