“Where are they?” Breezepelt muttered. “All snoring in their nests?”
At last Crowfeather heard the sound of voices and felt the ground quiver from approaching paw steps. Peering cautiously out from underneath the ferns, he spotted the ThunderClan patrol padding by, with Dustpelt in the lead. Every cat paused, a tail-length from the WindClan cats’ hiding place, while Poppyfrost set a scent marker at the edge of the stream. Crowfeather hardly dared to breathe.
Finally the patrol moved on; Crowfeather waited, limp with relief, until he had given them time enough to get well away. He emerged from the clump of ferns, signaling with his tail for the others to follow him. Swiftly they headed for the bank, then leaped across the stream, pelted through the trees, and burst out onto the moor.
“Thank StarClan! We’re home!” Heathertail gasped.
Home, Crowfeather thought. But is it mine? Will Onestar have me back?
He had little time to muse on this, because the rest of the journey back to camp was a long and arduous trudge through the snow. By now the sun had risen, and every cat was exhausted; Crowfeather felt as if his paws were going to fall off. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept, and he began to feel a squirming like worms in his belly when he wondered how Onestar would react to his return. I’d like to find the fattest rabbit on the fresh-kill pile, then curl up in my den and sleep for a moon! he told himself. But I’ll probably find myself wandering about on the moor again.
But as he and his Clanmates drew closer to the camp, Crowfeather began to feel even more uneasy. He thought he could hear the voices of cats raised in distress. And as the wind veered around to blow straight at them from the camp, it brought a foul odor along with it.
Crowfeather had to stop himself from retching. “What is that?” he demanded.
CHAPTER 25
No cat responded to Crowfeather’s question. For a heartbeat they gazed at one another with a terrible realization, then turned as one and raced over the last swell of the moor, until they reached the top of the hollow.
“Oh, StarClan, no!” Heathertail exclaimed.
Looking down into the camp, Crowfeather saw a scene of complete devastation. Bedding from the nests was scattered everywhere, and the gorse bushes that sheltered the nursery and the elders’ den were half torn away. Worst of all, the center of the camp seemed to be covered with the bodies of injured cats; Crowfeather couldn’t tell how many of them might have been dead. The reek of blood filled the air, along with a lingering, horrible, familiar smell.
Crowfeather’s belly clenched in panic. The stoats have attacked!
He led the way down into the camp, flinching at the heavy scent of fear and blood. The first cat they came to was Emberfoot, who was lying on his side and bleeding from a deep scratch down his flank.
As Crowfeather and the patrol approached him, Emberfoot raised his head and fixed them with an angry glare. “Onestar!” he yowled. “They’re back!”
The WindClan leader emerged from his den and stalked across the camp, weaving his way through the bodies of his Clanmates. Crowfeather noticed a large, angry-looking wound on his neck and shoulder, and for a moment he couldn’t focus on anything else. What happened here?
Then he saw that Onestar’s eyes were narrowed in fury as he halted in front of Crowfeather and the others.
“How dare you leave camp without telling me?” he snarled. Crowfeather realized that the Clan leader wasn’t looking at him; his anger was directed toward Breezepelt, Heathertail, and Gorsetail. “You may have noticed,” he continued, waving his tail to indicate the wrecked camp, “that the stoats attacked us during the night. They were able to do this because”—he glared at Heathertail—“our border was not being watched.”
The she-cat’s blue eyes shimmered with shame, as she dipped her head. But Crowfeather could tell, she didn’t dare speak.
“It was a terrible battle!” Onestar went on. “It took a long time to drive them away, and many, many cats were injured.”
Crowfeather gazed around the camp and at the bodies of his Clanmates strewn on the ground. Some had only minor wounds, though others were barely able to move. Onestar wasn’t exaggerating. This was a serious attack.
“It was my idea to—” he began, but the Clan leader ignored him, as if he hadn’t spoken, or even as if he weren’t there.
“If you had been here, as you were supposed to be,” Onestar went on, “you could have helped fight back. Three more warriors would have made a difference.”
