Crowfeather's Trial

“Okay,” Onestar meowed, “go and get yourselves something to eat. No, not you, Crowfeather,” he added, as the patrol began to move away. “I want a word with you.”

Crowfeather halted. What now? he wondered.

Onestar waited until the rest of the patrol was gone. “Tell me again what you saw. Give me as much detail as you can.”

“I ran up to the tunnel entrance when I heard Hootpaw yowl,” Crowfeather explained. “And I caught a glimpse of something white disappearing into the darkness. I thought it looked like a tail, but I can’t be sure. Maybe it was as you said — just a trick of the light… or my imagination making me see danger.”

Onestar listened intently, saying nothing until Crowfeather had finished. Then he shook his head sadly. “If there were a time for WindClan cats to be seeing ghosts, it would be now,” he mewed, echoing Crowfeather’s earlier thought. “We lost so many Clanmates in the Great Battle.”

Crowfeather nodded, his throat suddenly dry. It hurt to think of all the cats they would never see again.

“The loss of Ashfoot must weigh heavily on you,” Onestar went on, his eyes full of sympathy. “I know you miss her every day.”

Crowfeather met Onestar’s gaze, surprised to hear the leader mention his mother. Even the sound of her name made his chest tighten with sorrow. Talking about his grief for his mother was still too painful. He had to struggle to respond without breaking down. “Yes, it has been… difficult,” Crowfeather admitted finally, almost having to push the words out of his mouth.

“Perhaps you can find comfort in the rest of your family,” Onestar suggested. “Nightcloud and Breezepelt.”

Crowfeather felt his muscles tense and said nothing. Does he have bees in his brain? Onestar knows very well there’s no comfort for me there.

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” Onestar went on. “Breezepelt tells me you haven’t so much as looked in his direction since the Great Battle. Is that true?”

Fury began to build up in Crowfeather’s belly. I don’t want to talk about this! “I suppose so,” he muttered.

“Then tell me why,” Onestar persisted. “I’ve made it clear, as Clan leader, that I’ve forgiven Breezepelt for his part in the battle. And he has sworn a new oath of loyalty to WindClan. So why, as Breezepelt’s father, do you refuse to accept that?”

“I know that what you say is true,” Crowfeather replied, struggling not to unleash his pent-up frustrations on his Clan leader. “But… well, you know that I caught Breezepelt about to kill Lionblaze.”

“Lionblaze may be your son, but he is a ThunderClan cat,” Onestar responded in a level voice. “Breezepelt is a WindClan cat. It seems clear to me where your loyalty should lie.”

Crowfeather drew his lips back in the beginning of a snarl, but he could find nothing to say in answer to his leader’s arguments. He knew that what Onestar said made sense. He just found it hard to pretend that his time with Leafpool, and the kits they’d had together as a result, meant nothing to him.

But no cat would understand that but me.

For a few heartbeats, Onestar was silent. “Crowfeather,” he began again at last, “are you aware that many cats thought I would choose you as my deputy after Ashfoot’s death?”

Now Crowfeather felt even more uncomfortable. Whatever other cats had thought, the choice of a deputy was for the Clan leader to decide, and Crowfeather had never thought of objecting to Onestar’s choice of Harespring. Even if he did think it was mouse-brained.

“Yes, I knew that,” he admitted. “But—”

“Do you know why I made the choice that I did?”

Crowfeather took a deep, calming breath, wishing he could see the point of these questions. Because you’re mouse-brained? “I suppose that by choosing Harespring, you were sending a message that the Dark Forest cats can be trusted.”

“That’s true,” Onestar agreed. “But there is also a reason that I didn’t choose you.”

Crowfeather’s ears pricked in surprise. “There is?”

“Yes,” Onestar meowed sternly. “Because you care about your own anger and prejudices more than you care about WindClan.”

“That’s not true!” Is it?

“Wouldn’t you have accepted Breezepelt if it weren’t?” Onestar challenged him. “He is your Clanmate, not to mention your own son. Accepting him would clearly be the best thing for your Clan.”

Crowfeather had no answer to this. He felt his whiskers twitch with irritation as he looked away.

“I am your leader,” Onestar went on, “and I have said we will trust him. But you choose not to follow my lead. Instead of trusting your own son, you cling to your anger and disappointment.”