Crowfeather’s Trial

  “Okay, Crowfeather,” Ivypool meowed briskly. “Show us this pool.”

  She padded beside him as they set out again, with Bumblestripe bringing up the rear. Crowfeather could see that Breezepelt was still bristling with anger, glaring over his shoulder at Bumblestripe, flexing his claws. Crowfeather shot him a warning glance and hoped that he had sense enough not to start any more trouble with the ThunderClan tom.

  When they finally reached the pool with its fringe of ferns, Crowfeather’s heart sank as he tasted the scent of fox in the air, stronger and more recent than when he had been here before. They must come here regularly. Can’t ThunderClan keep the mange-pelts off their territory?

  Examining the ground around the pool, Crowfeather found the spot where he could still see that Nightcloud’s blood had sunk into the grass, but there was not the slightest trace of her scent.

  “Work outward from the pool,” he instructed his Clanmates. “That way we might pick up her trail and find out which way she went.”

  Ivypool and Bumblestripe stood to one side of the pool while Crowfeather and the other WindClan cats searched for Nightcloud’s scent. Crowfeather felt his hope sinking away like rain into dry ground as the moments passed and they found nothing. He was wondering how much longer they could go on searching when Breezepelt let out an excited yowl.

  “I’ve found it!”

  Crowfeather looked up. Breezepelt was standing several fox-lengths away from the pool, in the opposite direction from WindClan and toward the Twolegplace that Yew had pointed out to him. Swiftly he skirted the pool and bounded over to join his son, hoping that Breezepelt hadn’t imagined finding the scent out of sheer desperation.

  Breezepelt pointed with his muzzle to a clump of chervil, the leaves wilting and frostbitten. Crowfeather bent his head to sniff, parted his jaws to taste the air. The fox reek was swamping everything; he was sure there were at least two of them, and possibly three. Beneath the fox scent there was a trace of something else. Crowfeather wanted to believe that Breezepelt was right, but he wondered if he was just smelling what he wanted to smell. He shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure,” he murmured.

  “It is Nightcloud’s scent!” Breezepelt insisted.

  Hootpaw pushed his way forward. “Let me try!”

  Gorsetail hooked his tail around her apprentice’s neck and drew him back. “Stay out of the way,” he ordered. “We don’t want your scent confusing everything.”

  Crowfeather could see that Breezepelt’s eyes looked hopeful and yet uncertain, as if he wasn’t quite sure that he had really found his mother’s scent after so long. Crowfeather guessed that he too was desperately trying to convince himself.

  “If she went this way, she wasn’t heading for WindClan,” Crowfeather murmured thoughtfully. “And there’s only one reason for that.”

  “The foxes were chasing her!” Heathertail meowed excitedly. “So if we follow the foxes . . .”

  Crowfeather nodded. “We stand a good chance of finding Nightcloud.”

  “But what if . . . ?” There was panic now in Breezepelt’s eyes, and his fur began to prickle in alarm. “What if they caught her?”

  Heathertail wrapped her tail over his shoulders. “Calm down,” she mewed. “We know she isn’t dead, right? That other cat saw her. So somehow, she must have shaken off the foxes and ended up in the Twolegplace.”

  Crowfeather said nothing. The young she-cat was right that Nightcloud wasn’t in StarClan, and they had a good idea that she had gone to the Twolegplace, however unlikely that seemed. That’s why we’re here, he told himself determinedly, and we’re not going home until we know for sure what happened to her, one way or the other.

  “Come on,” he urged his Clanmates. “We won’t find her standing around. Let’s follow the foxes.”

  Ivypool and Bumblestripe padded over to join them as they turned in the direction of the fox trail, Ivypool taking the lead again while Bumblestripe tagged along at the end of the group. Crowfeather felt uncomfortable, almost as if he and his Clanmates were prisoners, but he had to admit they were lucky not to have ended up in a fight, or being chased off ThunderClan territory.

  With so many cats involved in their mission, Crowfeather thought to himself, it was growing more and more likely that Onestar would discover what they had done. We’d better find Nightcloud, and then he can’t be too angry. There’s not much more he can do to me, but there might be trouble for the others.

