Crowfeather's Trial

When Crowfeather returned to camp, he was almost relieved that Breezepelt was nowhere to be found. For a few moments, at least, he could delay the inevitable. How am I going to tell him his mother is dead? Now Crowfeather spotted him stalking back into camp with a rabbit dangling from his jaws. Heathertail and Harespring were with him, also laden with prey.

Crowfeather’s gaze followed Breezepelt as he padded across the camp and deposited his prey on the fresh-kill pile. His belly churned as he tried to decide what he would say to his son.

I can’t put it off any longer…

When Breezepelt had dropped his prey, he turned immediately to Heathertail. Crowfeather was close enough to overhear their conversation.

“You have to help me,” Breezepelt meowed urgently. “I’m not asking you to go back into the tunnels, just show me how to figure out the layout. I’m going down there again to find Nightcloud, and no cat is going to stop me!”

“But, Breezepelt—” Heathertail began.

While Breezepelt was speaking, Crowfeather had bounded over to join the two younger cats, and now he interrupted whatever Heathertail had been about to say.

“That won’t be necessary,” he mewed gently in response to Breezepelt.

Pain tore at him like a badger’s claw as he saw the hope flaring in his son’s eyes.

“You mean you went? You found her?” Breezepelt asked.

Crowfeather sought the right words, but for a moment all he could do was let his head droop, shaking it sadly. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” he began at last, “so I went out and looked for Nightcloud again at the ThunderClan end of the tunnels. But I didn’t find her. I caught her scent and followed it to a clearing with a pool. Her blood was on the ground, and there was a terrible reek of fox. I think… Breezepelt, I think a fox may have taken her.”

Crowfeather had expected a furious denial, or perhaps a wail of despair from his son. Instead, as the hope died in Breezepelt’s eyes, the black tom seemed to shrink, drawing into himself. Crowfeather’s heart was wrenched at the change in him.

“I don’t want you to blame yourself,” he meowed. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Several heartbeats passed before Breezepelt responded. “No, I don’t blame myself. It’s their fault.” His voice was deadly quiet. “They killed her.”

“Who?” Crowfeather asked, bewildered, unsure what Breezepelt was talking about. ThunderClan? Onestar?

“The stoats. Those vicious mange-pelts in the tunnels.” There was a savage glare in Breezepelt’s eyes, and he tensed his muscles as if he could see his enemy in front of him. “Nightcloud was a great fighter, and so brave. The stoats must have hurt her badly, or she could have fought the fox, or run away.”

“Breezepelt, I’m so sorry,” Heathertail mewed, stroking the tip of her tail down his flank.

Breezepelt seemed hardly aware of her. “We can’t put it off any longer,” he told Crowfeather. “We must kill every last stoat. After what they did to Nightcloud, they have to pay! I don’t care what it takes.”

“Calm down,” Crowfeather told him sternly. “Yes, it’s terrible what the stoats have done, but they’re stupid, crow-food-eating creatures — hardly cold-blooded killers. We’ll get the stoats out, and prevent that horrible scene in Kestrelflight’s vision, but you mustn’t do anything rash.”

His son gave him a glare as cold as the wind that swept across the moor in leaf-bare. “I don’t care about Kestrelflight’s vision,” he hissed, “and I don’t care what you call them. I just want the stoats dead. Nightcloud was the only cat who really cared about me, and they murdered her. I’m going to make them regret ever laying their filthy paws on my mother.”

For a moment Crowfeather was frozen into silence, stunned by the force of Breezepelt’s anger. He knew that he should reassure Breezepelt, tell him that he had a father who cared for him, too — but for some reason the words were stuck in his throat.

Breezepelt was scaring him a little bit. Is this how the rest of the Clan sees him? Angry and unpredictable?

Before he could find what he needed to tell his son, Leaftail sidled up to them, a suspicious look in his amber eyes. “Did you just say you don’t care about Kestrelflight’s vision?” he asked.

Oh, StarClan.

Crowfeather wanted to tell Leaftail to leave Breezepelt alone, because he had just learned of his mother’s death. But before he could speak, Breezepelt turned on the tabby tom with a snarl of anger.

“I don’t care! I need to kill the animals in the tunnels. That’s the only thing that matters.” With a lash of his tail he strode off into the warriors’ den.

By now more cats were gathering around, listening to the exchange in curious silence.