A stoat rushed at him, rearing up to attack him with both forepaws. Crowfeather ducked underneath its forelegs, and as the stoat landed, he spun around to fasten his teeth in its throat. He pinned it to the ground, his paws gripping it determinedly until he felt a warm rush of blood; the stoat went limp and he tossed it aside. Looking up, he found himself staring into the face of Nightcloud.
“Neat kill,” she commented. “Leave some for the rest of us, won’t you?”
As she spoke, a stoat dived for her, leaping up to land on her back. But before it could get a firm grip on her, Crowfeather lashed out with one forepaw, knocking it to the ground. Nightcloud sank her claws into its throat; the stoat twitched and lay still. She gave Crowfeather a nod of gratitude before turning back to the battle.
Crowfeather and Nightcloud fought together, standing tail to tail as they turned in a circle, paws striking out at the endless surge of stoats. As soon as they killed or injured one, another would take its place. The white bodies, the small, malignant eyes and snarling fangs, seemed to Crowfeather like something out of a nightmare. He could only go on struggling, grateful for Nightcloud’s steady presence beside him.
Then pain exploded in Crowfeather’s shoulder. He turned his head to see a stoat gripping him with its claws, while a splash of drool on his muzzle warned him it was going for his throat. Crowfeather couldn’t shake it off; he dropped to the ground, buying time, but the pressing weight of the frenzied creature made him feel there was no escape. The angle of their bodies meant that he couldn’t batter at it with his hind legs. StarClan, help me! he prayed.
The stoat abruptly vanished. Crowfeather looked up to see Nightcloud holding it by the scruff, shaking it vigorously, then tossing it away into the crowd.
“Thanks,” Crowfeather gasped, scrambling to his paws.
“Anytime,” Nightcloud responded.
They turned as one to attack two other stoats that dived in from opposite directions. Even while his body remembered his battle moves, Crowfeather could reflect on how well he and Nightcloud fought together, how well they knew each other.
We may not be in love, but we make a fierce team on the battlefield. I know she’ll fight ferociously for me, and for all her Clanmates.
Crowfeather’s reflections were interrupted by a screech of pain. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Lionblaze fall, the golden tabby warrior overwhelmed beneath a swarm of stoats. Crowfeather leaped toward him, only to run into what felt like a solid wall of wiry white bodies. He tried to fight his way through, but too many of them surrounded him. A throb of terror for his ThunderClan son pulsed through Crowfeather; he couldn’t reach Lionblaze to help.
He was thrusting vainly against the tide, knowing he would be too late, when Breezepelt leaped into the battle, seeming to come from nowhere. Crowfeather could see that he was bleeding from several wounds, but they hadn’t sapped his energy. He grabbed two of the stoats on top of Lionblaze, shaking them and ripping out their throats.
Lionblaze managed to stumble to his paws. He and Breezepelt stared at each other uncomfortably for a moment, then turned away, back to the battle.
Crowfeather couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Did you see our son?” he breathed out.
Nightcloud’s response was a rough shove. “Don’t stand there gaping, mouse-brain!” But Crowfeather could see that her eyes were warm with pride.
Looking around for his next opponent, Crowfeather realized that the war was all but over by now. The stretch of ground between the gorse bushes and the tunnels was strewn with the bodies of stoats. The last few were fleeing, bleeding and whimpering with fear.
In the middle of the devastation, Onestar and Bramblestar padded up to each other, each of them dipping his head in gratitude and respect to the other.
“Cats of ThunderClan and WindClan!” Onestar called out. “You have fought well today. The battle is won.”
“And the stoats are gone for good, I hope,” Bramblestar added.
Meanwhile Kestrelflight, Leafpool, and Jayfeather, who had waited out the battle among the gorse bushes, began to move among the injured cats, examining their wounds and applying treatment with the herbs they had brought.
Crowfeather looked around for Breezepelt and spotted him standing a couple of fox-lengths away, licking a wound on his shoulder. Before Crowfeather could join him, he saw Lionblaze limping toward him. Crowfeather held back while his two sons confronted each other.