Guilt flooded over Crowfeather as he realized that his Clan leader was right. He was glad that his companions, especially Hootpaw, had avoided being injured in the battle, but he knew that they should have been there, doing their duty as warriors. “I’m sorry,” he meowed, letting his tail droop. “It’s my fault. I took them away from camp. But I had a good reason for it.” He stepped aside and Nightcloud came forward.
Onestar gazed wide-eyed at the black she-cat, who dipped her head in greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Onestar.”
“It’s even better to see you,” the Clan leader mewed, his voice still heavy with tension, like a storm cloud before it breaks. “Are you well?”
“I am now,” Nightcloud replied. “Thanks to them.” She waved her tail at the others.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Onestar responded. “I thought we’d lost you for good. Later you can tell me the whole story, but just now there’s far too much to do.” He then turned back to the others. His voice rose to a menacing growl. “I am Clan leader, and you had no right to sneak off. You—”
Onestar broke off as his gaze fell on Heathertail, who was standing at the back of the group, looking down at her paws. “Heathertail, when I couldn’t find you after the battle, I thought the stoats had gotten you. How do you think I felt then?”
At that, Heathertail jerked up her head. “I’m sorry,” she meowed. “But I had to go. I wanted to help.”
“That’s very noble,” Onestar responded, sounding as if he wasn’t sure whether to be furious with her or just glad that she was home safe. “But it doesn’t excuse any of you from breaking the warrior code. You could have cost cats’ lives by not being here. You did cost one cat’s life. Mine.”
“What?” Gorsetail asked, her fur suddenly bushing up with alarm.
“Look at this,” Onestar meowed, pointing to his own wound with his tail. “The stoats did that, and robbed me of a life.”
Crowfeather closed his eyes briefly, feeling as if he were being drenched in icy water. His Clanmates’ absence had been responsible for his leader’s losing a life. Could this get any worse? When a cat became Clan leader, they received nine lives from StarClan, but when they had to lead their Clan into the worst of every danger, they couldn’t afford to throw any of those lives away. I don’t know how many lives Onestar has left, but it can’t be many.
Crowfeather wanted to defend himself and his Clanmates, to point out they’d had no idea the stoats would attack, but looking at the fury in Onestar’s face, he knew that would be a very bad idea.
But Breezepelt wasn’t so tactful. “It’s not our fault!” he retorted. “If you had let us finish blocking the tunnels, like Harespring wanted, instead of traipsing back to camp once it got dark, the stoats couldn’t have gotten out—at least not on our side.”
Crowfeather stared at his leader, feeling oddly left out. Harespring wanted to finish blocking the tunnels, but Onestar said no? All the things Breezepelt described had happened while he was gone. And he felt an unexpected sadness at the realization that Clan life had gone on without him.
It was clear, too, that Onestar had made the wrong decision. He shivered at the thought of what might have happened. In a way, we’re lucky that the stoats didn’t attack ThunderClan, he thought. Bramblestar would have been just as furious as Onestar, and we don’t need any more trouble from him.
Onestar fixed his gaze on Breezepelt. “The last time I looked, you weren’t Clan leader, or even deputy,” he snarled. “I th
ought you had learned your lesson after the Great Battle, but now I’m not so sure. Are you a loyal WindClan cat?” he demanded.
“Of course I am,” Breezepelt replied without hesitation.
“Then you’d better start acting like it,” Onestar snapped. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you!”
Breezepelt opened his jaws to defend himself, but Heathertail slapped her tail across his mouth and gave him a warning shake of the head. Breezepelt subsided, the familiar sullen look settling over his face.
Gazing at his son, Crowfeather felt as small and miserable as a wet kit. I just wanted to save Nightcloud. I never meant to get Breezepelt into trouble again. Especially now, when he’s been doing so well.
Onestar sighed, clearly trying to control himself. “I don’t have time to stand here and yowl at you,” he mewed.
Could have fooled me, Crowfeather thought.
