Okay, polls are in. The winner is: Crowfeather! Awesome. He's fun to write, and I have plans for him in WindClan...
Crowfeather's mind was full as he made his way back to the WindClan camp. His feelings for Leafpool were there, as always, but now that he didn't have to worry about them other thoughts became more important. He was worried for Ashfoot, more than he'd like to admit. She was old- she had been a queen when Brokentail had first chased WindClan out, after all- but she had always seemed so vigorous to him, so fierce. Now she was lying in Barkface and Icepaw's den, feeble and exhausted.
And then who will Onestar make deputy? Crowfeather wondered. She is senior warrior!
In truth, he was uncertain about who to trust in WindClan anymore. After Mudclaw's betrayal, the Clan had been split. Webfoot, Nightcloud, and Briarpelt had all fought for Mudclaw, and though Onestar had chosen to forgive them, Crowfeather knew that he still watched them.
It's odd, thought Crowfeather, to be not sure who to trust in your own Clan. And then, he added, thinking of Brambleclaw, Squirrelflight, Tawnypelt, and especially Leafpool, to trust cats from other Clans more.
Mudclaw had always taught him that his first loyalty should be to WindClan, and that trusting cats from other Clans could lead to complications, and probably disloyalty. But Mudclaw had been wrong about a lot of things. Crowfeather snorted as he descended into the valley of the WindClan camp.
The bright sunlight had made everyone leave their gorse dens, even Darkfoot, the oldest cat in the Clan. He lay sprawled out beside Morningflower, letting the warmth soak into his thick black pelt. Crowfeather nodded to him as he made his way to Barkface's den, which was down a tunnel at the base of the slope. He shivered as he entered; without the sunlight, the cold of leaf-bare was strong in here.
"Crowfeather." He heard Barkface's old mew just as he spotted the medicine cat's yellow eyes in the darkness. As the warrior's own eyes adjusted he saw that Ashfoot was there too, laying on her side in a nest of down and moss. "Come to see her, I suppose?" Barkface rasped.
"Yes," Crowfeather meowed. "How is she?"
Barkface twitched his tail uncertainly. "The cold has gotten to her this season," he admitted. "I have given her honey to soothe her throat, and a poultice of marjoram and thyme to heal her lungs. I only hope that it will help her."
"And what if it doesn't?" Crowfeather demanded, annoyed by his calm tone. He wanted him to get worried, to be rushing around trying to heal her, not just sitting there like a rock collecting cobwebs.
To his surprise, Icepaw appeared out of the corner of the den. His jaws were packed with daisy roots, and he spat them out. "If she doesn't, she'll die. Or join the elders, maybe. She won't be able to run with the patrols with her lungs. Is that right, Barkface?" Expressionless, thoughtless, he turned his eyes on his mentor, who looked downward as he was forced to answer, "Yes. That's right."
Icepaw's eyes flashed up at Crowfeather, who for a moment wanted to take a swipe at the young apprentice. Icepaw was all business and no lies. In the past moon all his kithood excitement had vanished and he became solemn and almost wise. Solid as a block of ice, how uncanny it was.
"What if Crowfeather takes her out in the sun?" suggested Icepaw quietly. "It may warm her inside."
It was then that Crowfeather realized Ashfoot had been awake the whole time, had heard everything they'd said. He opened his mouth and then closed it again as she heaved herself to her paws. "That sounds like a fine idea, Icepaw," she rasped. "Perhaps I can help Onestar organize the patrols while I'm at it."
She began to pad down the tunnel, and Crowfeather rushed to her side. His pelt brushed past hers as he supported her gently- enough to help her, but not enough to make her look elderly and frail. He led her slowly out of the den, into the main clearing. Despite her arguments, he insisted on sitting with her for a while. Ashfoot rolled her eyes at him when she finally gave in. "Stubborn. But then, you got that from me."
"So how are you?" Crowfeather pressed on, looking at her searchingly. Icepaw's cold words rang in his ears. Dead. Dead or with the elders. Not deputy. But she had to be! There was no one else!
Before Ashfoot could answer, excited kit voices split the air. "Crowfeather, it's Crowfeather!"
