Crowfeather's Trial

Chapter 33

Nightcloud and Heathertail leaped to their paws as Crowfeather entered the medicine-cat den. Breezepelt was curled up beside them, shifting in an uneasy sleep.

“Well? Did Leafpool have burdock root?” Nightcloud demanded.

“I saw Jayfeather, not Leafpool,” Crowfeather replied, dropping the root in front of Kestrelflight. “He gave me the root.” No need to tell them how he gave it to me.

Instantly Kestrelflight seized the burdock root and began chewing it into a pulp. Once he had some ready, he spread it on the swollen stoat bite and bound it in place with a cobweb.

“That should help with the pain and deal with the infection,” he explained.

As sunhigh came and went, Crowfeather, Nightcloud, and Heathertail all remained in the medicine-cat den, anxiously watching over Breezepelt. At first Crowfeather couldn’t see much change in his son’s condition, but after a long while Breezepelt seemed to fall into a deeper, quieter sleep.

“That’s a good sign,” Kestrelflight meowed. “A real sleep — not the restless kind he’s had up to now — is healing.”

All three warriors looked at each other, and Crowfeather saw his own relief reflected in the she-cats’ faces. He noticed too that they both looked exhausted after their long vigil.

“You should go and get some prey, and then rest,” he told them. “You’ve been here in the den, worrying, all day.” Nightcloud opened her jaws to protest, but Crowfeather forestalled her. “I’ll stay right here beside Breezepelt,” he promised, “and I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Crowfeather’s right,” Kestrelflight agreed. “You should go. It won’t help Breezepelt if you make yourselves ill.”

Nightcloud and Heathertail exchanged a glance, then, still clearly reluctant, padded out of the den. Crowfeather settled down beside Breezepelt’s nest, his gaze fixed on his son’s sleeping face. Kestrelflight came and went silently, busy with his medicine-cat duties.

Crowfeather’s mind flew back to the day when Breezepelt was born. Even then he hadn’t loved Nightcloud in the way he had loved Feathertail, and later Leafpool, but he’d admired her for her strength and her loyalty to WindClan. He was proud that she was having his kits, but he wasn’t prepared for the sharp pang of love he felt for Breezepelt when the kit was finally born.

The birth had been a difficult one. There were two other kits in the litter — one had been born dead, and the other lived for only a few moments. But Breezepelt had been perfect and strong.

How did I get so far from that feeling?

Crowfeather became aware of scarlet light from the sunset seeping into the den, and then the remaining daylight fading into night. Kestrelflight was asleep in his nest and Crowfeather was dozing when Breezepelt finally stirred.

Crowfeather looked up to see that his son’s eyes were open, and they weren’t glossy and unfocused as they had been earlier — they were now sharp and alert.

“How do you feel?” Crowfeather asked him. “You’ve been really ill. We were all worried about you.”

“I’m fine…,” Breezepelt murmured. He raised his head and looked around him, blinking in vague surprise to see the sleeping Kestrelflight and the darkness outside. “You’ve been here all night?” he asked.

“Yes, well…” Crowfeather felt uncomfortable as he realized that Breezepelt was touched to see him there. “Heathertail was watching over you,” he went on rapidly, “but she got so exhausted that I talked her into going for a rest. She and Nightcloud will be back at dawn to see how you are.”

“That’s good,” Breezepelt responded. “Heathertail is… amazing.”

“She certainly is,” Crowfeather agreed.

“I can’t believe she actually wants to be with me,” Breezepelt continued, a bewildered but happy expression on his face.

“Why on earth not?” Crowfeather touched Breezepelt’s shoulder with his tail-tip. “You’re a loyal WindClan warrior, and one of the bravest.”

Breezepelt met his gaze, disbelief in his eyes. “You really believe that?”

“I really do.”

Talking softly to his son in the dark, Crowfeather felt like things truly were changing. He was keeping the promise he’d made to Ashfoot, and to himself. This is good, he thought. Why was it so difficult before?

Soon Breezepelt went back to sleep, and Crowfeather felt reassured enough to do the same. At once he found himself on a hillside, with wind rippling the grass and blowing through his fur, flattening it to his sides. The air was full of wild moorland scents. The sky glittered with stars, and light came from somewhere behind him, so that he cast a long, wavering shadow out in front. Turning, Crowfeather saw Ashfoot.

His mother stood facing him. Her gray fur shone with the pale glow he had seen before in his dreams, but this time her ears shimmered faintly, and there was a frosty sparkle around her paws.

“You made it to StarClan!” he exclaimed, overawed by how beautiful she was.

Ashfoot dipped her head. “It was time,” she mewed. “I’m so proud of you, Crowfeather. Proud that you’re finally listening. No cat can be a good warrior, or a loyal Clanmate, with a closed heart. Now you have opened yours… and WindClan is better for it.”

Deep happiness flowed through Crowfeather at his mother’s praise, but apprehension was mixed with it, too. “It scares me a little,” he admitted. “Caring, when for so long I tried not to. Any cat you love, you can lose.”

“The loss is worth it,” Ashfoot purred warmly. “I loved you… so much… and now it hurts to part. But I’m better for it, and so are you.”

“Then I won’t see you again?” Crowfeather asked, feeling as if a forest tree had crashed down on top of him.

“Not like this,” Ashfoot responded. “But I’ll always watch out for you, from StarClan.”

Crowfeather heaved a long sigh, forcing himself into acceptance. “Good-bye, then,” he meowed. “I’ll always love you, and miss you.”

“Take care of your kin,” his mother meowed. “And remember that I’m always with you…”

Her voice died away on the last few words. Crowfeather saw her shape begin to fade, until it was no more than a frosty glimmer in the air, and then was gone.