“We have to rebuild the camp and help the injured cats,” the Clan leader went on. “Heathertail, you can help Kestrelflight in the medicine-cat den. He’s completely overwhelmed. Breezepelt, Gorsetail—you can help rebuild the camp. Furzepelt and Leaftail are in charge, so report to them.”
As the three warriors moved away obediently, Onestar paused for a moment, gazing down at Hootpaw, who gazed back at him; Crowfeather guessed he was bravely trying not to flinch, or shrink away. “I’m not going to punish an apprentice for following his mentor,” Onestar growled. “But you’d better think about what you did, going behind your leader’s back, and show better judgment in future.”
Hootpaw gave a nervous nod, then scurried off to join the other apprentices, who were gathering up the scattered bedding. Crowfeather watched him go, and heard his excited squeak as he joined his denmates.
“We found Nightcloud and rescued her from Twolegs! And we climbed trees and fought foxes and crossed a Thunderpath. It was amazing!”
Crowfeather stifled a mrrow of amusement. I hope Onestar didn’t hear that.
Onestar, meanwhile, had turned to Nightcloud.
“I’m truly glad to see you back with us,” he meowed. “You’ve always been a loyal WindClan warrior. Later there’ll be time for us to talk about what happened to you, but for now you should go and rest while we clear up the camp.”
“Thank you,” Nightcloud responded with a respectful dip of her head. “But I don’t need to rest. For the last quarter moon, I’ve been living the life of a kittypet—not my choice, I’m sure you understand—with nothing to do except lie around all day and stuff myself with kittypet food.”
Onestar gave her a curious look, as if he would have liked to ask her more, but said nothing.
“I’d like to do my part,” Nightcloud continued. “You said Kestrelflight is overwhelmed—perhaps he could use my help, too.”
Onestar gave her an approving nod and stepped back a few paces. Crowfeather stared at him, dreading what his Clan leader might say to him, but also desperately needing to hear it. Am I allowed back or not? Onestar’s expression was unreadable.
Crowfeather turned nervously to Nightcloud. Now that their adventure was over, he wasn’t sure what to say to her. He had shared so much with this cat, and yet he still felt uncomfortable around her. If I’m still banished from the Clan, this might be the last time I ever speak to her.
While Crowfeather was trying to gather his thoughts, Nightcloud gave an angry flick of her tail. “Don’t worry,” she mewed. “It’s not like you have to talk to me or anything.”
Without waiting for a reply, she strode off toward the medicine-cat den.
Crowfeather felt as if he were sinking down into the ground. I blew that. Here I’ve been doing so well with Breezepelt, but I still don’t know what to say to Nightcloud. As his gaze followed her across the camp, he wondered, Have I learned anything at all? Crowfeather’s sense of guilt loomed over him like a storm cloud as he reflected on all the things he had never realized about his former mate: how brave and industrious she was, how well she had trained Hootpaw, how she had found the patience to be kind to a kittypet. He didn’t understand how he could ever have been mates with a cat he felt like he barely knew.
As Nightcloud disappeared into Kestrelflight’s den, Crowfeather realized that Onestar was standing at his shoulder. “Well, Crowfeather,” he sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
Crowfeather turned to face his Clan leader, once again not knowing what to say. Every hair in his pelt started to rise at the thought of apologizing, when he knew he had been right to ask for ThunderClan’s help, right to challenge Onestar about blocking up the tunnels. But at the same time his heart quailed when he imagined himself walking out of the camp again, a cat without a Clan.
“I never intended—” he began.
At the same moment, Onestar spoke. “Crowfeather, you’re the worst cat I’ve ever known for getting under my fur. But I have to admit that this time, you might have had a point. I shouldn’t have tried to block the tunnels.”
Crowfeather stared at him, scarcely able to believe what he had just heard. Is he apologizing to me?
Onestar looked down at his paws, digging his claws into the ground. “Do you want to come back?” he asked, not meeting Crowfeather’s gaze.
Crowfeather wanted to yowl, “Yes!” but he made himself appear calm, and dipped his head respectfully to his Clan leader. “Yes, I’d like that, Onestar,” he mewed.
