Crowfeather caught a glance exchanged between his former mate and their son: hers protective and motherly, his thankful. He huffed out his breath, trying to ignore the pain like a piercing thorn at the sight of the love and trust between them. Neither one of them ever felt that way about me.
When Breezepelt was a kit, Nightcloud had been so overprotective. Maybe because he’d been the only one of their litter to survive. But Crowfeather couldn’t do anything right. He was too rough when he tried to play with him, or he was too strict. And now look how Breezepelt has turned out! Crowfeather thought sadly. Irritable, defensive, angry…
Crowfeather suddenly realized that Onestar was speaking to him. “Is that all right with you, Crowfeather?”
Mouse-dung. Now what have I missed? “I’m sorry?” he mewed, trying to look attentive.
“I said, I want you to join the patrol,” Onestar responded. “After all, you saw this strange animal as well. Furzepelt and Heathertail will go, too.”
Stifling a growl, Crowfeather nodded agreement. It made sense that he would be chosen to join the patrol, as he was the only cat besides Hootpaw who had seen anything. But from the look Onestar was giving him, he sensed there was more to it than that.
That mouse-brain wants to force me to spend more time with Breezepelt.
Glancing at Nightcloud and Breezepelt, Crowfeather could see they both looked distinctly unimpressed at the idea of his joining them. The memory of his horrific dream of Ashfoot came surging back into his mind, and he admitted to himself that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be going back into the tunnels, either.
This is going to be just great.
When the meeting was over, Harespring sent out the dawn patrol and the usual hunting patrols, though he left out the six cats who had been chosen to go to the tunnels. At sunhigh they gathered with their Clanmates around the fresh-kill pile to eat before they set out. Crowfeather crouched to gulp down a mouse, half turned away from his son and his former mate.
“I think there may be rats in the tunnels,” Gorsetail mewed between mouthfuls of vole. “And maybe what Hootpaw saw was a snow-white cat — a kittypet — going in after them.”
“So you don’t think the cat was a ghost, then?” Leaftail asked.
Gorsetail’s gray-and-white tail curled up in amusement. “Well, if it wasn’t a ghost then, it may be one now! Only a kittypet would be mouse-brained enough to try fighting a whole colony of rats by without backup.”
“But isn’t that sort of what we’re doing?” Slightpaw asked; Crowfeather noticed how confident the young cat seemed among a group of warriors. “We’re only sending six cats, and who knows how many… whatever… there are down there.”
“We’re sending six of our best cats,” Onestar pointed out. “I trust WindClan warriors to defeat anything that might be in the tunnels!”
Slightpaw nodded, accepting what his Clan leader told him, though Crowfeather spotted some of the others exchanging dubious glances.
They’re probably suspicious of Breezepelt, he thought. He had to admit to himself that he wasn’t sure how his son would react when he had to go down deep into the tunnels. If the darkness stirred up Breezepelt’s old fears, Crowfeather hoped that he wouldn’t give in to panic. That would embarrass both of us.
“I sort of hope we do see ghost cats,” Heathertail mewed wistfully. “I’d like to see the cats we lost in the battle — it’s usually only medicine cats who get to talk with the warriors of StarClan.”
“But it wasn’t ghost cats,” Onestar reminded her gently.
“That’s true,” Kestrelflight added. “Don’t you think that if there were, the medicine cats would know about it?”
“But just suppose our Clanmates did return as ghosts,” Larkwing murmured. “What would we say to them, do you think?”
“I’d say we were sorry,” Whitetail responded. “Sorry that they never got to live out their lives as members of their Clan.”
“I’d tell them we loved them,” Leaftail added softly.
The other cats’ eyes were filled with sorrow, and their heads and tails were drooping. Crowfeather became aware of a great tide of grief and loss surging through his Clanmates. His own lost ones came back into his mind, with pain sharper than a badger’s claws.
Ashfoot… and Feathertail… and Leafpool. She isn’t dead, but she’s lost to me, just as if she were.
“That’s enough,” Onestar meowed as the murmurs of regret continued. “We must not look back, or we could drown in our grief. Perhaps that is what Kestrelflight’s vision is about.”
“But how do we avoid grief?” Whitetail asked. “Our loss is all around us.”
“We look forward,” Onestar responded, his voice full of determination. Glancing across at Crowfeather, he added, “First we figure out what is really in the tunnels.”
Crowfeather looked back at his Clan leader and gave him a single nod. Even though they both shared doubts over Hootpaw’s claims of seeing ghost cats, Crowfeather knew that Onestar was happy to have a clear task. A patrol to establish the safety of their borders after the Great Battle might be just the thing that would restore calm to WindClan.
Chapter 3
“I think we should stick together in the tunnels,” Breezepelt announced as the patrol headed down the hill. “Who knows what might be lurking in there?”
How stupid! Crowfeather’s neck fur rose with his annoyance. “Do you have bees in your brain?” he asked harshly. “How can we possibly expect to search the whole tunnel system if we stick together? No, we’ll have to split up into smaller groups.”
Breezepelt glared at him, seeming about to defend himself, then turned away abruptly and bounded off down the hill, leaving the rest of the patrol behind. Too late, Crowfeather felt a twinge of regret, realizing that his son had probably suggested that they should stay together because he was afraid. But it was still mouse-brained.
“Did you have to be so brutal?” Nightcloud asked, echoing his thoughts as she came to pad alongside Crowfeather.
“Oh, who’s that? You’re speaking to me now, are you, Nightcloud?” Crowfeather retorted, not sure whether he was pleased or annoyed. “I didn’t realize. You’ve barely said a word to me since the Great Battle.”
Nightcloud let out an irritated sigh. “I didn’t have anything to say before. I do now.”
Crowfeather rolled his eyes. “Well, this should be good. Go on, then. I’m listening.”
“Surely you’ve seen how the other warriors behave toward Breezepelt?” Nightcloud continued, slowing her pace so that they dropped behind the rest of the patrol. “You need to set an example for the others, and start being kinder to him. How is the rest of the Clan going to accept him again if even his own father treats him like rotten prey?”
“It’s kind of hard to bond with a cat who only thinks of himself,” Crowfeather told Nightcloud, suppressing a sigh. “One who’s so quick to think that every cat is against him. One who is so stubborn he can’t even pretend he feels bad about the mistakes he’s made.”
“Really?” Nightcloud murmured. “That sounds awfully like another tom I know.”
That’s a load of badger droppings. Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with resentment at the comparison, though he knew that just as a cat could inherit the color of their parents’ eyes or fur, they were also likely to inherit parts of their personality and character.