Whitetail's two kits, Lightkit and Fogkit, came tumbling across the valley over to the tom, eagerness in their eyes. Their mother came rushing after them. "Don't go racing off like that!" she scolded them, but they were bouncing around Crowfeather, oblivious. "Crowfeather, Crowfeather, tell us a story," Lightkit begged. "Tell us of the sun-drown place. Tell us of the talking badger!"
"Oh, yes!" squealed Fogkit, her eyes shining. "Go on, Crowfeather, tell us!"
Crowfeather looked at Ashfoot helplessly- he knew nothing about kits. She was purring in amusment at his expression, and he was grateful when Whitetail took charge.
"Kits!" she meowed sternly. "If you can't ask Crowfeather nicely, you won't hear a mew out of him!"
Lightkit studied her for a moment, and then seemed to decide that her order was reasonable. The little gold tom padded up to Crowfeather and clarified, "Crowfeather, please tell us!"
Crowfeather had to twitch his whiskers at that, and he tucked his paws under him as they gathered round him, jostling each other. He closed his eyes briefly, and the image of the water and the badger Midnight spread before him, as real as it had been when he was there. "Well," he meowed, "The water at the sun-drown place is always moving, never stopping. Like a river. Only it crashed into cliffs and then dragged back, then came forward again. It smelled of salt, and tasted of it, too."
"Blech!" spat Fogkit, and Ashfoot prodded her with her tail for silence. She was watching her son now, interested, a bit of pride in her eyes. Lightkit and Fogkit were enraptured, and even the warriors in the middle of their duties pricked their ears as they passed, eager for a scrap of the tale of how they had arrived at this place, their new home.
"Every night, as it set, the sun would sink behind the horizon to be swallowed up by the water. It went with a flash of red, like blood- only it wasn't blood. It was different. It wasn't like death. Because the sun comes back every morning..."
Crowfeather went on, telling about how Brambleclaw had fallen into the water, about how they had met Midnight and discovered the truth about the Twolegs. How they had made their way back over the mountains. He forced himself to go on as he described Sharptooth, and Squirrelflight's plan to murder him with deathberries. But when he reached the point when Feathertail fell, when they had all crept out of the rocks to find Sharptooth dead and her injured badly, he found that he couldn't speak.
"So what happened, Crowfeather?" mewed Fogkit curiously. "You were all sad, I'll bet. But you told the other cats to get themselves together, right?"
Crowfeather swallowed. WindClan did not know of his real relationship with Feathertail- only the traveling cats knew, and Leafpool, of course, and she had only discovered it from a combination of Squirrelflight and his reaction to her. So how was he supposed to tell them that he had been the worst off, that it had been Brambleclaw who had held them all together on the way back, without revealing how he had felt about the RiverClan she-cat?
"We helped each other," he meowed at last. "We were all sad, and we all mourned her together. But we had a task to do, and we completed it."
With that, he walked away. He wasn't even aware that Ashfoot had followed him until her tail reached up, stroking him lightly on his head, the way she had used to lull him to sleep as a kit. When he turned he found himself staring into her familiar blue eyes. Familiar because she was his mother, but also familiar because they were the same as his own.
"Did you care for her, Crowfeather?" whispered Ashfoot.
She knows. Crowfeather's fur bristled, and he lost the desire to lie. "I did," he murmured. "More than you'll ever know."
His mother let out a short purr, and she reached forward, touching her nose in between his eyes, a gesture he had not felt in so long. It made him feel warm in some part of him that was always cold, ever since he had been made an apprentice and left the nursery.
"Oh, Crowfeather, my dear," Ashfoot mewed. "I believe I already do."
She pulled away, and then tried to stifle her sudden cough. Crowfeather pawed at the ground. "Ash- Mother, will you be all right?"
Ashfoot's entire body was shaking with her wheezing now, and she tried to speak through her fit. "Yes," she hacked out. "Yes, I'll be fine."
But her words carried little conviction, and they seemed as meaningless as a warm breeze amongst a bone-chilling frost.
Reviews are appriciated (as usual)!