“Thank you for helping me,” Lionblaze began, halting a pace or two in front of Breezepelt. His gaze and his tone were wary. “But why did you? You said I should never have been born. You wanted me dead.”
Breezepelt looked up at him, equally awkward. His eyes were guilty as he replied. “I should never have listened to the Dark Forest cats,” he mewed stiffly. “You’re a Clan cat, and my loyalty should be to the Clans.”
Crowfeather realized that this was as close as Breezepelt was ever going to get to an apology for attacking Lionblaze during the Great Battle. He felt his muscles tense as he waited for Lionblaze’s response, aware for the first time of how much he wanted his two sons to get along. Come on, he urged Lionblaze silently. Accept his apology!
Clearly, Lionblaze knew how hard it was for Breezepelt to say even so much. “You fought well,” he meowed reluctantly. “I’m glad we were on the same side this time.”
The two toms stared at each other and exchanged an awkward, jerky nod before each of them quickly turned back to his own Clan.
Crowfeather felt an unexpected surge of affection for Breezepelt. He was such a surly, difficult furball sometimes, but he was trying so hard to redeem himself. If Breezepelt could do it, so could he. I can tell my son how I feel about him.
Crowfeather headed toward his son, who turned to gaze at him. Breezepelt opened his jaws, clearly about to speak, but before he could utter a word, his legs folded under him and he collapsed limply to the ground.
Crowfeather darted to Breezepelt’s side. He saw blood pooling beneath him, and, gently turning him over, saw a nasty bite on his belly, as if the stoat had torn his flesh away. The wound had been concealed when Breezepelt was standing upright. Blood trickled through his matted fur. Crowfeather lost his breath as he realized how serious this could be.
“Help!” Crowfeather forced air into his lungs again and yowled. “Kestrelflight, over here!”
But it was Nightcloud who arrived first, crouching beside her son’s body and calling his name while she frantically licked his ears. Breezepelt didn’t respond.
Crowfeather stared down at his son, digging his claws into the ground. You can’t die now, he thought helplessly. Oh, StarClan, no—not when we’re starting to understand each other at last!
CHAPTER 31
Night had fallen by the time Crowfeather and Nightcloud reached the WindClan camp, carrying Breezepelt’s unconscious body between them. Crowfeather might almost have thought that his son was dead, except for the faint rise and fall of his chest and the blood that was still trickling from his belly wound and many others.
Kestrelflight had already made a nest for Breezepelt in the medicine-cat den, and prepared a thick wad of cobwebs to begin staunching the flow of blood. Crowfeather and Nightcloud hovered anxiously at the entrance to the den.
Several of the other WindClan warriors were resting close by; some of them licked their wounds, while others lay stretched out with their eyes closed. None of them looked as badly injured as Breezepelt.
As Kestrelflight began to lick the dirt from Breezepelt’s lacerated body, the unconscious cat let out a whine of pain. Crowfeather and Nightcloud exchanged an anxious glance, then crowded into the den to get closer to their son’s nest.
Kestrelflight looked up, a harassed expression in his eyes. “You’ll have to wait outside,” he mewed. “I can’t treat Breezepelt if I’m continually tripping over the two of you.”
Crowfeather began to retreat, but for a moment Nightcloud stood frozen, staring at her unconscious son. Crowfeather nud
ged her gently. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let Kestrelflight do his job.” After a heartbeat Nightcloud followed him out, though they both still watched from the entrance to the den.
Kestrelflight’s not usually so snappy, Crowfeather thought. That must mean he’s really worried about Breezepelt. He felt as if a heavy, rotting lump of crow-food had lodged in his belly. What if I’ve made peace with Breezepelt just in time to lose him?
Crowfeather remembered a time when Breezepelt was still in the nursery. There had been an outbreak of whitecough in the WindClan camp, and Breezekit’s had turned into the deadly greencough. Crowfeather had spent each night barely sleeping, wrapped around the tiny kit as though his love and attention could cure his son. When Breezekit woke up one morning with the cough almost gone, Crowfeather’s relief had been so intense that he couldn’t remember having felt anything like it since.
