Crowfeather's Trial

“Fox dung!” Breezepelt hissed.

Crowfeather shared his anger. Picking out Nightcloud’s scent was hard enough; it would become even harder when the scent of monsters was added to the mix. And the Thunderpath was one more hazard that Nightcloud had faced. Crowfeather shuddered, wondering if she could have been killed by a monster.

One of them might have caught her after she met Yew.

Still, the scent of the Thunderpath meant that they were drawing close to the Twolegplace. And the fact that Nightcloud seemed to have made it this far made Crowfeather more certain that Yew had been right. He was determined not to give up.

Soon the acrid tang grew stronger, and now and again Crowfeather could hear the roar of a monster prowling along the Thunderpath. The fox scent was growing stronger too, and for a moment Crowfeather wondered if more foxes had joined the ones they had tracked from the pool.

Then he realized that he was wrong. The fox scent isn’t just strong — it’s fresh! There are foxes here right now!

Chapter 23

Crowfeather spun around at a flicker in the undergrowth and found himself face to face with a fox as it emerged from behind a bramble thicket: an old dog fox with a graying muzzle and a malignant look in its berry-bright eyes. Crowfeather slid out his claws and let out a growl from deep in his throat.

“Back off, mange-pelt!” he snarled.

But before he had finished speaking, two more foxes leaped out from behind the thicket; they were young and strong, with parted jaws and pointed fangs.

“Run!” Gorsetail yowled.

She took the lead as the cats pelted away through the trees. Crowfeather pounded along, shoulder to shoulder with Breezepelt, aware of Heathertail hard on their paws. The sound of the Thunderpath ahead grew even louder.

Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with fear. Which was worse — to die from the bite of a fox, or crushed by the huge round paws of a monster?

Then Crowfeather heard a terrified wail from behind him. “Help me!”

Glancing back, he saw that Hootpaw was falling behind, almost in the teeth of the leading fox. The fox kept snapping its jaws, getting closer and closer to Hootpaw’s tail.

“Hootpaw, I—” Crowfeather began, only to break off as he slammed into something hard. All the breath was driven out of him.

Struggling to his paws, Crowfeather realized that he had run straight into a tree. “Fox dung!” he hissed. He began racing back to help Hootpaw, claws extended, ready to fight the fox.

But before he reached the terrified apprentice, Crowfeather realized something else. “Climb the trees!” he screeched.

He reached Hootpaw as he spoke and barreled into him, boosting him up into the nearest tree. Hootpaw dug his claws into the bark and scrambled up higher. Crowfeather followed him, feeling the hot breath of a fox on his hindquarters as he swung himself up onto the lowest branch. Hootpaw crouched, trembling beside him.

“Thanks, Crowfeather!” he panted.

Looking around, Crowfeather spotted Gorsetail in a nearby beech tree, her fur fluffed up as she spat defiance at the foxes below. And where were you when your apprentice was in danger? Crowfeather wondered.

Heathertail and Breezepelt had found refuge in an oak tree a little farther off.

“We’re WindClan cats. We don’t do trees,” Breezepelt complained loudly.

Crowfeather gazed down from his branch to see the other two foxes catching up and skidding to a halt. All three of them began prowling around the trees, glaring up at the cats and letting out vicious snarls between gleaming bared teeth.

“Neither do foxes,” Crowfeather responded to his son. “At least, not usually.” He had heard now and again of foxes that climbed trees, but they mostly stayed on the ground. If any of these foxes tried it, he’d just slash his claws across their muzzles as they drew close.

That would make them think twice!

Hootpaw shuddered. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll be fine,” Crowfeather reassured him. “Look — if you walk along this branch, you can cross into the beech tree where Gorsetail is.”

Hootpaw crept forward hesitantly, but as soon as he moved, the branch gave a lurch, and he halted, trembling even harder.

“I don’t think I can.” He gave Crowfeather a scared look. “I might fall.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll be right behind you. I won’t let you fall.”

Hootpaw took a deep breath and rose to his paws, once again digging his claws into the bark. Paw step by careful paw step he crept along the branch, then briefly froze again as the branch grew thinner toward the end and began to bounce gently under the cats’ weight.

“Go on. You’re doing fine,” Crowfeather encouraged him. “Don’t look down.”