by Erin Hunter
Leafpool didn’t argue with him. But as he followed her across the stepping stones and into the trees, Crowfeather knew that he was only prolonging their anguish.
That’s it, he thought as he raced along. As Leafpool disappeared into the thick undergrowth, he knew that he would never be with her this way again. They would cross paths during Gatherings and other Clan business, but they’d have to keep their distance, as if they’d never loved each other at all. He couldn’t bear to imagine how much that would hurt. He couldn’t think of anything worse. If he was lucky, maybe a badger would tear him apart.
If I do survive, he thought, I’m finished with love. It only ended in pain and loss, an ache in his belly as if he’d swallowed jagged stones. From now on, he vowed as he forced himself to follow Leafpool, I’ll only worry about my duty to my Clan. No more love—not ever again.
CHAPTER 1
Wind swept across the moor, ruffling Crowfeather’s gray-black fur as he stood among the rest of his Clanmates at the crest of the hill. They were gathered in a ragged circle around their Clan leader, Onestar, who stood beside a small pile of stones. Crowfeather remembered what hard work it had been to find the right number of smoothly rounded stones and push them up the slope to the place they had chosen. His paws still ached from the effort, and he raised one forepaw to lick a scrape on his pad.
But it was worth it, to do this.
“We will honor our Clanmates who fell in the Great Battle,” Onestar meowed. “Each of these stones stands for a fallen warrior, so that we will never forget their sacrifice. From now on, a patrol will visit this place every day, to repeat the names of those who died and to give thanks.”
Yes, Crowfeather thought. That way we’ll never forget their courage. They saved us from the Dark Forest.
The Clan leader paused for a heartbeat, then dipped his head toward the brown-and-white tom standing next to him. “As our new deputy, Harespring,” he continued, “you should put the last stone in place.”
Crowfeather stiffened, making a conscious effort not to let his shoulder fur bristle as he watched Harespring thrust the final stone across the springy moorland grass and slide it neatly into the gap left for it.
“This stone is for Ashfoot,” Harespring mewed solemnly. “She served her Clan well.”
Crowfeather felt a fresh pang of grief for his dead mother, whose throat had been ripped out by the claws of a Dark Forest warrior, and realized that his pain was mingled with disappointment that he hadn’t been chosen as the Clan’s new deputy. He was aware of some of his Clanmates casting sidelong glances at him, as if they had expected it, too. After all, he was a senior warrior, and one of the chosen cats who had traveled to the sun-drown-place to meet with Midnight. Both my parents were deputies, he thought, and I’ve given up more for my Clan than any cat . . . but I suppose I never will be deputy. Well, Onestar wanted to send a message by choosing a Dark Forest cat, and however mouse-brained that message may be—it’s sent.
He suppressed a sigh, admitting to himself that this was a strange time for the Clans, as they tried to come together after the Great Battle, almost a moon ago. It’s like Kestrelflight trying to heal a wound just by slapping cobweb on it, without cleaning it out or using any herbs.
Crowfeather narrowed his eyes as he gazed at his Clan leader. Onestar looked relaxed, content, his amber eyes gleaming—as if he truly believed that WindClan was united again. But Crowfeather knew it didn’t always work like that. And maybe that was another reason why he hadn’t been chosen. He was incapable of pretending that life could ever be that simple.
When the last stone was in position, Kestrelflight, the WindClan medicine cat, padded up to stand beside the pile, looking out over the horizon. The wind ruffled his mottled gray pelt, but his voice rang out clearly across the moor. “We feel the loss of all our dead Clanmates, but we know that they have been made welcome in StarClan. May they have good hunting, swift running, and shelter when they sleep.”
He dipped his head in deepest respect, then moved back into the crowd of his Clanmates. A ripple of agreement passed through the Clan, voices hushed with the solemnity of the moment.
Onestar began to speak again, but it was hard for Crowfeather to concentrate when he spotted his son Breezepelt hovering on the fringe, his expression angry and uncomfortable. Like he always looks, Crowfeather thought bitterly. His mind drifted inexorably back to the Great Battle, especially how he’d had to sink his claws into Breezepelt’s shoulders and haul him back to keep him from killing his half brother Lionblaze.
