Crowfeather's Trial

Though Kestrelflight was looking definitely uneasy with all these suggestions, he shook his head. “No, they haven’t,” he replied.

“So maybe there’s a way to bring them back!” Larkwing suggested excitedly.

Annoyance prickled Crowfeather’s pelt as if a whole Clan of ants were crawling through it. “Dead cats don’t come back,” he snapped. “Except for leaders who have lives left. For StarClan’s sake, Larkwing, don’t you understand death?”

The pale brown tabby drew back her lips and hissed at him, but then looked away, saying nothing more. Crowfeather instantly felt guilty; the young she-cat was obviously having a tough time in the Clan, and he hadn’t meant to make it worse. Great StarClan, she was only an apprentice at the time of the Great Battle. She hardly knew how to groom her own fur!

“In any case,” Onestar meowed, raising his tail to draw his Clan’s attention to him, “it wasn’t a ghost cat! But there are animals who might have gone to live in the tunnels and could be threats to us. Prey has been scarce for a while in that part of the territory, and that suggests we’re dealing with something real.”

“Good point,” Crouchfoot murmured, looking slightly happier.

“So I’ve decided to send a patrol to explore the tunnels and see what they find,” Onestar went on. “Meanwhile, we all need to be careful. If there are hostile creatures living there, we must be ready to fight.”

“Of course we are!” Heathertail called. “We’re warriors!”

Onestar nodded. “Harespring will lead the patrol,” he announced. “Are there any volunteers to go with him?”

For a moment no cat answered; they only murmured among themselves and exchanged doubtful glances.

“If we might be fighting Dark Forest ghost cats,” Crouchfoot muttered, “then we should send Breezepelt.”

Crowfeather glanced across at his son and saw that his face wore the wounded, angry look that was so familiar now. Clearly Crouchfoot’s words had hurt him.

But Crowfeather also knew that this was a challenge Breezepelt would not want to meet. As a young cat, he had been caught in a flood that had raged in the tunnels, and he had been terrified of them ever since.

Crowfeather felt a pang of sympathy for him and was about to open his jaws to defend his son when, to his surprise, Breezepelt stepped forward, his chest puffed out proudly. “Yes,” he meowed. “I will go.”

Onestar looked impressed, dipping his head toward Breezepelt. “There speaks a true WindClan warrior,” he announced to the others.

How about that. Crowfeather was surprised to see Breezepelt volunteering for such a dangerous task — and a little bit impressed. But from elsewhere around the Tallrock came murmurs of disapproval; clearly not all the cats agreed with their leader’s praise.

The murmurs were silenced as Nightcloud stepped forward beside her son. “I’ll go too,” she stated.

Crowfeather caught a glance exchanged between his former mate and their son: hers protective and motherly, his thankful. He huffed out his breath, trying to ignore the pain like a piercing thorn at the sight of the love and trust between them. Neither one of them ever felt that way about me.

When Breezepelt was a kit, Nightcloud had been so overprotective. Maybe because he’d been the only one of their litter to survive. But Crowfeather couldn’t do anything right. He was too rough when he tried to play with him, or he was too strict. And now look how Breezepelt has turned out! Crowfeather thought sadly. Irritable, defensive, angry…

Crowfeather suddenly realized that Onestar was speaking to him. “Is that all right with you, Crowfeather?”

Mouse-dung. Now what have I missed? “I’m sorry?” he mewed, trying to look attentive.

“I said, I want you to join the patrol,” Onestar responded. “After all, you saw this strange animal as well. Furzepelt and Heathertail will go, too.”

Stifling a growl, Crowfeather nodded agreement. It made sense that he would be chosen to join the patrol, as he was the only cat besides Hootpaw who had seen anything. But from the look Onestar was giving him, he sensed there was more to it than that.

That mouse-brain wants to force me to spend more time with Breezepelt.

Glancing at Nightcloud and Breezepelt, Crowfeather could see they both looked distinctly unimpressed at the idea of his joining them. The memory of his horrific dream of Ashfoot came surging back into his mind, and he admitted to himself that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be going back into the tunnels, either.

This is going to be just great.