Crowfeather's Trial

In the first part of the tunnel, wider than most and lit from above, there was only a faint scent of stoat, and even that was stale. Crowfeather could pick up the scents of the first patrol, too, including Nightcloud, though that wasn’t going to help them to find her now.

“Which tunnel did you and Nightcloud take yesterday?” Crowfeather asked Breezepelt when they reached the cave where the tunnels branched off.

“That one,” Breezepelt replied, pointing with his tail.

“Lead on, then,” Crowfeather meowed.

Breezepelt gave a start of surprise at his father’s order, then padded cautiously into the tunnel he had indicated. Crowfeather watched him for a moment, to be sure that his courage would hold, that his nerves would not get the better of him.

When he was sure that Breezepelt was not going to flee the tunnel, Crowfeather followed. He could sense fear in his son’s scent, but determination too, and his paw steps were steady.

Within moments they were plunged into complete darkness, and Crowfeather could detect damp air rising from somewhere ahead of them. “Don’t forget that Heathertail warned us about flooding,” he reminded Breezepelt.

He could sense his son shivering, and remembered once again the time Breezepelt had nearly drowned in the tunnels when he was an apprentice.

“It’s best not to think about the past,” he advised Breezepelt. Somehow it was easier to talk to him in the thick darkness than when they could face each other in the searching light of day. “But if you must think about it, remember how you survived. The memory of the terrible thing that happened here should remind you of how strong and brave you are.”

His son was silent for several heartbeats, just padding on steadily down the tunnel. It had been moons since Crowfeather had paid Breezepelt a compliment, and he wasn’t sure how he would take it. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” Breezepelt responded at last. “I take after my mother, and she’s the bravest cat I’ve ever met. That’s how I know that Nightcloud is still alive.”

Crowfeather had known plenty of brave cats who had met terrible ends, but he wasn’t about to say that to Breezepelt. He wondered, though, if he should advise his son not to get his hopes up too high.

What if Nightcloud has drowned? Or maybe the stoats killed her. What if we’re looking for her body?

Crowfeather tried his best to push those thoughts away as he and Breezepelt moved on through the tunnels, the passages leading them farther and farther downward. Now and again Crowfeather picked up the scent of water, but they were able to avoid the flooded tunnels Heathertail had warned them about. By now the last traces of Nightcloud’s scent had faded — swamped, Crowfeather guessed, by the dampness in the air and on the slick stone floor.

Finally Crowfeather became aware of a faint light filtering up from below. The scent of water grew stronger still, until the cats emerged into a huge cavern lit by a jagged hole in the roof, high above their heads. The floor was rippled stone, and across the center a river flowed, appearing from a dark hole at one side of the cave and disappearing again into another hole opposite.

Crowfeather breathed in fresher air from the other side of the river, and with it another familiar scent. He exchanged a glance with Breezepelt. Oh, fox dung.

“ThunderClan!”

We don’t want to get any closer to them, Crowfeather thought. After the Great Battle, it’s not going to take much to create new tension among the Clans.

“Maybe we should turn back,” he told his son.

Breezepelt glared at him. “Without finding Nightcloud?”

Crowfeather flexed his claws uncomfortably on the damp stone of the cavern floor. “We haven’t picked up her scent since just after we entered the tunnels. “There’s no evidence that she ever came this way.”

“But we have to try!” Breezepelt protested. “If she’s lying injured somewhere, time could be running out for her. She could bleed to death… or she could be defenseless against more stoats.”

Crowfeather grimaced, unsure what to do. The last thing he wanted was to put his son in danger for no reason. But what if Breezepelt was right? Staying on good terms with ThunderClan was important, but would he ever be able to forgive himself if he gave up now and later discovered that he could have saved Nightcloud if they’d kept searching just a little bit longer?

He nodded slowly. “Okay, we’ll keep going.”

Padding alongside the river, Crowfeather came to a narrower place where the water roared along in a deeper gully. “We can cross here,” he murmured.