Crowfeather's Trial

It should work, Crowfeather thought. And maybe we’ll be able to get rid of these StarClan-cursed creatures for good!

“Okay,” Crowfeather meowed to the apprentices when they had all practiced the move for some time, “you’ve gotten in a couple of good blows, you’ve darted back out of range, so what are you going to do now? Sit and sniff the flowers?”

“Attack again!” Hootpaw yowled, while Featherpaw curled her tail up in amusement.

“Right,” Crowfeather responded. “But your enemy won’t be sniffing the flowers, either. They’ll be coming for you, so you need to do something unexpected. Any ideas?”

“Claw their throat out!” Slightpaw snarled, raising one forepaw with claws extended.

“You could try,” Crowfeather agreed, privately reflecting that it wasn’t as easy as that. “Anything else?”

“Attack from behind?” Featherpaw suggested.

“Good idea,” Crowfeather responded, pleased by his apprentice’s intelligence. “Let’s try that. Practice the first move, then follow it up by attacking your opponent’s hindquarters. And remember, Featherpaw, be bold!”

“But remember too how dangerous your enemy is.” Breezepelt’s voice came from just behind Crowfeather. “You need to be careful.”

Crowfeather realized that Breezepelt had padded up beside him. In the few days since his expedition into the tunnels, he had mostly recovered from his injuries, but Crowfeather felt that the fire inside him had gone out. He’s finally realized that his mother is gone forever.

Seeing the sadness in his son’s eyes, Crowfeather firmly stifled his annoyance that Breezepelt had interrupted his training session. He was determined not to start any more arguments with him.

“That’s right,” he agreed. “In a real battle, no unnecessary risks.”

Crowfeather was aware of Breezepelt standing beside him as the apprentices began practicing again. He hadn’t joined in the training session; instead he had limped along the edge of the practice area, his gait slow and careful, his tail trailing along the ground. Now they were standing so close that they must have seemed comfortable with each other, though Crowfeather knew that wasn’t true. He could hardly bring himself to look at his son and see his dull, lifeless eyes.

Crowfeather believed that most of the Clan was feeling sorry for Breezepelt, as he was. Then he spotted Leaftail and Gorsetail with their heads together a couple of tail-lengths away. Leaftail’s eyes sparkled with mockery.

“He’s supposed to be some scary Dark Forest warrior,” he whispered to Gorsetail. Clearly, he had been eavesdropping on Breezepelt’s advice to the apprentices to be careful. “Sounds more like a mouse-hearted cat to me.”

Crowfeather saw Breezepelt freeze as he overheard the snarky comment. His eyes lit with fury, as if he would have liked to fight both cats at the same time.

“It’s great that you have time to gossip,” Crowfeather hissed, glaring at Leaftail. “And that you’re not worried about these stoats that were foretold to destroy the whole Clan. Now shut up and get back to work.”

Leaftail opened his jaws as if he was going to make a rude retort, but Gorsetail gave him a nudge, and both cats bounded away. Crowfeather kept an eye on them until he saw them beginning to practice the leap-and-roll battle move.

“Ignore what they’re saying,” he mewed softly to Breezepelt. “They have no idea what you went through. They don’t know what a great warrior you can be.”

Breezepelt had a grim, determined look on his face. “Well, they’re going to find out,” he meowed. “I’m going to prove it in the battle today.”

Crowfeather was startled. “You’re not back to battle fitness yet!” he blurted out.

“Fox dung to that,” Breezepelt growled.

Crowfeather wanted to talk Breezepelt out of joining in the attack on the tunnels, but Breezepelt’s expression, the intense tone of his voice, told him there would be no point in trying.

At least this time I’ll be there to watch his back, Crowfeather thought. And this time I don’t intend to let him down.

Sunhigh was still some way off when the WindClan cats set out for the tunnels. Harespring was in the lead, with Crowfeather and Weaselfur, while the rest of the warriors streamed across the moor behind them. Breezepelt lagged at the rear, still limping from his injuries, but managing to keep up. Crowfeather had tried keeping an eye on him, until Breezepelt had realized it and fixed him with an irritated glare.

“Are you sure about this?” Crowfeather heard Heathertail asking Breezepelt, padding at his side.

“Yeah, you know how tough the stoats are,” Emberfoot added.

“I’m quite sure,” Breezepelt retorted through clenched teeth.