“Then you are a WindClan cat again.” Onestar raised his head, and his voice dropped into a menacing growl. “I’m welcoming you back because you rescued Nightcloud, and because the Clan needs every able-bodied warrior. But there’s a border, Crowfeather, between being difficult and being disloyal. Make sure that your paws stay on the right side of that border.”
Crowfeather tried to sound humble. “I will, Onestar.”
“Then get yourself over to Kestrelflight and ask him what you can do. And Crowfeather—see that I don’t have to remind you about this conversation. Ever.”
Crowfeather was crouching outside Kestrelflight’s den, chewing a mouthful of marigold for a poultice to put on Sedgewhisker’s wound. Sunhigh was just past, and he felt exhausted in his mind and body. The work was hard, and pain tore at his heart to see the injuries among his Clanmates. The air was filled with the scents of blood and fear, almost overwhelming Crowfeather, and his ears ached from the continual yowling of injured cats. There were too many wounds, and not enough herbs, and Kestrelflight had to make tough choices about which cats needed treatment most urgently.
“I still can’t believe those stoats are pure white,” Crouchfoot muttered; he was sitting nearby, licking one forepaw where a claw had been torn away. “Except for the black tips to their tails. Whoever saw an animal like that before?”
“Maybe they are ghosts after all,” Whiskernose suggested, twitching his whiskers as blood trickled down from a wound in his ear. “Its almost like they have something personal against WindClan.”
“Nonsense!” Kestrelflight, who had been out on the moor collecting more herbs, halted beside the two toms and mumbled around the bunch of chervil in his jaws. “They’re not ghosts. They’re just stinky, aggressive invaders.”
Crouchfoot and Whiskernose looked at each other but didn’t respond.
All around the medicine-cat den, cats were moaning in pain. Crowfeather felt even more guilty that there was so little he could do to help. I should have gone to the Twolegplace by myself, he thought. I’m glad we found Nightcloud, but Breezepelt and the others would have been more use here. Maybe with more warriors, there wouldn’t have been so many cats wounded. Then he admitted to himself that he would never have managed the hazardous journey through the forest and the Twolegplace if he had been alone. This must be the way it was meant to happen.
Kestrelflight stumbled as he approached the den, letting his bundle of chervil fall. His eyes were dull with weariness.
“Sit down,” Crowfeather meowed. “For StarClan’s sake, you need to rest. You’ve been up all night.”
Kestrelflight le
t his gaze travel over the camp and the mass of injured cats, then shook his head. “I can’t. There’s far too much to do.”
“We’ll be in even more trouble if you pass out,” Crowfeather told him. “Sit down.”
Letting out a long sigh, Kestrelflight obeyed. His eyes were full of despair as he looked at the injured cats who were still waiting for his help. “I’m not sure I can do this alone,” he whispered. “Well—not alone,” he corrected himself at once, ducking his head apologetically at Heathertail and Nightcloud, who appeared at that moment with mouthfuls of dripping moss. “But I’m the only medicine cat. . . .”
“We need help,” Crowfeather declared, suddenly realizing how true that was. “There are too many injured warriors, and not enough medicine cats or herbs. We need help from another Clan.”
“You’re right.” Kestrelflight rose to his paws again with another heartfelt sigh. “But Onestar will never agree to it.”
Crowfeather glanced across the camp to where Onestar was supervising the work on the warriors’ den. He remembered the last time he had gone to ThunderClan for help, and how badly that had turned out. Crowfeather’s instinct was to blame Onestar for being unreasonable, but he had to admit to himself that he had been to blame, too. He shouldn’t have brought in ThunderClan without knowing how Onestar would react.
Now, when WindClan really needed ThunderClan, Crowfeather knew that his earlier rashness had made everything harder. But he knew too that he had no alternative: He had to convince Onestar to send for Leafpool or Jayfeather.
It’ll be hard to convince him, he thought, and it’s going to be even harder to convince Bramblestar, after he was insulted when he came here to talk to Onestar—not to mention hearing from Ivypool that WindClan trespassed on his territory. But ThunderClan is the obvious choice to ask. They’re closest.