Crowfeather glanced at Heathertail, who nodded in confirmation of what Weaselfur had told him. “We both tried to stop Breezepelt,” she mewed. “But he was too intent on killing the stoats.”
As she spoke, Crowfeather could see the worry in her eyes. Shivers were passing through her pelt, and she kept turning her head to lick Breezepelt’s wounded side. She must really care about him.
More cats were gathering around as Crowfeather and the others approached Kestrelflight’s den. Shock mingled with gleams of interest in their faces. Crowfeather could hear muttering among them, though he couldn’t make out the words. I imagine most of them are hoping Breezepelt is dead. That would solve a lot of their problems! But it’s not going to happen yet, flea-pelts.
Featherpaw had raced over to the medicine-cat den to alert Kestrelflight, and now the mottled gray tom emerged from the cleft in the rock and padded up to meet them.
“Great StarClan!” he breathed out at the sight of Breezepelt’s injury.
Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with apprehension. It has to be bad when a medicine cat reacts like that!
At once Kestrelflight pulled himself together and added more briskly, “Quick — bring him inside.”
Crowfeather helped the others carry Breezepelt into the den and lay him down on a nest of springy moss. As he watched Kestrelflight examine his son, Crowfeather felt a new feeling flowing through him, warming him from ears to tail-tip. At first he couldn’t identify it, until at last he realized that it was pride.
Breezepelt must have had bees in his brain to go into that stoats’ nest, he thought. But still, that was very brave. Breezepelt had been afraid of the tunnels since he was an apprentice, and Nightcloud’s death couldn’t have helped. It would have taken real courage to face his fears and attack the stoats.
Kestrelflight rose from where he had been crouching beside Breezepelt, licking his wound clean, and turned to Crowfeather. “His injuries are serious,” he reported, “but you can see that already. He’ll need watching carefully.”
Crowfeather’s belly roiled at the medicine cat’s words. Surely I’m not going to lose my son just as I’m beginning to understand him?
“I can stay with him,” Heathertail offered immediately.
Crowfeather shook his head. “Thanks, Heathertail,” he meowed, “but I want to watch over my son — at least for now. Will you go and tell Onestar what happened, and take the stoat to show him?”
Heathertail hesitated, casting an uncertain glance at Breezepelt. Crowfeather could tell that she wanted to stay with him.
“I’ll call you when he wakes,” he promised the young she-cat. “But for now it’s important for Onestar to know what we’re up against.”
“I understand.” Giving her pelt a shake, Heathertail left the den.
While Kestrelflight headed to his herb store at the back of the den, Crowfeather found himself standing beside Weaselfur. The ginger tom’s head was lowered, his expression hard to read. Crowfeather’s pelt prickled with the awkwardness of the moment, remembering what he had said when Weaselfur first appeared. “I’m sorry I accused you of attacking Breezepelt,” he muttered after a moment.
“It’s okay,” Weaselfur responded, his lack of anger surprising Crowfeather. “You had your reasons, after everything I said about your son. But when I saw how brave he was, going after those stoats, I knew there was no way he could have had anything to do with Nightcloud’s death. I’m sorry I said that.”
Crowfeather felt even more awkward, giving his shoulder an embarrassed lick. “You should apologize to Breezepelt when he wakes up,” he mewed.
Weaselfur nodded. “I’ll do that. I’m still not entirely sure Onestar should have let Breezepelt back into the Clan after the Great Battle, but — about this — I can give him the benefit of the doubt. He really did fight for us today.”
Crowfeather was disappointed to hear that Weaselfur still did not entirely trust his son. But at least he’s willing to give Breezepelt a chance, Crowfeather thought. That’s a start.
“Thanks for bringing him home,” he meowed.
“It was the least I could do,” Weaselfur responded, then headed off toward the warriors’ den with a nod of farewell.
Crowfeather stepped back while Kestrelflight chewed horsetail into a poultice and plastered it over Breezepelt’s wound, fastening it in place with a thick wad of cobweb.
“That should help,” the medicine cat mewed, gazing thoughtfully down at Breezepelt. “At least the bleeding seems to have stopped. Can you watch him for a while? I need to report to Onestar.”
When Kestrelflight was gone, Crowfeather settled down beside Breezepelt, listening to his labored breathing. He could smell the tang of dried blood still matted in his son’s fur. For a few moments he felt as if he were back beside the sun-drown-water and a huge wave was crashing over him, overwhelming him with its power.
But it wasn’t a wave that was doing this to Crowfeather. It was seeing Breezepelt injured, and knowing that Nightcloud was already dead.
Crowfeather leaned toward him, but before he could get close enough to whisper in his ear, Breezepelt’s eyelids slowly eased open. Crowfeather felt a rush of relief that he had regained consciousness, but when he looked into his son’s eyes, all he could see was pain.
Breezepelt blinked a few times, then focused his gaze on Crowfeather. “I killed the stoat, and Nightcloud is still dead,” he whispered miserably. Crowfeather’s heart almost broke with sadness as his son added, “I should never have left her in the tunnels in the first place.”
“Don’t talk now,” Crowfeather told him gently. “You need to rest. I’m sorry about what you’ve been through, but we will avenge your mother, I promise you.” When Breezepelt looked unconvinced, he added, “If there’s a battle ahead, WindClan will need a warrior as bold and strong as you.”
Breezepelt’s eyes widened, and he fixed Crowfeather with an incredulous amber gaze. He remained silent, but that look seemed to be asking, Is it really my father, Crowfeather, telling me this?
Crowfeather cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I’ll fetch you some prey to help you regain your strength,” he meowed. “I’ll be right back.”
Outside the medicine-cat den, Crowfeather found Heathertail hovering with Featherpaw and Hootpaw.
“How is Breezepelt?” Heathertail asked anxiously.
“He’s awake,” Crowfeather replied, seeing Heathertail’s blue eyes grow brilliant with relief. “But he needs to rest. In the meantime, all the Clan should get ready.”
“Ready for what?” Hootpaw asked, flicking his tail straight up in the air.
“To fight,” Crowfeather meowed.
Chapter 14
“Certainly not,” Harespring meowed, with a stern look at all four apprentices. “Onestar has ordered that no apprentices are going to be in the battle with the stoats.”
“But WindClan needs every cat!” Hootpaw protested, looking up at the Clan deputy with pleading eyes.
“WindClan needs every warrior,” Harespring corrected him.
“Not fair,” Slightpaw muttered.
Crowfeather gave an irritated twitch of his whiskers. They were already wasting valuable practice time while the apprentices argued that they should be allowed to take part in the battle.