Crowfeather's Trial

Crowfeather crept quietly away; as he left the den, he came face to face with Sedgewhisker and Emberfoot returning. Sedgewhisker was carrying a plump mouse, while Emberfoot had a bundle of dripping moss.

Feeling awkward, Crowfeather stepped back, but this time there was no avoiding them in the narrow opening. He braced himself for Featherpaw’s parents to blame him again for her injuries. Then he realized that they looked just as uncomfortable, clearly finding it hard to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Crowfeather,” Sedgewhisker mewed, setting down her prey. “We were too hard on you before.”

“I deserved it,” Crowfeather responded with a dip of his head. “Part of it, at least.”

“No cat could have deserved what we said to you,” Sedgewhisker insisted. “It’s just that she’s our kit, and we were so worried…”

“I understand,” Crowfeather reassured her. “I care about her, and I’m just her mentor. I can only imagine how you felt.” As he spoke, he saw the deep concern and caring in the eyes of Featherpaw’s parents, and realized again how long he had withheld that from his own son.

A bright image flashed into his mind, of Breezepelt bumbling around the camp as a kit, falling over his own paws and chasing his tail. He had been so lovable, so vulnerable, and Crowfeather remembered how intensely he had wanted to protect him. But he had held back from loving him as a father should. I was afraid to love any cat.

Emberfoot’s voice drew him out of the memory. “I know you do your best to train Featherpaw,” the gray tom was meowing, speaking with difficulty around his mouthful of wet moss. “If you could just… in the future… be a bit more careful?”

Crowfeather felt a twinge of annoyance. I tried to be careful! And apprentices have to learn. But he remembered in time that Emberfoot was a father who had just nearly lost his kit. He could understand that, after his fear for Lionblaze in the Great Battle, or for Breezepelt wounded by the stoats. He responded in a heartfelt tone, “I would never want any more harm to come to Featherpaw. From now on, I’ll do everything I can to protect her.”

Emberfoot gave him an approving nod, and the two cats headed into the den to see their daughter.

Turning away, Crowfeather spotted Breezepelt with Weaselfur and Larkwing, padding over to the fresh-kill pile, their jaws loaded with prey. At last! Crowfeather thought. I can’t wait to see Breezepelt’s face when I tell him about Nightcloud!

He waited until the other two warriors had moved away before joining Breezepelt and beckoning him over to a quiet corner behind the nursery.

“What now?” Breezepelt asked, sounding surprised.

Crowfeather took a deep breath, remembering what Kestrelflight had told him the night before. He hoped Breezepelt wouldn’t get his hopes up too much, imagining that they would discover where Nightcloud went and bring her home: It would crush him so badly if his mother turned out to be dead after all.

“You know I went with Kestrelflight to the Moonpool last night?” he meowed. Breezepelt nodded. “Kestrelflight said that he would look for Nightcloud in StarClan, and… she isn’t there. That could mean she’s alive!”

Breezepelt took in a sharp, gasping breath, but for a moment he didn’t say anything. Crowfeather couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I truly thought she was gone,” he explained, assuming his son would be angry that he hadn’t searched harder. “I’m sorry… I’m still not entirely sure what it means, but I didn’t mean to make you grieve unnecessarily.”

Breezepelt shook his head, and Crowfeather realized that he was more confused than angry. “No… that’s okay.” He met his father’s gaze, and Crowfeather saw hope begin to creep into his eyes. “I’m just glad we might still find her. This isn’t about us, Crowfeather. It’s about saving Nightcloud.”

Crowfeather nodded, impressed by his son’s mature reaction. “I’ve been thinking about it, and if she’s alive,” he began, “there has to be some reason she isn’t coming back to us. She’s the most loyal WindClan cat there ever was. Suppose she’s trapped, or in danger? We need to start searching for her again, together.”

Breezepelt licked one forepaw thoughtfully and drew it over his ear. “We had a hard enough time looking for her before. Where do you suggest we start?”

“We’ll have to go back to the spot on ThunderClan territory where I found her blood,” Crowfeather replied.

Breezepelt let out a snort. “That should please Bramblestar!”

“Well, I don’t intend to ask for Bramblestar’s permission,” Crowfeather mewed dryly. “Anyway, if she made it out of the tunnels and we haven’t found her — it must have been over there.”

“But it’s been a half-moon since then. Won’t her scent have faded by now?”