  The fox trail led in an almost straight line through the forest. Breezepelt kept his nose close to the ground as they followed it, here and there exclaiming that he had picked up Nightcloud’s scent. Crowfeather too thought that he could catch a trace of it, but as they padded onward, he felt his chest tighten with worry. Now and again he spotted the paw print of a desperately running cat, and he wondered how Nightcloud had managed to keep going, wounded as she had been by the stoats. Could she really have had the strength and speed to stay ahead of the foxes for so long?

  Crowfeather could imagine the foxes encircling her, catching her and pulling her down, tearing her flesh. He couldn’t push away the thought that perhaps Yew hadn’t seen Nightcloud, but only another cat who looked like her. He had to halt and close his eyes, repeating inside his head, Yew said she smelled like me. . . . She smelled like me. . . .

  Breezepelt’s voice came from close by. “Crowfeather, are you okay?”

  Crowfeather shook his head as if he could drive out the images. “I’m fine,” he rasped, and padded on.

  But the horrible visions still attacked Crowfeather’s mind, fierce as the warriors of the Dark Forest. He had to keep reminding himself that if the foxes had gotten Nightcloud, there would be blood and maybe even a body.

  Or parts of a body. Please, StarClan, not that.

  He shivered, but the chill had nothing to do with the frosty air of the snow-covered forest.

  Eventually, Crowfeather could pick up the familiar tang of the ThunderClan scent markers; they had reached the border of ThunderClan territory. The fox trail led straight across it.

  “Are you going any farther?” Ivypool asked.

  “Of course!” It was Breezepelt who replied. “We’re not giving up until we find Nightcloud.”

  Ivypool dipped her head; Crowfeather thought he could see a trace of approval in her eyes. “Then we’ll leave you here,” she continued. “And I give you permission to cross our territory again on your way back—but not to take prey. Of course, we will have to report this to Bramblestar.”

  More trouble to come. Surely Bramblestar will discuss all this with Onestar. And Onestar will think even worse of me—if that’s possible. Aloud Crowfeather mewed, “Of course. And you might report the foxes, as well.”

  “We know about the foxes,” Ivypool retorted. “We’re keeping an eye on them.”

  Not a close-enough eye, Crowfeather thought, though he wasn’t about to start an argument. “Then thank you for your help,” he responded with a polite nod.

  “May StarClan light your path,” Ivypool meowed. “I hope you find Nightcloud.”

  As she spoke, there was genuine concern in her eyes and her voice. Crowfeather felt even more worried, guessing that Ivypool didn’t really believe that they had much chance of tracking Nightcloud down.

  Ivypool turned, jerking her head for Bumblestripe to follow her. The ThunderClan tom gave the WindClan cats a last suspicious look as he turned away, and both cats disappeared into the undergrowth. Crowfeather let out a sigh of relief to see them go.

  “Okay,” he meowed. “Let’s get going.”

  His head held high, he crossed the ThunderClan border markings, and his Clanmates followed him into unknown territory.

  For some time, the fox trail led on in a straight line as before, until the trees thinned out and Crowfeather began to pick up a new, acrid scent. “Monsters!” he exclaimed. “Of course . . . There’s a Thunderpath up ahead.”

  “Fox dung!” Breezepelt hissed.

  Crowfeather shared his an
ger. 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.”

  The reek of foxes was wafting up to Crowfeather from underneath the tree. He risked a quick glance down and saw that all three foxes had gathered below them, obviously hoping that one or more of them would lose their balance. But Hootpaw carried on steadily, then half leaped, half scrambled into Gorsetail’s tree. Gorsetail was waiting to grab him by the scruff and set his paws firmly on a thicker branch.

  “Thanks!” Hootpaw gasped. “I’ve never been up a tree before.” Recovering his usual spirit, he added, “It’s kind of fun!”

  “Tell that to Breezepelt,” Crowfeather mewed wryly; his son was right that living on the open moor, WindClan cats didn’t have much opportunity for tree climbing. But these trees had just saved them from a fox ambush.

