Summary: A disease has ravished the Clans, killing all the males and leaving only the she-cats. Only one tom remains, a scrawny apprentice named Faithpaw. Brought up by the expectations of being the one to bring the species back. And he wants no part of it.

This is a remake of my original hit story, Unfaithful Savior. I was rereading it and I found I liked my ideas, base plot and some aspects of the plot, but I really hated the way it was written and the way I carried the story. It's been two years and I am a much better writer now, so I want to give it another shot and see what the outcome is.

To anybody who hasn't the original and wants to read this, don't read the original. This isn't a sequel or anything and you don't have to have read the original to understand it. Besides, this one will probably be better.

To anybody who read the original and wants to give this a try, go ahead.

ONE

Her mate was clasped in her jaws. His body; the strong handsome body that would wind around her, that would protect her from any harm was now secured between her trembling jaw.

It was raining. The kind of rain that's loud and wet and makes the top of the ground run like a river but never seems to soak into the earth. The kind of rain that stings your back and ears as it hammers down onto your skin.

The rain drowned out the she-cat's moans and cries. Her anguish wept from her body like tears. Her shock, her grief, her exhaustion. Her hate at what was happening.

What was happening. Why did this have to happen?
Gasping, she stumbled to a halt and her mate dropped out of her jaws. She panted hard, head down, rain dribbling off her fur. Her mate's body was cold and stuff on the ground, it'd been that way for several minutes now. As she caught her breath she poked his body, nudged his chest with her paw. "Oakleaf," she rasped, "Oakleaf." She knew he was dead, of course she did, Spottedflight wasn't stupid. But it was just the sheer realism that he was dead, like everyone else.

That this even had to happen.

She was bent on taking his body to camp. She clasped him up again and dragged his body onward, stumbling in the mud and over roots and vines. His paws and tail left tracks in the wet ground. He felt heavier now, his pelt was soaked in water and the lack of movement had stiffened up his muscles.

"Come on, I can do this," she panted around his scruff. "If I can just make it to camp."

She could smell the bile rising from his fur; the awful reek of sickness. It had consumed him, consumed his entire body and left him like this. She wished he had been slain, and then there would be something she could hate, something she could swear vengeance on. But the sheer power of something bigger and stronger than she was heartbreaking.

Camp. It was there. The ThunderClan camp. So familiar. Spottedflight slid down into it, stumbling and rolling over her own body and the stiff body of her mate. They landed in the clearing, her twisted around his unmoving form. She lay panting, caked in mud.

Some she-cat's ran over. Midnightstar and Greenspots, the medicine cat.

"What were you doing out in this storm?" Greenspots hissed, easing her onto her paws and leading her to the sheltered medicine cat den.

"It was for Oakleaf," she sobbed, "We were on patrol together with...Sunclaw and Dewstripe when the storm hit."

"And Sunclaw and Dewstripe are..." Greenspots rasped carefully.

"Like him, just like him," Spottedflight wailed, voice dying. "the sickness must have been on one of the squirrels we caught."

Greenspots said nothing, shaking her head sadly. What a waste, she thought. What a waste for the lives of all the toms. Only Browntail and Silverstorm were left. They were running out of room for graves. The she-cats who remained, the survivors who none of whom had yet seemed to get the sickness had stopped attending the death ceremonies. It was understandable, seeing that much death, being so close to so much loss and pain was not something cats enjoyed.

Greenspots lay Spottedflight down in her den, washed her fur with water-soaked moss. Murmured words to sooth her. Dressed the scratches she'd received from her struggle through the woods. Stroked her ears. She knew she didn't have to worry about Spottedflight or any of the she-cats. The disease that was tearing apart all four Clans only effected the toms, and when it hit them none came out alive. Greenspots felt guilt, felt hatred at herself because there was nothing she could do. She'd tried every herb, every poultice, every sap she could think of. Nothing had even helped. All she could do was sooth those who'd lost loved ones.

And her fear, her constant fear. Without any toms, what would happen to the Clans? If there was nobody left to breed with...

It was the next day that the news was brought in of Browntail and Silverstorm's deaths. Greenspots looked over the bodies, smelt the sickness on their fur. It was clear what had ended their lives.

"Why this?" Wailed Amberwind, who had been Browntail's love and mate-to-be. "Why does he have to die? Why do they all have to die?" She cried louder and longer until Greenspots led her off to lay down in her den.

It was still raining. Would it not stop raining? It was like a dark omen, hiding the stars from them at night. As if StarClan had abandoned them.

No, the medicine cat thought, I can't think that and I won't. Of course they are still watching over us, have something in store for us. There must be a reason for this, for all the death...I must wait for a sign. A sign will come.

Midnightstar called a meeting. The cats, wet, bedraggled and wracked by grief that had led to dark, careless demeanors gathered slowly around her, a medley of gray in the storm. The amount of them had been halfed. Greenspots watched with despair. A queen led her two she-kits out to stand below the highledge. She'd had a little tom kit too, but his life had been ripped from him instantly.

"Cats of ThunderClan," Midnightstar said darkly, softly. Some cats had to strain to hear. "I'm sure all of you are aware of what is going on. And now we have no more toms. I have been informed by the leaders of the other three Clans that their populations too consist of only females. This is the fault of none of us. However, we are ThunderClan. We will not give up to this. We will find away to continue on, whatever that may be. We will take desperate measures. Immediately after this meeting I will send a patrol of three out to the Horseplace and surrounding areas to look for toms. We will recruit any of them on sight."

"But what if they die in the sickness too?" Asked Amberleaf.

"We can only hope the sickness has killed itself out. With no more specimens to feed off of, it cannot keep spreading."

"What about Fallenheart's litter?" It was an apprentice who spoke, gesturing to the overly pregnant she-cat who glanced nervously at everyone. "Suppose she gives birth to a tom?"

"That may be one of our only hopes," Midnightstar whispered, 'Whatever it is that StarClan sends us as hope, we will fight to protect it and out species. We will not stop! We will not give up hope!"

That evening the patrols returned. Reports were bad. The horseplace and other non-Clan areas that had been searched were said to also be empty of toms and the she-cats who lived there had been witness to them dying. One patrol had also spoken to an elderly traveler who had said she came from the Twolegplace by the mountains. She said she'd come out here looking for a new mate after the illness had swept the Twolegplace free of males.

Moods were dim. Hope was dying. Midnightstar's words of encouragement worked less and less on the cats. Some cats stopped working. The rain refused to cease. Midnightstar didn't know what to do.

Then hope came again, just a little seed of hope, and it came with the kitting of Fallenleaf. She lay on her bed of moss and feathers and cried and wailed as the whole Clan watched. Greenspots hovered beside her, calling out encouragement and instructions. Before long she'd given birth to a tiny wet bundle. It was immediately licked clean and turned over for the gender to be discovered. The cry went up; it was a male.

"What will you name him?" Greenspots whispered happily as the tiny kit latched onto his mother and suckled heartily, kneading her furry belly.

"I...I call him Faithkit," Fallenleaf rasped, exhaustion closing her eyes. "We all have faith in him right?"

"Yes, yes it's perfect," Greenspots murmured, as the Clan leaned in toward the kit.

"He's a savior," Fallenleaf mumbled, falling into sleep. "A little star. A...savior."