Crowfeather was instantly alert, feeling his pads prickle with apprehension. This couldn’t be a coincidence! It had to have something to do with what he and Hootpaw had seen the day before.
Or maybe it’s to do with my dream.
“Barkface showed me the tunnel entrances,” Kestrelflight went on, “and as I watched, I saw dark water gushing out of them in huge torrents, the kind of deluge that could sweep cats away and completely drown a camp.”
As he spoke, anxious murmurs rose from the cats around him. Crowfeather saw many of them exchanging fearful looks. It sounded as if a terrible fate was creeping up on WindClan — as if they were being stalked by some huge predator. Crowfeather was just thankful that Barkface, the former WindClan medicine cat, was watching over them. At least StarClan is giving us a warning.
“At first,” Kestrelflight continued, “a wild wind kicked up and drove the water back. But eventually the wind dropped, and the water kept on rushing and gushing out into a second huge wave until it swallowed up everything.” The mottled gray tom winced at the memory. “The sound of it was unbearably loud.”
Crowfeather suppressed a shiver as he remembered the horrible moment in his dream when he had stood alone in the dark tunnel with water up to his shoulders.
“But what does it mean?” Emberfoot called out from where he sat beside Sedgewhisker.
Kestrelflight hesitated a moment before replying. “I think it means something dangerous is lurking in the tunnels,” he mewed eventually. “The way the wind controlled the water suggests that WindClan can win this conflict. But the wind also dropped suddenly. Perhaps that means it will be a tough battle.”
For a moment the WindClan cats gazed at one another in silence. Then a sudden clamor broke out, cats calling out ideas of what the vision might mean and then arguing with one another’s suggestions. Onestar yowled for silence, but no cat was listening.
“The tunnels did flood before.” Weaselfur’s voice rose above the rest. “Maybe it’s going to happen again.”
Now the Clan was silent, pondering his words. After a moment Harespring meowed, “You could be right. But I — and the rest of the patrol who were with me yesterday — scented something weird at the tunnel entrances. And Hootpaw saw—”
“Ghost cats!” Hootpaw interrupted, leaping to his paws with his shoulder fur bristling. “I saw ghost cats!”
The apprentice stood tall, his chest puffed out. Crowfeather guessed that even though he was scared, Hootpaw was enjoying the attention and the feeling of importance his announcement gave him. Nightcloud was giving him an annoyed glance, as if she didn’t like to see her apprentice showing off in a Clan meeting.
I’m not a medicine cat, but I can see tick duty in Hootpaw’s future, Crowfeather thought with a wry snort of amusement.
Yowls of disbelief and confusion greeted Hootpaw’s words, while Onestar flicked his tail in irritation. “Very well,” he snapped. “Hootpaw, tell the Clan what you think you saw.”
“A ghost cat!” Hootpaw responded, his eyes round with awe. “It was all white and glowing, and it stared at me like it wanted to give me a message.”
“A message for you?” Whiskernose sniffed dismissively. “Why would it give a message to an apprentice?”
“And what was the message?” Gorsetail asked.
Hootpaw gave his chest fur an embarrassed lick. “It didn’t say. It just vanished into the tunnel again.”
Heathertail let out a mrrow of amusement. “Or maybe it sprouted wings and flew away?”
“It did not!” Hootpaw exclaimed indignantly. “I know what I saw. And Crowfeather saw it, too.”
Crowfeather tensed so as not to shrink backward as every cat turned their gaze toward him. “I caught a glimpse of something,” he admitted. “But it wasn’t a ghost cat. There’s no such thing as ghost cats.”
To his dismay, many of his Clanmates were looking scared, as if they believed what Hootpaw had told them. They didn’t seem to share his denial of ghosts. Instead they were exchanging nervous glances, their eyes wide with dismay as they murmured doubtfully to one another.
Do they all have bees in their brain? Crowfeather wondered.
“Do you think it could be the Dark Forest cats?” Crouchfoot asked, his voice quivering. “Could they have come back, to get revenge?”
“Of course not,” Whiskernose asserted with a contemptuous flick of his tail. “Dark Forest cats wouldn’t come back as white, would they? White is sort of like StarClan. These must be cats who fought on our side! Kestrelflight, not every cat who died in the Great Battle has been seen in StarClan yet, right?”
Though Kestrelflight was looking definitely uneasy with all these suggestions, he shook his head. “No, they haven’t,” he replied.
“So maybe there’s a way to bring them back!” Larkwing suggested excitedly.
Annoyance prickled Crowfeather’s pelt as if a whole Clan of ants were crawling through it. “Dead cats don’t come back,” he snapped. “Except for leaders who have lives left. For StarClan’s sake, Larkwing, don’t you understand death?”
The pale brown tabby drew back her lips and hissed at him, but then looked away, saying nothing more. Crowfeather instantly felt guilty; the young she-cat was obviously having a tough time in the Clan, and he hadn’t meant to make it worse. Great StarClan, she was only an apprentice at the time of the Great Battle. She hardly knew how to groom her own fur!
“In any case,” Onestar meowed, raising his tail to draw his Clan’s attention to him, “it wasn’t a ghost cat! But there are animals who might have gone to live in the tunnels and could be threats to us. Prey has been scarce for a while in that part of the territory, and that suggests we’re dealing with something real.”
“Good point,” Crouchfoot murmured, looking slightly happier.
“So I’ve decided to send a patrol to explore the tunnels and see what they find,” Onestar went on. “Meanwhile, we all need to be careful. If there are hostile creatures living there, we must be ready to fight.”
“Of course we are!” Heathertail called. “We’re warriors!”
Onestar nodded. “Harespring will lead the patrol,” he announced. “Are there any volunteers to go with him?”
For a moment no cat answered; they only murmured among themselves and exchanged doubtful glances.
“If we might be fighting Dark Forest ghost cats,” Crouchfoot muttered, “then we should send Breezepelt.”
Crowfeather glanced across at his son and saw that his face wore the wounded, angry look that was so familiar now. Clearly Crouchfoot’s words had hurt him.
But Crowfeather also knew that this was a challenge Breezepelt would not want to meet. As a young cat, he had been caught in a flood that had raged in the tunnels, and he had been terrified of them ever since.
Crowfeather felt a pang of sympathy for him and was about to open his jaws to defend his son when, to his surprise, Breezepelt stepped forward, his chest puffed out proudly. “Yes,” he meowed. “I will go.”
Onestar looked impressed, dipping his head toward Breezepelt. “There speaks a true WindClan warrior,” he announced to the others.
How about that. Crowfeather was surprised to see Breezepelt volunteering for such a dangerous task — and a little bit impressed. But from elsewhere around the Tallrock came murmurs of disapproval; clearly not all the cats agreed with their leader’s praise.
The murmurs were silenced as Nightcloud stepped forward beside her son. “I’ll go too,” she stated.