He knew that Onestar had forgiven Breezepelt, as well as all the other cats who had trained in the Dark Forest. They had each taken a new oath of loyalty to WindClan. But Crowfeather knew that the rest of the Clan wasn’t as eager to forgive as their Clan leader, and the cat they were finding it hardest to forgive was Breezepelt. Even now he could see suspicious looks directed toward his son and knew that he would hear whispers once they had returned to camp.
All the other Dark Forest warriors had come to their senses and fought beside their Clan—all except Breezepelt. He had actually stood with the Dark Forest; he had fought on their side.
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 sayin
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“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.”
Crowfeather groaned inwardly. The last cats he wanted to spend time with were the new deputy and Nightcloud, who was his former mate and the mother of his WindClan son. I should never have mated with her, he thought. It was a mouse-hearted attempt to make a family in my own Clan. He had been angry and bitter over losing Leafpool. He’d never loved Nightcloud, and she’d never forgiven him for it.
Nightcloud didn’t look too pleased about this idea, either, but the three apprentices were exchanging delighted glances at the thought of training together. Crowfeather didn’t feel he had much choice; besides, he didn’t want to disappoint Featherpaw.
“Okay,” he muttered.
“Onestar wants us to go and hunt down near the ThunderClan border,” Harespring announced, gathering the patrol together with a sweep of his tail. “There have been reports of weird scents in that area, and for some reason prey is scarce.”
Crowfeather nodded. “Good idea. I tried hunting over there the other day and came back empty-pawed.”
Harespring took the lead as the patrol left the camp and headed downhill toward the border with ThunderClan. The apprentices scampered along together, jostling one another and boasting about how much prey they were going to catch.
The chilly wind had faded to a faint breeze, and wide patches of pale blue sky showed between the clouds. Crowfeather sniffed the air and picked up the scent of rabbit.
“I’ve got a good feeling about today,” Harespring announced. “I think the prey will be running well.” He sounded cheerful, though Crowfeather thought he had to be aware of the tension between him and Nightcloud, who was stalking along beside Hootpaw as if she was trying to pretend Crowfeather wasn’t there.
What’s her problem? Well, I’m not going to beg for her attention, if that’s what she expects.
The deputy had hardly finished speaking when a rabbit started up unexpectedly from a tussock of long grass and fled across the moor. Nightcloud raced after it; Crowfeather could not help admiring her strong, graceful bounds and the way her muscles rippled under her black pelt.
But she’s not my mate anymore, and that’s just fine by me. Life is easier now.
Suppressing a snort of annoyance, he turned to Featherpaw. “Watch Nightcloud,” he instructed her. “See how quickly she reacted? And when the rabbit changes direction, she doesn’t lose a step. Why is that?”
Featherpaw’s head tilted as she searched for the answer. After a moment she looked back at him with wide, questioning eyes. “I don’t know . . .”
“Because a good hunter is always thinking,” Crowfeather told her. “Always alert to a prey’s best route of escape. You can’t just follow it. You have to work out where it’s going to run. That’s what Nightcloud is doing now.”
Featherpaw nodded, her gaze fixed on the black she-cat. “She’s great!”
As she spoke, the rabbit vanished behind an outcrop of rocks, with Nightcloud hard on its paws. A shrill squeal of terror was abruptly cut off, and a moment later Nightcloud emerged from the rocks with the limp body of the rabbit dangling from her jaws.
“She got it!” Hootpaw exclaimed.
“Brilliant catch!” Harespring meowed heartily as Nightcloud padded back to the rest of the patrol.
“Yeah, good job,” Crowfeather added when her eyes briefly met his.
Nightcloud swiftly looked away from him. “Thanks, Harespring,” she mewed.
Crowfeather swallowed a rumble of annoyance, not wanting to look angry in front of the apprentices. How petty! She can’t even accept my praise.
When Nightcloud had finished scraping earth over her rabbit to collect it later, the patrol continued farther down the hill. Crowfeather was the first to spot the black-tipped ears of a hare poking up from where the creature was crouching in a shallow dip in the ground.
“Who can tell me what the problem is here?” Harespring asked the apprentices in a low voice.
Featherpaw waved her tail excitedly but had the sense to speak in a quiet murmur as she answered. “The breeze is blowing from us to the hare.”
“Right,” Harespring mewed, while Crowfeather felt proud that his apprentice had spoken first. “So it’s going to scent us long before we can get up close enough to pounce. What do you think we should do about that?”
