“When you had your vision at the medicine cats’ meeting,” he meowed thoughtfully, “StarClan must have been warning us about the stoats in the tunnels, but… surely the vision seems more complicated than that? Do you think there could be more to it? That the stoats are just the first problem we’ll face?”
Kestrelflight let out a weary sigh. “I’ve been wondering the same thing, ever since it happened,” he replied. “The stoats could have crept onto our territory at any time while we were recovering after the Great Battle, but even so, they’re the sort of enemy that the Clan should have been able to deal with easily.”
Crowfeather nodded. “That’s true. That skirmish shouldn’t have gone so badly. We should never have lost Nightcloud.”
“That’s what makes me wonder what the vision of water means,” Kestrelflight continued. “At first I thought that the way the wind drove back the water meant that WindClan would win a victory, but there was a second surge, and no wind to defeat that. Does that mean WindClan will be defeated? And what will that mean for the other Clans? Will we have to face the teeth and claws of another enemy, whether that’s the stoats or some other hostile force lurking in the darkness?”
“I’ve wondered the same,” Crowfeather admitted. “Well, what the second surge means — and if it implies we should be working with the other Clans.” A chill ran through Crowfeather from ears to tail-tip as he considered the medicine cat’s words. He asked himself whether this hostile force in the darkness could be Breezepelt’s rage and bitterness, lurking within him.
But the wind in Kestrelflight’s dream did have an effect on the first flood that threatened to drown their camp. Maybe that meant there was a chance of victory.
And a breeze is a type of wind… Hope and excitement warred with disbelief inside Crowfeather, swelling just as the dawn light grew in the sky above the moor. What if the wind in Kestrelflight’s vision didn’t mean the whole of WindClan, but just referred to Breezepelt? A breeze is a soft, weak wind, for sure, but… what if Breezepelt is to play a role in saving us?
Could there be a better redemption?
Chapter 13
“Rear up on your hind paws,” Crowfeather instructed, demonstrating the move as he spoke. “Then you can get in two blows at your enemy — one with each forepaw — before you land and dart away.”
“That’s cool!” Hootpaw exclaimed.
The sun was rising over the moor, though the grass was still white-furred with frost, and the air was crisp and cold. Crowfeather found the heaviness of the night before vanishing as he focused on the training session. He had agreed to take Hootpaw along with his own apprentice, Featherpaw, since Hootpaw’s mentor, Gorsetail, was leading the patrol that climbed the moor daily to visit the pile of memorial stones. So far, the session was going much better than the last time Crowfeather had tried to train the apprentices together.
“Both of you try it,” Crowfeather meowed after he had demonstrated the move for a second time. “For now, just imagine your opponent.”
While he watched the two apprentices trying to copy what he had shown them, Crowfeather reflected that a major onslaught against the stoats couldn’t be far off. Breezepelt and Heathertail were still checking on the tunnels. I hope they’re all right. But Crowfeather knew that the rest of the Clan must be prepared for the next step. The apprentices wouldn’t be chosen for the first attack, but no cat knew what might happen after that.
I want them to be ready.
“That’s very good, Hootpaw,” Crowfeather meowed, pleasantly surprised at how quickly the young cat had picked up the new move. He balanced well on his hind paws, and there was real strength behind his blows. “Go on like that, and you’ll scare the fur off the stoats!”
Hootpaw ducked his head in embarrassment. “I had a great mentor,” he reminded Crowfeather. “Nightcloud was smart and strong, and she taught me a lot about strategy.”
Crowfeather hadn’t expected to hear such praise of his former mate, though of course Hootpaw, as her apprentice, would have been closer to her than almost any other cat, except for Breezepelt. Crowfeather had always known that Nightcloud was a capable warrior, but he wondered whether he had ever given her the due she deserved. There was probably a lot about her that I never knew. He stifled a sigh. And now I never will.
“You’re doing well too, Featherpaw,” Crowfeather continued to his own apprentice. “Just remember that—”
He broke off at the sound of distressed yowling from the edge of the camp, and recognized Heathertail’s voice. Turning swiftly, he saw Heathertail and Weaselfur at the top of the slope, carrying the limp, black-furred body of a cat between them.
Breezepelt! No!
Why wasn’t Breezepelt moving? Crowfeather’s belly lurched in terror.
Why would he be hurt? Onestar made clear they weren’t supposed to engage the stoats… But seeing Breezepelt’s limp form, Crowfeather knew that there would be plenty of time for explanations later. Great StarClan, he begged, please tell me he isn’t dead… I don’t think I could bear it. His mind flashed back to seeing Hollyleaf’s bloodstained body in his dream. Is that why I had the dream? Was something trying to prepare me for this?
Crowfeather raced up the slope toward the returning warriors, spotting as he did that Weaselfur’s white paws were stained red with blood.
Shock pulsed through Crowfeather’s body from his ears to his claws. Where did that come from? Did Weaselfur kill my son?
Crowfeather stormed to a halt in front of the group of cats, his pelt bristling all along his spine. Breezepelt hung motionless between them, supported on their shoulders, a wound gaping open all along his side.
“What happened?” Crowfeather demanded. Turning on Weaselfur, he added, “Did you do this to him?”
For the first time Crowfeather noticed that Weaselfur was carrying something limp and bloody in his jaws. As he dropped it, Crowfeather could see that it was the body of a stoat, its white fur completely covered in drying blood.
“Of course I didn’t!” Weaselfur snapped, his eyes narrowed in fury. “I don’t think I could cause this much damage if I tried.”
“Please, Crowfeather,” Heathertail meowed, “leave Weaselfur alone and help us get Breezepelt to Kestrelflight’s den.”
He’s not dead!
Relief flooded so strongly through Crowfeather that he had nothing more to say. He rushed to support Breezepelt’s hindquarters, and he and the others struggled across the camp to the medicine-cat den.
“We were doing as Onestar said and watching the tunnels from outside,” Weaselfur explained on the way, “but when we saw so many of them leave to go hunting, we thought it would be a good chance to explore. We found the stoats’ dens and their prey-piles, and the entrances and exits they’re using. Everything was quiet in there, and we were on our way out before we scented stoats. We worked out they were in a den off the main tunnel.”
“We wanted to sneak past, avoiding danger like Onestar told us to,” Heathertail continued. “But Breezepelt…” Her voice choked.
“Breezepelt dived in there and attacked them,” Weaselfur meowed, taking up the story again. “He killed one easily.” He jerked his head back to the edge of the camp, where he had left the body of the stoat. “But the other was fiercer, and fought back. It slashed Breezepelt’s side. He would have gone on fighting, but Heathertail and I forced him to retreat. He was losing blood, and finally he lost consciousness. So we carried him out and headed back to camp.”