  Slowly and cautiously the three cats ventured out onto a branch on the opposite side of the beech tree and managed to jump across to the oak where Breezepelt and Heathertail had taken refuge. The foxes followed, anger and frustration clear in their glaring eyes. The old dog fox sprang up, slamming his forepaws against the tree trunk and tearing at the bark with his claws.

  “We’re lucky these things don’t climb,” Breezepelt commented.

  “Yes—I hope they give up and go away soon,” Heathertail mewed.

  “Stupid flea-pelts!” Crowfeather hissed down at the furious creatures. “Go and find yourselves some crow-food!”

  “Yeah,” Breezepelt added. “Cat isn’t on the fresh-kill pile today. Eat your own tails instead!”

  Crowfeather turned to exchange an amused glance with his son. But almost at once, Breezepelt’s amusement faded. His head drooped and his ears flattened.

  “We will find Nightcloud, right?” he asked, his voice not quite steady.

  “Of course we will.” Crowfeather’s response came before he had given himself time to think. He remembered the monsters and the Thunderpath, and the way that Nightcloud had been wounded by the stoats. But Yew saw her alive, he added to himself. We will find her.

  The cats kept going, moving from tree to tree, but the foxes still followed them on the ground. Crowfeather began to be afraid that they were tenacious enough to keep it up until some cat fell.

  We can’t go on like this all night. We’re already tired; sooner or later one of us will slip, or some cat will leap a little short. . . . He tried to hide his misgivings from the others, but he could tell from their uneasy expressions that they knew the danger as well as he did.

  And the trees were thinning out even more; soon they were bound to reach a place where the next tree was too far away for them to jump the gap. When a monster roared down the Thunderpath ahead, he caught glimpses of its glaring eyes. There were other lights, too, scattered and distant, but enough to tell him that they must be coming to the Twolegplace.

  Foxes, monsters . . . is there anything else that can go wrong?

  But the foxes didn’t like being so close to the Thunderpath, either. When a monster roared past, they would back up, half withdrawing into the undergrowth, only to creep back as the sound died away. Then, before the cats could be forced down to the ground again, an even bigger monster swept by, its bellowing seeming to fill the whole forest. The foxes halted; then, with a last flurry of furious snarls, they turned tail and disappeared back into the trees.

  “Thank StarClan for that!” Gorsetail exclaimed.

&n
bsp; She bunched her muscles to jump down from the tree, but Crowfeather stretched out his tail to stop her. “Wait,” he meowed. “They might be hiding in the undergrowth, trying to trick us.”

  “Like they’ve got the brains for that,” Gorsetail grumbled, but she stayed where she was.

  Crowfeather waited, his ears pricked for any sounds that would tell him the foxes were nearby. But he heard nothing, and the fox scent was beginning to fade. Finally he nodded. “Okay.”

  All five cats scrambled down the tree—Hootpaw complaining that climbing down was much harder than climbing up—and padded past the few remaining trees until they reached a stretch of snow-covered grass leading up to the Thunderpath. In the moonlight it looked like a gleaming black river, edged on either side by filthy slush where the snow was beginning to melt. On the opposite side, more grass separated the Thunderpath from fences around Twoleg dens made of red stone.

  “That’s a Thunderpath?” Hootpaw asked, his eyes stretched wide.

  “That’s right,” Gorsetail told him. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen one before.”

  “No, Nightcloud never took me that far from camp,” Hootpaw responded. He stretched out a paw to touch the surface, then jumped back with a surprised squeak. “It’s hard! And cold!”

  Gorsetail gently pushed her apprentice away from the edge. “We don’t go near Thunderpaths unless we have to,” she meowed. “They’re dangerous.”

  Hootpaw blinked in surprise. “Why? They don’t look dangerous.”

  “Remember the cute stoats that didn’t look dangerous?” Crowfeather nudged Hootpaw’s shoulder. “They—”

  He broke off at the sound of roaring, faint at first, but soon growing louder. Glaring yellow eyes cast their beams across the surface of the Thunderpath, and the cats crouched at the edge as the monster growled past on its round black paws. Their fur was buffeted by the wind of its passing as they backed away from it, almost choking on the acrid air.

  “That’s a monster?” Hootpaw asked, watching the huge creature as it disappeared into the distance.