This time it was Hootpaw who replied. “Move around so we’re in a better place?”
“Good,” Harespring praised him. “And this is one of the times when it can be better to hunt in a team, rather than alone. Crowfeather, I’m going to work my way around until I’m on the far side of the hare. When I give the signal, I want you to chase the hare over to me.”
Crowfeather nodded, thinking that if he had been leading the patrol, he would have given that task to one of the apprentices. But I must be mouse-brained, because Harespring’s the deputy. What do I know? “Okay.”
Harespring set off at once, creeping along with his belly fur brushing the ground, taking advantage of every scrap of cover. Crowfeather could barely make out his brown-and-white pelt among the tussocks of wiry grass. The apprentices watched, their claws flexing in anticipation.
But before Harespring was in position, a stronger puff of wind passed over the ground. The hare’s head lifted from its cover, its nose twitching.
Then it sprang, fleeing back up the hill, forcing itself along with powerful strokes of its hind legs. Harespring rose to his paws, his tail lashing in frustration. “Fox dung!” he exclaimed.
Crowfeather hurled himself after the hare, quickly noticing that a black shape was streaking alongside him. Nightcloud.
“I’ll try to overtake it,” she gasped. “Drive it back to you.”
She put on an extra burst of speed, flashing past the hare and turning to confront it with teeth bared and claws extended. The hare almost tripped over its paws as it doubled back, skidding downhill. Crowfeather bunched his hind legs, launching into a leap, then landed on top of it and sank his fangs into its throat.
Once the hare was dead, Crowfeather stood back, panting, and waited for Nightcloud to rejoin him. He wanted to share the triumph of a successful kill, just as he would with any of his Clanmates, but Nightcloud padded past him toward the others as if she were hardly aware that he existed. Who made dirt in her fresh-kill? Crowfeather gave a shrug, picked up the hare, and followed her. If that was how she wanted things to be between them, he was not going to give her the satisfaction of showing her that he cared.
“Wow, it’s huge!” Slightpaw exclaimed as Crowfeather dropped his prey at Harespring’s paws.
Crowfeather gave the deputy a nod. “Like you said, teamwork,” he mewed dryly.
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Harespring looked slightly discomfited. “Let’s go farther down,” he suggested. “We might find some smaller prey nearer the stream, and the apprentices can have a try.”
“That will take us past the place Onestar asked us to check out, too,” Nightcloud added.
When they had buried the prey, Harespring took the lead again, making for the stretch of woodland on the WindClan side of the border stream. Before they reached the trees, the deputy drew to a halt at the edge of a gorse thicket that straggled over the hillside. At the foot of the slope a stretch of flat ground led to a steep bank riddled with holes.
“Onestar thinks there’s something odd going on here,” he meowed. “Let’s see if we can find out what it is.”
Hootpaw’s tail shot straight up into the air. “Are we going to explore the tunnels?” he asked. “Cool!”
“You aren’t going to explore anywhere,” Nightcloud informed him sternly, flicking his shoulder with her tail. “All the apprentices, keep back.”
“We never get to do anything,” Hootpaw grumbled, his tail drooping.
“If you’re not careful, you’ll get to do the elders’ ticks,” his mentor warned him. “Now, let’s all see what we can scent.”
Crowfeather opened his jaws to taste the air, and at once an unfamiliar scent trickled past them. “Can you smell that?” he asked.
“Weird . . . ,” Harespring murmured. “I feel like I should recognize it, but . . . I’m not sure.”
“It might be coming from the tunnels,” Nightcloud pointed out.
Crowfeather turned a slow circle, looking about them. The tunnels that gaped in the bank stretched for countless fox-lengths underneath the territory, joining WindClan to ThunderClan. The nearest hole in the side of the steep bank gaped open only a few tail-lengths away. It was quite possible that some kind of animal had made its den inside there.
“There’s nowhere else it can be coming from,” he responded to Nightcloud. “Maybe we ought to take a look.”
Even though Crowfeather had made the suggestion, his pelt prickled with apprehension at the thought of padding down into the darkness under the earth. So few cats used the tunnels now that he had no idea what condition they were in these days. “Featherpaw, you were told to stay back,” he added, as his apprentice craned her neck to peer into the gaping hole.
