Crowfeather's Trial

They’re staring. Embarrassment prickled beneath Crowfeather’s pelt. And — as it often did — he felt that embarrassment turn into annoyance with Breezepelt.

“We can’t just go traipsing over into ThunderClan’s territory,” he meowed scornfully. “You know that, Breezepelt.” He lowered his voice. “Especially not when you practically start a battle with ThunderClan warriors the moment you catch sight of them! Don’t you think your spat with Berrynose and the others will come up the minute we ask for ThunderClan’s help?”

“You think this is my fault?” Breezepelt exclaimed incredulously — and loudly. “I trusted you! I trusted you to speak with Onestar without me, and you bungled it all up! We’re losing time!”

“I know,” Crowfeather hissed, his throat hot. “But we have—”

Have to be careful, he’d meant to say. Or have to think of a way to convince Onestar.

But it didn’t matter, because Breezepelt whirled away and stomped off before he even got past the first word.

Watching him go, Crowfeather felt his embarrassment and anger fade into disappointment. He saw the other warriors watching Breezepelt too, disapproval in their eyes.

But he’s not wrong, Crowfeather thought, turning back to collect the apprentices. We have to figure out a way to find Nightcloud — before it’s too late.

The sun’s light was pure, blinding white, but the air was frigid, and Crowfeather’s, Featherpaw’s, and Hootpaw’s paws crunched against the hardened snow that clung to some parts of the moor. The sky was pure blue, dotted with silver-gray clouds.

“I can’t wait for newleaf,” Hootpaw mewed as he and Featherpaw trailed Crowfeather. “Leaf-bare is the hardest season.”

This leaf-bare certainly is, Crowfeather thought. And it has nothing to do with the cold or lack of prey. “Hard or not, a cat must know how to survive in all seasons,” Crowfeather replied. “So today we’ll focus on working together to catch prey.”

He explained how changes in the terrain presented new challenges in leaf-bare. Snow that crunched beneath paws could serve as an alert system for the prey they chased — or, cats could use it to their advantage.

“Let’s try a new technique,” Crowfeather went on. “Hootpaw, I want you to wait behind this bush, where the snow is piled. When prey approaches the bush, you move your paws to crunch the snow — that will startle the prey, and it’ll run toward us. Then Featherpaw — it’s your job to surprise it and make the killing blow.”

The apprentices eagerly agreed, and Hootpaw settled down, hidden behind the bush in the hardened snow. Crowfeather crawled into a small indentation in the ground to watch. All three cats grew silent.

It seemed like a long time before a tiny brown mouse, fluffed up in the cold, darted into the bush from a nearby hole. Crowfeather watched, not making a sound, as Hootpaw’s eyes widened and then he scrambled to his paws, scrabbling them on the ground to make a satisfying crunch. Unfortunately, Hootpaw was so excited, or so cold, that he stood awkwardly and slid on the snow. As his paws went out from under him, Hootpaw fell on his back in the snow, making the expected crunch — but not in the intended way at all.

The mouse was still startled, though, and began to dart back to the hole. Crowfeather turned expectantly to Featherpaw, only to find her doubled over with amusement, her eyes dancing as she stared at Hootpaw.

As the mouse passed near Featherpaw, she made a halfhearted attempt to grab it, but her attention was still clearly on Hootpaw.

“Pay attention!” Crowfeather snapped.

The mouse slipped easily back into its hole. When it was gone, both Featherpaw and Hootpaw dissolved into laughter.

“I’m sorry!” Featherpaw mewed. “It’s just… Hootpaw looked so ridiculous!”

Hootpaw, who was still lying on his back, shook his head. “It was an accident! The snow was so slippery…”

Crowfeather got to his feet and stalked toward them, his neck fur ruffled with annoyance. “Do you think this is a game?” he asked.

Both apprentices abruptly stopped laughing, looking up at him with regret.

“No…,” mewed Hootpaw. “It’s just…”

Crowfeather turned his attention to Featherpaw. “Do you think your Clanmates’ bellies will be filled with your amusement? Do you think a good warrior turns away from a hunt to entertain her friends?”

Now Featherpaw really looked ashamed. “No, Crowfeather.” She cast her eyes at the ground.

Crowfeather strode to a stop just in front of her. “You’re usually a good apprentice,” he murmured. When he sensed Hootpaw shifting uncomfortably from where he stood, Crowfeather turned to him and added, “You usually are, too, Hootpaw. At least, I have every reason to believe that from Nightcloud.”

Hootpaw swallowed and nodded, his eyes on the ground.