I shouldn’t have forgotten that, he thought. I was a good father to him once. I shouldn’t have doubted myself so much.
While Crowfeather and Nightcloud waited, Heathertail limped up to stand beside them. “How is Breezepelt?” she asked, fixing Crowfeather with a worried gaze.
Crowfeather simply shook his head, while Nightcloud replied, “Not good.”
Heathertail’s claws worked for a moment in the ground, her head and tail drooping. Crowfeather caught a questioning look from Nightcloud, and responded with a nod. Yes, this will be the mother of our son’s kits. Breezepelt was lucky, he reflected, to have such a strong warrior in his life, so loyal to him and to their Clan.
Nightcloud brushed her tail down Heathertail’s side. “Kestrelflight is doing everything he can,” she mewed. “Now it’s in the paws of StarClan.”
Heathertail nodded, then took a deep breath and stood quietly waiting beside her Clanmates.
Just as Crowfeather was beginning to feel that he couldn’t hold on to his patience for another heartbeat, Kestrelflight rose and came out of the den. “Breezepelt is seriously injured,” he began.
Tell us something we don’t know, Crowfeather thought irritably.
“But will he be all right?” Nightcloud asked.
After a long moment, Kestrelflight nodded. “Provided he gets plenty of rest, he should get better.”
Nightcloud let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank StarClan!”
“If you want,” the medicine cat continued, “one of you can spend the night with him so you’ll be there when he regains consciousness. That way I can see to treating the other injured cats.”
Crowfeather glanced at Nightcloud; he would be happy to stay with their son, but Breezepelt would probably rather see Nightcloud when he woke.
But before either of them could speak, Heathertail stepped forward eagerly. “I’ll stay.” Then she too glanced at Nightcloud, ducking her head in embarrassment. “If that’s okay with you, of course,” she added.
Crowfeather expected Nightcloud to object, knowing how possessive and protective of Breezepelt she had always been. At first she was clearly fighting with the urge to admonish Heathertail, her whiskers twitching irritably, but then she stepped back a pace with a glance at Crowfeather. He gave her a nod of approval, knowing how hard it would be for her to release her hold on Breezepelt.
Finally, Nightcloud let out a pleased purr and gestured with her tail for Heathertail to enter the den. While Heathertail padded inside, the black she-cat and Crowfeather waited for Kestrelflight to check their wounds and treat them with chervil to prevent infection.
“You should be fine,” the medicine cat meowed. “Go get some rest, and I’ll examine you again in the morning.”
Crowfeather was so exhausted that he didn’t put up any kind of fight. He went directly to the warriors’ den, and not even the pain of his injuries or his worry about Breezepelt could keep him awake. He fell asleep before his eyes even closed.
It felt as if only moments had passed before a paw prodded him on his shoulder, rousing him at last. He opened his eyes to see the sun rising above the moor and Nightcloud standing over him.
“What are you, a dormouse?” she asked. “Come see how Breezepelt is getting along.”
Crowfeather willingly followed her to the medicine-cat den, trying to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in his belly when he wondered what he would find there. He felt shaky with relief when he heard Breezepelt’s mew as they approached the den, sounding strong and free from pain.
Stepping inside the den at Nightcloud’s side, Crowfeather saw that Kestrelflight wasn’t there. Breezepelt was sitting up in his nest, with Heathertail crouched beside him. The two young cats were gazing into each other’s eyes; Crowfeather could sense the love between them.
He cleared his throat, and at the sound Breezepelt’s head swiveled toward the entrance, while Heathertail eased back a little so she wasn’t so close to him.
“Greetings,” Nightcloud meowed. “How are you feeling, Breezepelt?”
“Like every stoat on the territory has taken a bite out of me,” Breezepelt replied wryly. “But I’m going to be fine.”
“A group of WindClan and ThunderClan cats are going to go through the tunnels and make sure the stoats are really gone,” Nightcloud went on. “If you want to go, Heathertail, I’ll stay with Breezepelt.”
“Oh, I’m happy to stay if Harespring wants you to go,” Heathertail responded eagerly.
