Onestar took a breath and began to speak. “Nightcloud was a strong warrior, and an important part of WindClan,” he meowed. “She will be truly missed by every cat.”
That’s true, Crowfeather thought. He knew he missed Nightcloud as the mother of his son, and he was worried about how her death was affecting Breezepelt. But now he realized that he felt more than that. He would miss Nightcloud as a friend, too. He knew he hadn’t treated her well when she was alive, but he had always thought he would have the chance to work it out later.
I guess it’s too late for that now.
Crowfeather listened in silence while other cats spoke about Nightcloud and how much she meant to them all.
“She’s one of the bravest cats in the Clan.”
“And a great hunter. No rabbit can — I mean could — outrun her!”
Crowfeather noticed that some of them were finding it hard to refer to her as if she was really gone. They’re having trouble paying tribute to her heroic death when no cat knows exactly how she died.
“She showed her courage when she went into the tunnels to attack the stoats,” Crouchfoot declared. “And when she was abandoned there—”
Abandoned?
“Hold on. Stop,” Crowfeather interrupted. Were some of his Clanmates really about to use the vigil to attack Breezepelt? He wouldn’t have it. He hadn’t planned to challenge any cat at Nightcloud’s vigil, but now that Crouchfoot had brought it up, he couldn’t just keep silent. That would make it seem as if he agreed. It’s time to bring this into the open — especially now, while Breezepelt isn’t here.
“Are you accusing Breezepelt of something?” he demanded.
“If we are, we have good reason,” Crouchfoot replied. “Why would Breezepelt leave the tunnel without his mother? How could he have left her behind?”
“Yes, no warrior would do that,” Leaftail added. “Unless Breezepelt had something to do with her disappearance.”
“That’s enough!” Onestar’s voice rang out commandingly and his eyes were glittering with anger. “I have told all of you, many times, that I trust Breezepelt, but you choose to question my decision — and at a vigil, of all places?”
Murmurs of disagreement rose from some of the warriors. Crowfeather felt a prickle of uneasiness beneath his pelt. He appreciated that his leader was supporting Breezepelt, but would Onestar’s trust end in splitting the Clan?
He remembered, again, how the wind in the medicine cat’s vision hadn’t been enough to drive back the flood. Maybe Kestrelflight’s vision was a sign of a threat from within the Clan.
But Crowfeather had no time to think that through now. “All of you flea-brains are wrong!” he meowed, turning on his accusing Clanmates. “Breezepelt can be prickly, and I’ve had my problems with him, too, but I’ve never questioned his love for his mother. When she and I argued, Breezepelt always took her side. He supported her in any way he could. The two of them always took care of each other. He would never hurt Nightcloud,” he asserted.
As he spoke, he realized that Onestar was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and approval. Fine, he thought. You told me to support Breezepelt, and now you’ve got what you wanted.
“Then why isn’t Breezepelt here?” Weaselfur challenged him.
“Because he’s grieving, you mouse-brain!” Crowfeather snapped. “Think about it. Because he thinks he has no support from the cats in this Clan, and he’s right — you’re all accusing him of things he would never do.”
“Not all of us!” Heathertail called out. “I agree that Breezepelt would never hurt his mother — or any WindClan cat. He’s a protector — he saved me when the stoats attacked me in the tunnels. I’ve seen how hurt he is about what happened to Nightcloud. You should all be ashamed of yourselves for spreading these rabbit-brained ideas!”
She glared at Crouchfoot as she spoke, and Crouchfoot let out a snarl in return, his shoulder fur bristling up. “You only say that because you like him!” he cried. “And Crowfeather is his father. Of course you don’t want to see him as a bad cat — but that doesn’t mean he isn’t bad!” Several other cats let out yowls of agreement.
Onestar raised his tail for silence. “Enough! We need to remember,” he began, “that whatever happened in the past, we are all WindClan cats now. Our unity is more important than anything else. I have forgiven Breezepelt for his part in the Great Battle, and I don’t want to hear another word of accusation against him. This is a vigil, and we are here to honor one of our own. It is not a time for arguing.”
Every cat — even Weaselfur and Leaftail — seemed chastened by their leader’s words. An awkward silence followed, most cats staring at the ground or their own paws. Gradually the outward signs of hostility faded, but Crowfeather could see that beneath the surface the tension was still there.
Suddenly he was glad that Breezepelt hadn’t attended the vigil. Even if the cats hadn’t accused him to his face, he would have felt their distrust and ill will in every hair on his pelt. He’s right to feel as though he doesn’t belong, Crowfeather thought. I don’t know what it would take to prove his loyalty to some of these cats. Maybe it isn’t even possible.
As the time for him to speak drew closer, Crowfeather struggled to find the right words. How do I honor Nightcloud? Perhaps these cats suspect my motives as well, he thought. They’re all watching to see if I’ll mourn the death of a mate I never truly loved, or defend a son I barely know.
But when Crowfeather’s turn came, the words were there. “We will miss Nightcloud,” he mewed simply, “and Breezepelt will always love her.”
Chapter 11
It was a few days after Nightcloud’s vigil, and every one of Crowfeather’s muscles ached with tension as he padded across the tree-bridge to the Gathering island. He swore he could hear hostile voices in the lapping of the black water a tail-length beneath his paws, and the silver glitter of moonlight on the lake seemed to mock the darkness in his heart.
This is far worse than going to Nightcloud’s vigil.
He wished that Onestar hadn’t chosen him to attend the Gathering, and even more that he hadn’t chosen Breezepelt to come with him. He isn’t ready. Breezepelt had stopped using his every waking breath to declare war on the stoats, but he was still clearly grieving. He barely ate anything, and he seemed morose, unable to talk much to any cat — even Heathertail. Now Crowfeather’s son was trailing along behind his Clanmates, enveloped in a fog of misery. When they thrust their way through the bushes into the central clearing, he stayed at the back in the shadow of a holly bush, looking down at his paws with a sullen expression on his face. Crowfeather wondered whether he should go and stand beside him, but then he remembered that Onestar would be announcing the circumstances of Nightcloud’s death at the Gathering.
I shouldn’t draw more attention to Breezepelt right now. I just hope he understands why. I don’t want him to feel any more rejected.
Besides, Crowfeather was still mulling over his dream of the night before, when he had met Ashfoot again, then followed her pale gray shape through the tunnels until he’d caught up with her on the banks of the dark underground river.