A/N: My third, technically first on the road to earning my warrior name, challenge for the Clan of Clouds. Enjoy!

ShadeClan. A Clan that thrived in darkness. They dwelled in the depths of a marsh they called home. Camp was under the shadow of a willow tree, its limp and low lying tendrils offering the perfect amount of shelter for the Clan's comfort.

Even the Clan itself was dark, quite literally. All members donned a grim colored pelt. Black was highly favored, though coal colors and deep greys were accepted as well.

Cats with light pelts were not accepted. It said so in the warrior code, seldom to never questioned. Should they be born, they were not given a name. They were cast aside and put out beyond the territory by the leader himself, it was a ceremony, to fend for their life alone.

At five moons, any and all cats with light pelts stayed in their own private den, secluded from the rest of the Clan.

However, ShadeClan wasn't bred of murderers. They let the cat grow to eight moons of age before dispelling the offending mouth to feed from their home. The cat was not given proper training though, and was expected to survive off of their instincts.

So what happens when Darkstar's mate gave birth to a white kit?

Nightfrost had just finished kitting. Four kits in all, three toms and one she-cat. Three of them were an entrancing shade of winding black, like the sky on the coldest of winter nights. One-for some reason- the largest tom, was a creamy white color. His downy pelt was of stark contrast to that of his littermates'.

Darkstar had barged in the den as soon as tiny mewling erupted from within. His amber eyes swelled with a fire of emotion Nightfrost could not decipher when he laid them upon his son.

"No one has to know." The she-cat whispered, the bundles of whimpering fur curled at her belly.

The voice that spoke was that of a mother, bonded to her young. This was not unnatural, of course. Especially of the first litter. She had carried them in her womb for two moons, protected and loved them even before their birth. Darkstar, however, seemed perplexed.

"Ebonystep left. Not even she will know. She did not see him." Nightfrost pressed, a pleading glow entering her deep blue orbs.

Darkstar huffed, sitting beside his mate and glancing at his children. His tail was curled neatly around his paws, but the tip twitched as he deliberated.

"It is unheard of." He spoke at last, gazing pointedly at the new mother.

"He is my kit. Your son. I will not let him die before he has lived." Nightfrost hissed.

Thunder sounded overhead; it was a cloudy day. The masses of grey hung above like the impending decision Darkstar couldn't waste time making. "What are their names." The tom inquired, though it sounded more like a statement.

"Ravenkit, Hollykit, Coalkit, and Dustkit." The queen mewed, pointing her tail purposefully at the lightest kit when she named him.

"I would be breaking the warrior code." Darkstar muttered.

"He is your flesh and blood." Nightfrost countered, her eyes blazing.

"I stand by the code I was raised with, as should you. He is not an exception." The tom mewed coolly.

"He is your son. Yours." The she-cat repeated, her hackles raised. "The direct descendant of the great Darkstar."

"Does it really pain you that much? This has been going on since the time of our dead ancestors." The tom questioned in a bored tone.

"How many moons did we spend trying to have kits? And now we finally have them and you want to get rid of one." Nightfrost snapped.

"And you know exactly why. Now calm down, stress isn't good for you." He tried to soothe, taking a deep breath himself in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.

Nightfrost sighed. "I can't do it. I won't be able to. I'm sentencing my son to death. Little Dustkit." She mewed, her voice breaking.

In that moment, Darkstar suffered remorse. It was his mate, he loved her and strived to make her happy. However, as leader he had pledged to put his Clan above all, meaning he was required to follow the warrior code- as well as enforce it- to the mandatory extent. Perhaps that policy, in this instant, could be overruled by "a leader's word is law."

And again, the Clan didn't have to know.

"Nightfrost." He purred, trying to get her to look at him.

After a moment, she did so. Clouded, churning blue eyes met his fiery amber ones. "We can conceal Dustkit. I can train him outside of camp. Give him a better chance at living. Instead of letting him go at eight moons, I'll make it ten. He is permitted to visit when it is deemed safe." Darkstar murmured.

"Thank you." Nightfrost exhaled in evident relief. And rightly so. Her voice faltered once more as she spoke, more grateful than he knew.

Soon, a brisk gait of pawsteps could be heard. It was Ebonystep, who returned with borage leaves in her jaws. Horrified, Nightfrost looked down and expected the medicine cat to be appalled at Dustkit by her side.

But it took a moment for her to realize that moments ago, Darkstar had taken the kit and hidden it with him in the leader's den. The she-cat was once more beholden to her mate. Darkstar's den was probably the safest place to go.

Moons passed. Starting at six moons like for a normal apprentice, Darkstar escorted his son out of camp in the secrecy of night when the Clan was sleeping to train. To the leader's satisfaction, Dustkit progressed quickly.

Each night, or whenever an opportunity revealed itself so that the pair could train, Darkstar obscured his trail by dragging old prey over it. No one in all of ShadeClam detected a thing, or at least to their knowledge.

At seven moons, the light pelted tom's father elaborated on what exactly was happening, and why he was receiving special attention when the seldom other cats like him weren't. Dustkit was mildly...disturbed, to put it lightly, but accepted his father's assistance nonetheless.

At eight moons, the training was nearly complete. Dustkit was quite skilled in fighting and defending himself as well as hunting. He understood basic survival, even expecting emotional turmoil at some point. He had planned in advance on tactics to make it easier to deal with, or at least cope with.

Nine moons old. Dustkit simply refined everything he knew and had learned over the course of the last three moons. Darkstar didn't take him out training nearly as frequently, which was fine with the tom.

Ten moons. All of Darkstar's Clan had thought Dustkit had left two moons ago, like all of the other "lightpelts" had.

It was sunhigh. Darkstar had "taken the dawn patrol alone to clear his head." His son waited at the border for him.

"Your mother loves you very much. She would be very proud of you, as I am. Take care of yourself. I...I love you." The older tom meowed with a wry smile.

"Thank you, father. Tell mother I love her. I wish her and my sisters the best." Dustkit replied with a dip of his head.

"Promise you'll visit as often as you can? Who knows, perhaps someday things will be...different." Darkstar sighed.

"I promise."

"Goodbye. May StarClan light your path."

With one final nod, Dustkit started down the hill, across the border, and to off to lead his own life.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this, so I do hope you found reading it equally as satisfactory. I may write a sequel for fun on Dustkit's life following these events.

Let me know what you think about that by sharing your thoughts in a review, or, keep a lookout for a poll on my profile. Thanks!

-Frei