I’m sure you are, Crowfeather thought, exchanging an amused glance with Nightcloud. The two young cats were gazing into each other’s eyes again, and Nightcloud leaned over to murmur into Crowfeather’s ear.
“I think the Clan will be welcoming new kits before long.”
The next morning, Crowfeather padded through the dim tunnels, part of a patrol that included Nightcloud, Lionblaze, and Cloudtail, with Harespring in the lead. His nose wrinkled at the smell of stoat.
I’m going to vomit if I can’t get away from that stink, he thought. It’s sinking into my fur . . . I’ll be tasting it for moons! If I never see another stoat, it will be too soon.
The patrols found plenty of evidence that the stoats had been there: holes filled with rotting prey and dens where nests had been scratched together from scraps of grass and bracken. But there was no sign that any of the stoats had returned.
All the while he was patrolling, Crowfeather was acutely conscious that Lionblaze was part of the group. He kept an eye on him, and started forward a couple of times before he eventually braced himself and managed to maneuver to walk beside him.
“There’s something I want to say to you,” he told the ThunderClan cat.
Lionblaze tilted his head to one side, giving Crowfeather a slightly suspicious look. His golden fur was torn to reveal scratches underneath, and he was limping slightly on one forepaw, but he was still the magnificent ThunderClan warrior who Crowfeather could hardly believe was his son.
“Okay,” Lionblaze mewed at last. He slowed his pace so that he and Crowfeather gradually dropped behind the rest of the patrol. “How is Breezepelt?” he asked hesitantly.
“He’ll be fine,” Crowfeather replied. When Lionblaze acknowledged his news with a nod, he continued awkwardly, the words he had been waiting to say bursting out of him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t accept you and your littermates when I found out about you. I’m sorry that I said I had only one kit, and that anything else was a lie. If I’d known . . .” He stumbled over his words and had to begin again, while Lionblaze listened, expressionless. “If I’d only known when you were kits, when you needed me, surely things would have been different. I have no excuses, but . . . I hope you can forgive me for the way I acted.”
Lionblaze paused for a moment before replying, his amber eyes gleaming with disbelief in the dim light of the tunnel, as if he was questioning why Crowfeather was even bothering to talk to him. “It doesn’t matter,” he responded at last. “I was a full-grown warrior by the time I found out that you and Leafpool were my parents. I don’t need to be your kit. Bramblestar was the only father we knew, and he was
a great one. He’ll always be my father, no matter what.”
Crowfeather nodded, feeling the pain of rejection. He was glad that he had spoken, but he accepted that he could not control how his son responded. I guess Lionblaze and Jayfeather will always resent me.
“I’m not angry with you,” Lionblaze added. “I accept your apology, and I’m grateful for the way it all turned out.”
A little reassured, Crowfeather dipped his head again in acceptance. He began reaching out his tail to touch Lionblaze on the shoulder, then hastily drew it back again as he realized that would never be their relationship. This cordial agreement, with the air cleared between them, was the best he could hope for. And I have to learn to be okay with that.
Part of Crowfeather was sad at the thought of what might have been, but mostly he was filled with relief that he and Lionblaze had reached an understanding. It felt like a cool shower of rain in a dry season.
For a brief moment, Crowfeather wondered what his life would have been like if he and Leafpool had never returned to their Clans. They would have found a place to live happily, with Lionblaze and Jayfeather and Hollyleaf, and maybe many other kits. But then Crowfeather pushed the vision away. All three of their kits would have been different if he and Leafpool had raised them together, and he guessed that in the end Leafpool’s love of her Clan would have drawn her back to her calling as a medicine cat. The knowledge hurt, but everything had happened as it was meant to. And Crowfeather felt humbled that Lionblaze had forgiven him.
Crowfeather and Lionblaze caught up to the rest of the patrol as they emerged from the tunnels, blinking in the sunlight that seemed dazzling after so long in the dark. Harespring, who had been leading the patrol, bounded up to Onestar.
“The tunnels are clear of stoats,” he reported.
“And it’s time we were leaving,” Squirrelflight added, gathering the ThunderClan cats together with a wave of her bushy tail. “Let us know if you have any more trouble.”