Crowfeather's Trial

Drawing back a few fox-lengths, he took a run up to the bank and pushed off in a massive leap. As he took off, he felt his paws slip on the wet rock, and for a moment he was afraid that he would fall short of the opposite bank. Then he felt his paws strike the rock, but so close to the edge that he stumbled and barely managed to stop himself from falling back into the current. Regaining his balance, he turned back in time to see Breezepelt make the leap and land neatly beside him with a smug twitch of his whiskers.

“Follow me,” Crowfeather murmured, ignoring his son’s triumphant look. “And step quietly. There might be ThunderClan cats lurking.”

He chose a tunnel that led upward from the far side of the cave. Light died away behind them, and the tunnel rapidly grew narrower, until he could feel his pelt brushing the walls on either side. Now and again they passed tunnels leading off to the side, but the air down there smelled musty, and there was never any doubt about which tunnel led out into the open.

Crowfeather kept on tasting the air, but there was still no sign of Nightcloud. However, the ThunderClan scent grew stronger and stronger: not just the Clan scent that clung to any territory, but fresh and complex, the mingled scent of several cats.

There are three or four different cats up there, he thought. They must be a patrol. I hope they’re just passing, and not meaning to explore the tunnels.

“Don’t make a sound,” he warned Breezepelt in a low murmur.

A green light grew ahead of them, and soon Crowfeather could see the end of the tunnel, covered by an overhanging growth of fern. He could make out the shapes of cats moving around just outside. Crowfeather halted, crouching down to the tunnel floor. Glancing back at Breezepelt, he raised his tail to remind him to be silent.

“I’m talking about the safety of all the Clans.” The voice came down the tunnel to where Crowfeather crouched concealed, the tone loud and argumentative.

Crowfeather recognized the voice. It’s that waste of fresh-kill Berrynose.

“We should be making sure that the other Clans have been testing the cats who fought on behalf of the Dark Forest,” Berrynose went on. “As long as there are doubts about those cats’ loyalties, the forest might never be peaceful.”

“But we—” Another voice, which Crowfeather couldn’t identify, tried to interrupt.

“Yes, we have asked stern questions of our warriors.” Berrynose ignored the interruption. “But how do we know that the Dark Forest warriors in other Clans can really be trusted? If they can’t, they should be driven out.”

Crowfeather could feel the roiling anger wafting off Breezepelt, as strong as the reek of fox scent. Glancing back, he saw his son’s shoulder fur bristling and his amber eyes glittering with fury. He was sure that in a couple of heartbeats Breezepelt would launch himself out of the tunnel and fling himself on Berrynose.

And it’s not just Breezepelt, he told himself, thinking about the Clan deputy, Harespring; Whiskernose, who should be allowed to retire with honor to the elders’ den; and Furzepelt and Larkwing, both struggling as hard as they could to be seen as loyal WindClan cats. What right has that flea-brain Berrynose to talk about driving out any cat?

Crowfeather began to ease his way carefully back down the tunnel, signaling to Breezepelt to do the same.

“Let’s get back to looking for Nightcloud,” he murmured when they had put several fox-lengths between themselves and the ThunderClan cats. “Nothing good will come of you listening to anything more that stupid furball has to say.”

“I’d like to claw his pelt off,” Breezepelt growled. But to Crowfeather’s relief he didn’t try to argue. He simply rose to his paws and began to pad back the way they had come.

But before he and Breezepelt had traveled more than a few fox-lengths, they heard the sound they had come to dread: the scratching of innumerable claws on the stone floor of the tunnel.

“Run!” Crowfeather yowled.

The word had hardly left his jaws before the scuttling noises were all around them, and glittering, malevolent eyes reflected the dim light of the tunnel. He choked on the reek of the scent that had become horribly familiar by now. Chittering calls broke out on all sides, and before the cats could flee, they were engulfed in a rising tide of white stoats.

Chapter 6