Crowfeather's Trial

It’s amazing how a blind cat can cross a stream of water without once stopping to feel his way with his forepaws.

As Jayfeather disappeared into the bushes, Crowfeather watched, feeling as though a thorn had pierced his heart. Jayfeather was ornery, it was true… but he was also a clever and special cat. He got the orneriness from me, Crowfeather reflected. Of that I’m fairly sure. But what about the rest?

He couldn’t help but wonder how Jayfeather might have turned out, had he raised him instead of Bramblestar. Would he have become the medicine cat he is now? Or would Jayfeather’s paws have led him down a different path?

He thought of Breezepelt… insecure, angry, and struggling. How much of that was because of me? Would Breezepelt be any different now, if he’d been raised by another cat?

On his way back to the WindClan camp, Crowfeather felt a weight settling over him, as if his pelt were soaked with muddy water. He tried to shake it off, telling himself that it was too late to have these thoughts about Jayfeather. Jayfeather was grown up, a full medicine cat, a vital part of a different Clan.

But Breezepelt…

Crowfeather shook himself, thinking that he didn’t have time to think about the problems of his own making right now.

There were more important matters to be dealt with.

When Crowfeather reached the WindClan camp, he immediately spotted Onestar sitting outside his den. The Clan leader rose to his paws, glaring at Crowfeather as he padded down the slope and crossed the hollow to join him.

“Where have you been all day?” Onestar demanded.

Crowfeather took a breath. He had known when he left that Onestar would want an explanation, and he had decided to tell the truth. “I’ve spoken to Jayfeather,” he replied. “I told him what’s been happening at our end of the tunnels. ThunderClan needs to know for their own safety — and ours. I’ve asked them for their help.”

Onestar tilted his head, his eyes widening. He drew his lips back into a snarl, while the fur on his pelt bristled in fury. “How dare you?” he spat. “How could you go behind my back like that and share our private business with ThunderClan? Are you a loyal WindClan warrior or not?” Lashing his tail, he let out a growl deep within his throat, then continued without giving Crowfeather a chance to defend himself. “I can’t figure out what’s going on with you lately. It’s this kind of reckless behavior that kept me from making you deputy. I thought you put your Clan first, but maybe I was wrong.”

Anger swelled up inside Crowfeather, but he forced himself to stay calm. “It’s because I’m a loyal WindClan warrior that I went to ThunderClan for help,” he responded. “I know working with ThunderClan isn’t ideal, but it feels like the only way to make sure we all survive. I won’t stand by and let what happened to Breezepelt and Featherpaw — and Nightcloud — happen to any other cat in camp because we were too stubborn to ask for the help we need. I won’t put Hootpaw or Heathertail in harm’s way just to protect WindClan’s pride!”

Onestar lashed his tail again, his anger clearly mounting. “Who are you to talk about WindClan’s pride?” he demanded. “It’s your own pride that’s important to you, Crowfeather. A loyal warrior would have asked his leader’s permission before going to ask for help from another Clan. And a disloyal warrior has no place in WindClan!”

Crowfeather was silent, his gaze locked with Onestar’s. Is that a threat? But you wouldn’t have given your permission, would you?

The Clan leader was the first to look away. “What’s done is done,” he snapped. “Now I’ll have to decide what I’ll say to Bramblestar.”

He rose and turned to enter his den, then paused and looked back at Crowfeather over his shoulder. “Don’t think this is over,” he snarled. “I’ll deal with you later.”

The sun was starting to go down as Crowfeather returned to camp, a small vole dangling from his jaws. Dropping it on the fresh-kill pile, he glanced up at the sky, judging that there was time to go out again before darkness fell.

But I’ll take a few moments to rest first, he thought, padding over to the warriors’ den. His pads ached from pounding the hard ground. I can’t wait for leafbare to be over.