Crowfeather's Trial

It would be many moons before that was forgotten.

As Crowfeather watched his son, Breezepelt turned his head, and for a heartbeat their gazes locked. Breezepelt’s gaze was dark with anger and confusion. Then Crowfeather glanced away, not wanting Breezepelt to see the mixture of guilt and disgust he could feel in his eyes.

How did I fail so badly as a father? How did I raise a flea-brain who grew up to become a traitor to WindClan? He’s as much use as a dead fox.

Onestar drew his speech to an end, and with the ceremony over, the Clan began breaking up into smaller groups, making their way down the hill toward the camp. Crowfeather noticed that the other Dark Forest cats — Harespring, Larkwing, Furzepelt, and Whiskernose — were heading down together, as if they still felt that they didn’t belong with the rest of their Clanmates.

I was afraid of that, Crowfeather thought. Onestar had made Larkwing a warrior because of her bravery in the Great Battle, and given the injuries Whiskernose had suffered in that same battle, Onestar had let him retire with honor to the elders’ den. And Harespring was the new deputy. But none of that mattered if the rest of their Clan wouldn’t accept them. Why can’t Onestar see that? Does he have bees in his brain?

Crowfeather made his way back alone, padding along just behind a cluster of his Clanmates.

“I can’t believe it!” Gorsetail exclaimed. “Onestar tells us all to remember the fallen warriors, but he’s fine with the traitors who killed them staying in the Clan.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Crouchfoot protested, his ginger pelt bristling as the new warrior turned to his former mentor. “WindClan cats didn’t kill their Clanmates. Most of the cats who trained with the Dark Forest turned against them when they found out what was really going on.”

“Most,” Leaftail repeated with a lash of his tabby tail. “Not all.”

Moving as one, the cats turned to stare at Breezepelt, who was padding past them with Heathertail at his side.

“I know what you mean,” murmured Gorsetail. “It doesn’t seem right that Breezepelt is still here. I know Onestar thinks he isn’t a traitor because he didn’t try to kill a WindClan cat, but isn’t fighting on the side of the Dark Forest just as bad? How can we ever trust him again?”

“I never will,” Leaftail asserted confidently.

“The Clan would almost be better off if something happened to Breezepelt,” Gorsetail meowed. “Like a badger took care of him or something.”

Crowfeather couldn’t suppress a gasp of shock. Great StarClan, are they featherbrained? He wasn’t sure that he trusted Breezepelt, but he couldn’t believe he had heard a cat wishing death upon a warrior from her own Clan.

The four gossiping cats halted, turning to look at him with expressions of horror on their faces. Clearly they’d had no idea that he could overhear what they were saying.

“Uh… Crowfeather…,” Gorsetail began.

Crowfeather ignored her, not in the mood to give them the rebuke they were obviously expecting. I don’t give a mousetail what these flea-brains think… they don’t deserve the effort it would take to insult them. Instead he stalked past them with his head down, making for the camp. His pelt grew hot with anger as he felt the gazes of his Clanmates piercing him like wasp stings.

It was horrible to hear them talking about his son like that. But the worst of it was… he couldn’t disagree with them.

Back in camp, Crowfeather looked for his apprentice, Featherpaw, and found her near the fresh-kill pile, sharing a vole with Slightpaw and Hootpaw. He noticed with approval how she kept her gray tabby pelt neatly groomed, and her alert look as she spotted him approaching. He jerked his head to summon her.

“Come on. We’re going hunting.”

Featherpaw hastily swallowed the last mouthful of prey and swiped her tongue around her jaws. Then she stood up. “Great! Hootpaw and Slightpaw are going out, too. Can we all hunt together?”

Crowfeather was about to refuse when Harespring, Slightpaw’s mentor, strolled up to join them. Hootpaw’s mentor, Nightcloud, was walking just behind him.

“That’s a great idea,” Harespring mewed warmly. “The more hunting styles the apprentices get to see, the better.”