Graystripe gave Spiderleg an irritated shove. “Shh, that’s enough. We don’t want to make more trouble.”
Too late. Crowfeather craned his neck to find his son, hoping that Breezepelt hadn’t overheard that or anything like it from where he sat at the back of the crowd. But when he saw that Breezepelt had raised his head and was glowering at the cats sitting near him, Crowfeather felt as if he had been drenched in icy water.
Of course he heard them… He wished Breezepelt weren’t here. He knew it must be hard enough for him to put up with the scorn of his own Clanmates while he was grieving for his mother. What would it be like to suffer the scorn of all four Clans?
Spiderleg exchanged a glance with Berrynose before rising to his paws. Crowfeather noticed that flecks of gray had appeared around his muzzle, making him look like a cranky elder, though he was still a relatively young cat. He raised his voice to carry beyond his first sneering whisper.
“Our wounds from the Great Battle are still healing,” he began, “and not all of those wounds are in our flesh. It’s not unreasonable for cats to wonder about those who were treacherous. Some reparations have been made, but…” He shrugged.
If I were Spiderleg’s Clan leader, I would shut him up, Crowfeather thought. Ordinary warriors didn’t have the right to make speeches at a Gathering without permission. Had the Great Battle changed things so much, that even Gatherings were chaotic these days?
But whether Bramblestar was too inexperienced to know what to do, or whether he wanted to hear what Spiderleg had to say, he didn’t interrupt, only listening from his branch of the Great Oak with an unreadable expression on his face.
“After all,” Spiderleg went on, “I think most cats would agree that before the battle they wouldn’t have believed that any cat could betray the Clans as they did. But it happened. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”
“That’s right,” Berrynose put in. “After we suffered so much betrayal from Dark Forest cats, nothing at all would surprise me.”
While Berrynose was speaking, Crowfeather spotted Larkwing sitting alone in the crowd with her gaze fixed firmly on her forepaws. He felt another twinge of compassion for her; she must be finding it hard, too, to listen to these warriors who refused to trust the cats who had trained in the Dark Forest.
Then Crowfeather became aware of movement behind him, distracting him from Larkwing, and glanced over his shoulder to see Breezepelt rising to his paws. Other cats were turning their heads to look at him as he leaped forward and charged straight at Spiderleg. Some of the cats instinctively darted aside, and those who stayed in Breezepelt’s way were thrust aside with powerful strokes of his paws. Crowfeather sprang up to intercept him, terrified that he was going to attack Spiderleg and break the Gathering truce.
But instead Breezepelt halted in the middle of the crowd, a tail-length away from the black ThunderClan tom. The cats nearby turned around to stare, shaking their ruffled pelts.
“If so many cats have a problem with me,” Breezepelt snarled, “they should say so directly, not prowl around it like little mouse-hearts!”
Onestar gazed down at him from the Great Oak, lashing his tail in frustration and anger. “Breezepelt, stop now!” he commanded.
But Crowfeather could see that his son wasn’t looking at their leader, either unaware that he had spoken or determined to ignore him.
“I know very well what you might think about me,” Breezepelt continued. “But in my opinion, some warriors in other Clans are just looking for a reason to fight. Doesn’t that make them just as much of a threat to our day-to-day lives as the cats who once trained with — or even fought for — the Dark Forest?”
“Oh, you’d like to pass the blame on elsewhere?” Berrynose sneered. He paused to lick one cream-colored paw and draw it over his ear. “The difference is, Breezepelt, that even after you found out what the Dark Forest was up to, you stayed with them. You were prepared to kill Lionblaze — prepared to kill your own kin! How can we just accept your word if you tell us that you’d never hurt Nightcloud?”
“Because Nightcloud was the only cat who ever cared about me!” Breezepelt flashed back at him.
Crowfeather knew his son’s answer was too honest and came too quickly to be a lie. He could see the hurt in his eyes, and his instant regret at revealing such a vulnerable part of himself to hostile cats without meaning to.
At Breezepelt’s pain, Crowfeather felt a piercing within his own heart. I should have cared, he thought helplessly. I should have tried to understand earlier. Instead I let Nightcloud handle it all…
“There’s no way I’d ever want my mother to come to harm,” Breezepelt continued. “I was there, you weren’t, and I know what really happened. It wasn’t my fault that Nightcloud disappeared. It was the fault of the StarClan-cursed stoats that have taken over the tunnels! Why is no cat doing anything about them? Because it’s easier to sit here and accuse me? Well, fox dung to that!”
He began to back away, then turned and headed for the bushes that surrounded the clearing.
“Breezepelt! Where are you going?” Crowfeather asked.
Breezepelt halted and glanced over his shoulder, giving his father one scathing look. “Back into the tunnels to kill stoats,” he snapped. “Since no other cat is doing it!”
Spiderleg twitched his whiskers. “Is that so? Or are you going to eavesdrop on ThunderClan some more?” he mewed.
Breezepelt whirled to face the ThunderClan warrior, his muscles tensed and his claws extending. “How dare you, you mangy—”
Crowfeather’s belly lurched as he saw that once again the Gathering truce was within heartbeats of being broken. Quickly he stepped between the two hostile warriors, breaking their furious glare.
“Calm down,” he began. “This isn’t—”
Berrynose interrupted him, his voice ringing out clearly. “No, that’s a good idea. Why not let Breezepelt go into the tunnels and take on the stoats by himself? If he succeeds, he’ll have helped us all and proven his loyalty. And if he doesn’t, the stoats will make him pay for his treachery. Maybe StarClan is nudging us that way.”
Crowfeather remembered hearing the cream-colored tom suggest that all the Dark Forest cats should be tested, to prove that their loyalties lay with the Clans. I used to think he might have a point… But could that really be what StarClan wants? For the Dark Forest cats to risk their lives to show their loyalty?
“Are you still meowing on about testing the Dark Forest cats?” he growled, reluctant to agree, even partly, with Berrynose in public.
Berrynose faced him, undeterred by his aggressive tone. “That could be the only way to make sure of their loyalty,” he responded. “I haven’t changed my mind since the day we caught you WindClan cats spying.”
“Great StarClan!” Crowfeather wished they weren’t having this confrontation at a Gathering. If we were anywhere else, I could claw that smug look off his silly face! But I’d start a war if I did that here. “You dense furball! How many more times do I have to say this?” he meowed, twitching his whiskers irritably. “We were not spying on ThunderClan! We were looking for Nightcloud.”
Berrynose shrugged, disbelief evident in every hair on his pelt. “WindClan promises don’t mean much to me.” Mutterings of suspicion came from many of the other cats around, while yet others remained silent, merely looking bewildered.
Jayfeather, the blind ThunderClan medicine cat, was one of those who looked unconvinced by Crowfeather’s claim. Crowfeather wondered whether he really believed they had been spying, or whether it was all part of his usual hostility toward his father and his half brother in another Clan. As Crowfeather understood it, Jayfeather could even be hostile to the cats he liked, so it was hard to tease out what he was actually feeling.