Then, like a stoat peering out of the shadows, the thought emerged into the light. And like the stoats, what I have to say won’t be welcome. He took a deep breath. “If we’re going to succeed in wiping out the stoats and clearing the tunnels,” he meowed, “we’re going to need help. We’re going to need ThunderClan.”
Murmurs of dismay arose from the cats clustered around him. One voice rang out above them, from somewhere behind Crowfeather. “Absolutely not!”
Turning, Crowfeather saw that Onestar had padded up to join his warriors, and was glaring at him with cold disapproval.
“Crowfeather, I can’t believe you would even suggest we turn to ThunderClan,” he growled. “WindClan can handle itself. What’s happened here is none of ThunderClan’s business. There’s no way I’m going to allow the other Clans to find out that we’re vulnerable right now. Firestar was always meddling in our business,” he added. “I don’t want to set that precedent with Bramblestar, or soon ThunderClan will be sticking their noses into all our problems.”
“And especially if we can’t even trust all the cats in our own Clan,” Leaftail mewed, with a nasty look at Breezepelt.
Even before Leaftail had finished speaking, Heathertail whipped around to glare at her Clanmate. “How dare you say that!” she hissed. “Breezepelt was the first to kill one of the stoats. You should be grateful.”
Leaftail’s only response was a disdainful flick of his tail.
“I don’t need you to defend me,” Breezepelt informed Heathertail, fur rising all along his spine. “In fact,” he added, his cold stare raking across his Clanmates, “I don’t need any of you.”
Heathertail’s eyes widened in shock and hurt at Breezepelt’s response. Crowfeather was surprised, too, when Heathertail had done nothing but defend his son. He knew that Breezepelt was just lashing out in anger and frustration, but he guessed that when he calmed down, he would regret snapping at Heathertail. She was one of the only true friends he had in the Clan.
“Traitor!” Crouchfoot yowled as the clamor continued.
More yowls rose from the assembled cats, most of them accusing Breezepelt, though a few tried to make themselves heard in his defense. With bristling pelts and claws sliding out, the cats were heartbeats away from attacking one another. Weaselfur pushed past Crowfeather, almost knocking him off his paws, as he squared up to Leaftail, his lips drawn back in a snarl.
Crowfeather could do nothing but stand in dismay as he watched his beloved Clan falling apart before his eyes.
“That’s enough!” Onestar’s caterwaul rose above the outcry. “Sheathe your claws!” As the warriors turned toward him, he added, “Don’t you think the stoats would enjoy seeing us fight among ourselves?”
Crowfeather crept off into the medicine-cat den. The sounds of argument faded away as Onestar got control of his Clan and, with Harespring’s help, sent the uninjured warriors out on hunting patrols. Crowfeather didn’t want to be chosen.
I’m sure every cat would rather chew off their own tail than patrol with me.
“Do you mind if I stay in here for a while?” he asked Kestrelflight. “I could help you watch Featherpaw.”
To Crowfeather’s surprise, Kestrelflight gave him a sympathetic glance. He must be the only cat who doesn’t think I’m a waste of space.
“That would be a real help,” Kestrelflight replied. “I’ve been sorting out the herbs I need to treat the other injuries, but I don’t want to leave Featherpaw alone. Can you stay with her until I get back?”
“Sure.”
Kestrelflight padded out of the den with a leaf wrap of herbs in his jaws. Left alone with Featherpaw, Crowfeather settled down beside her nest and lowered his head to give her a sniff. Though she was still unconscious, the clean tang of comfrey and marigold was stronger than the scent of blood, and her breathing seemed to be deeper and steadier than before.
Crowfeather wanted to speak to her, but guilt made the words stick in his throat. I’ve failed her, just like I failed Breezepelt.
“Featherpaw, I’m so sorry I encouraged you to go into danger,” he mewed at last. “I should have been more careful with what I said to you, and as soon as I saw you out there by the tunnels, I should have sent you straight back to camp. But I never thought everything would go so wrong, so quickly.”
His mind drifted back to his sense that some greater threat was looming over the Clans, and that the only way to deal with the stoats was to involve ThunderClan. But Onestar won’t hear of it, he thought resentfully. He’d hoped that, after the Great Battle, the Clans would realize they needed one another more than ever. Instead it felt like they were even more divided.
And what about WindClan? he wondered. There’s not only fighting between the Clans… there’s fighting within, too. Was WindClan doomed to tear itself apart with arguments? Could they ever work together when so few cats trusted Breezepelt?
“And then there’s Breezepelt himself,” he murmured aloud. “What’s going to happen to him?”
He wondered if Breezepelt could ever get over his anger and hurt at the events of the Great Battle. Will the Great Battle haunt us always?
Crouched in the quiet of the medicine-cat den, Crowfeather felt sleep stealing up on him. The stress of the battle, Featherpaw’s injuries, and the quarrels among the Clan had sapped his strength. His own wounds, even though they were minor compared to Featherpaw’s, stung as if a whole swarm of bees were attacking him. Crowfeather struggled against sleep for a while, then curled up even closer to Featherpaw so that if she moved she would rouse him, and let himself slip into darkness.
Instantly Crowfeather found himself running through the tunnels, faster and more confidently than he ever had in the waking world. A pale gray light just ahead of him told him that Ashfoot was there, though at first he couldn’t see her.
“Wait for me!” he called out to her. “Why do you keep doing this?”
Then an even brighter light shone in front of Crowfeather. He burst out into the open and saw that he had reached a forest clearing. A full moon was overhead, shedding a silver light over the trees and bushes, and stars blazed down through gaps in the branches. A small pool in the center of the clearing looked as if it was made of liquid starlight.
Fear and wonder shivered through Crowfeather until he felt as if his blood were turning to ice. Where am I? he asked himself. The full moon alone told him that this wasn’t the world he lived in when he was awake. Yet he knew that only medicine cats were allowed to enter StarClan before they died.
“Crowfeather?” His mother’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “Why are you standing there gaping as if you expect prey to come and fly into your jaws?”
Now Crowfeather spotted Ashfoot sitting in the shadow of an arching clump of ferns. He padded over to her, hardly feeling as if his paws were his own.
“What is this place?” he asked hoarsely.
Ashfoot gave an impatient twitch of her whiskers. “It’s your dream, mouse-brain,” she responded.
“Then why have you brought me here?”
“I’m still trying to make you see sense,” Ashfoot told him. “And since you won’t listen to me, I’ve brought a friend.”
A rustling came from the bushes behind Crowfeather. He spun around, his pelt prickling with apprehension. He stared as the undergrowth parted and a silver tabby she-cat stepped into the open. Her plumy tail was raised high, and her blue eyes glowed with love for him.
“Greetings, Crowfeather,” she mewed.
“Feathertail!” Crowfeather breathed out. Astonishment and disbelief gripped him like giant claws, and the ache of loss awoke again in his heart. “Is it really you?”