Crowfeather's Trial

The patrol did not take long to reach the cave Harespring had mentioned, its roof a mesh of interlacing tree roots. From here, several passages led off into darkness. Crowfeather knew that each of the tunnels sloped steeply downward, farther into the ground, and stifled a shiver at the thought of the weight of all that soil and rock above his head.

“This is where we split up,” Harespring announced. “Be careful, all of you.”

Breezepelt’s back was arched and his eyes were wide as Nightcloud began walking into one of the passages, but he held his head high and padded purposefully after her. Crowfeather thought that he was handling his fear well.

Heathertail beckoned Crowfeather with a jerk of her head. “Let’s go this way.”

Who died and made you Heatherstar? Crowfeather almost objected to being ordered around by a younger warrior who had once been his apprentice, but he decided it wasn’t worth it. He followed the tabby she-cat without comment.

Almost at once the light died away behind them and they padded along in complete darkness. Crowfeather pricked his ears, straining to hear the slightest sound from the passage ahead, and kept his jaws parted, tasting the air for the weird scent they had picked up outside on the day before. But at first there was nothing.

A flow of colder air told Crowfeather that they were passing a side tunnel, and from that direction he picked up the faint sound of lapping water.

“Is that the underground river we can hear?” he asked Heathertail, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.

“Oh, no, we’re not nearly deep enough for that.” Heathertail’s voice was cheerful and confident. “Water often collects down there. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“You know your way around these tunnels very well,” Crowfeather remarked, impressed in spite of himself.

“Well…” There was a trace of guilt in Heathertail’s voice as she replied. “I often used to explore down here when I was an apprentice.”

“I never knew that!” Crowfeather’s pelt bristled with outrage. Back then he had felt Heathertail was a model apprentice, and now she was admitting she had done something that would have earned her tick duty for a whole moon if he had found out.

Heathertail let out a mrrow of laughter. “You weren’t supposed to know! You would have clawed my ears off.”

“You’re right. I would have. Now let’s get going.”

Crowfeather padded onward in the black night of the tunnels, his anxiety rising with every paw step. No star will ever shine here. Does that mean we are hidden from StarClan’s eyes? Once again he remembered his dream of Ashfoot, and how she hadn’t shone with the frosty glimmer of a StarClan warrior. Why hasn’t she gone to StarClan, where she belongs?

Farther and farther down they went, until Crowfeather began to pick up a new scent drifting on the dank air.

“What’s that?” he muttered.

He realized that Heathertail had halted when he blundered into her and felt her tail swipe across his face.

“It’s foul… like crow-food,” she mewed.

“It is crow-food,” Crowfeather decided after another sniff. “Something must be bringing prey into the tunnels and then leaving it to rot.”

“That’s mouse-brained!” Heathertail exclaimed. “What does that?”

“Not ghost cats, that’s for sure,” Crowfeather muttered. He wished he could take the lead, but the passage was too narrow for him to push past Heathertail, so he added, “Keep going. But be very careful.”

A few fox-lengths farther on, Crowfeather could tell from the echoing of their paw steps that they had emerged from the tunnel into a larger space. The stench of crow-food had grown and grown until it was almost overwhelming.

“Yuck!” Heathertail’s voice sounded as if she was going to be sick. “I’ve just stepped in something. It’s all slimy and horrible.”

“Something has been stockpiling prey here,” Crowfeather remarked. “So at least we know that there are animals in these tunnels. And whatever they are, they’re obviously not planning to move on anytime soon. There’s masses of prey.”

“And they’re going to eat it?” Even in the darkness Crowfeather could imagine the disgust on Heathertail’s face. “What sort of creature eats spoiled prey?” she asked again.

“I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to know,” Crowfeather responded grimly. “Let’s get back and report.”

But before they could do more than turn toward the tunnel they had entered by, Crowfeather heard a fierce snarling and a rush of pattering paw steps. The sounds were followed by a jolt of pressure on his pelt. Something barreled into him; his paws skidded on the slick surface of the rock, and he landed on his side with a thump that drove the breath out of his body. He felt his attacker’s weight pin him down before he could get to his paws, and then a burst of pain in his shoulder where sharp teeth sank into his fur and flesh.