Chapter Two
Then the unexpected happened.
The rogue she-cat let out a furious yell as she was knocked off Dustpelt. He took the opportunity to spring upright and slash furiously at her till she turned tail and fled, yowling. She was obviously the leader of the band, and, with her flight, the rest of the rogues followed.
Panting with relief as much as exhaustion, Dustpelt turned, and was surprised to see who his rescuers were: the ShadowClan cats Boulder and Russetfur.
"Thank…thank you," he meowed hesitantly. Despite everything, he would never be able to bring himself to trust a ShadowClan cat.
Russetfur, a dark ginger she-cat, dipped her head in acknowledgement. "We were fleeing the rogues and saw you fighting. You should see to your comrades," she replied, looking over his shoulder and behind him.
Dustpelt whipped around, his breath catching in his throat at the scene that met his eyes. "No…"
In a trice the dark brown tom was crouching beside the fallen bodies of Speckletail, Dappletail, One-eye and Smallear. His head spun with grief. So many lives had been lost today, and he didn't know whether his life was worth living any more. His Clan was dead. His leader was dead. His friends and family, all dead. Dustpelt closed his eyes tightly, whiskers trembling.
Then he felt a small nudge at his flank. The warrior looked down…and saw the three small kits gazing up at him. "Dustpelt?" Sorrelkit asked. Her eyes were shocked and frightened. So young, yet they had seen so much death and destruction.
A new resolve woke in him. He had to protect them, because there was no one else left to do it. These kits were the future of ThunderClan. ThunderClan will survive.
Giving Sorrelkit and her brothers each a gentle lick on the head, he straightened. "Come. We have to leave the territory of the Clans, or we will not survive. The rogues are taking over, but we will return someday."
The kits' eyes were filled with pain and questions, pining for their mother, yet they trusted him implicitly. One by one, they nodded.
Dustpelt had forgotten about the ShadowClan cats. As he turned, he halted, seeing them as if for the first time. Russetfur and Boulder watched him warily.
More cats would mean safety in number, the ThunderClan warrior thought. We could travel together…that is, if they are willing. Taking a deep breath, he asked, "Russetfur, Boulder…would you like to travel with us?"
Russetfur hesitated for an instant, narrowing her eyes; then she nodded firmly. "We…would be grateful." Her look said she thought they should be grateful, though. Boulder seconded her, meowing his agreement. The silvery grey tom had a haunted look in his eyes. A former member of BloodClan, he had left to join ShadowClan. To find his new home shattered so suddenly must have been a shock for him, alongside having to battle his old comrades and friends.
Two new allies. One distrustful, one stunned. It would have to do. With a shrug, he dragged Speckletail and the other elders' bodies under a bush and kicked leaf litter over them – there was no time for a proper burial – and headed into the tunnel, with the kits and ShadowClan cats following. They had to get away.
At sunset, Dustpelt lay just inside the door of a barn, at the edge of WindClan territory. This could only be a temporary resting place; the rogues would find it sooner or later. Yet the kits were too tired to travel any longer, and the barn was filled with fat mice. He remembered it used to be the territory of a loner called Billy or something like that. He had seen Billy – no, Barley, he remembered – fighting BloodClan too. And had seen him go down, throat cut by a rogue. Yes, this barn could only be a temporary resting place.
The warrior looked down at Sorrelkit, Rainkit and Sootkit. The three sleeping kits huddled together at his side, the last rays of the setting sun touching their fur to golden. Not for the first time, he worried about how he was going to feed them. As kits, they would only take a she-cat's milk, and he doubted Russetfur would consent to feeding them. With a sigh, he laid his head on his paws. He would deal with the problem when they started getting crying for milk. There was nothing he could do. And there was a nagging emptiness at the back of his mind; a feeling that something was missing.
Turning his head, he saw that Russetfur and Boulder were crouched atop a bale of hay. Russetfur was grooming, while Boulder stared out into the distance, his eyes dreaming. All the cats' bellies were full – except for the kits – yet Dustpelt could not stop worrying. Where could they go? Where?
The sound of soft voices outside the barn broke into his thoughts. Without thinking, he sprang to his paws, growling and flexing his claws. Wordlessly, Russetfur and Boulder joined him.
The warriors tensed when four cats appeared out of the dusk. Then, familiar scents blew to Dustpelt on the breeze, and he relaxed. "It's all right," the tom meowed. "They're WindClan and RiverClan."
Dustpelt recognized the cats. Webfoot, warrior of WindClan, and Ashfoot, queen of WindClan. Mosspelt, queen of RiverClan, and Stormpaw and Featherpaw, apprentices of RiverClan and the late Graystripe's kits. Despite himself, the ThunderClan cat could not help heaving a sigh of relief. So some others had managed to escape after all.
The cats stopped short when they say Dustpelt and the others. Webfoot's hackles rose, and he stepped forward. Dustpelt could not help noticing that the warrior was not much more than an apprentice himself. "Peace, Webfoot," he called out. "I am Dustpelt of ThunderClan, with the late Willowpelt's kits, and Russetfur and Boulder of ShadowClan are with me."
Russetfur shot him a glare; she had clearly intended to take the lead. But she satisfied herself with meowing coldly, "I suppose your lot can shelter here if you wish. We are all that is left, after all. It doesn't really matter."
Dustpelt opened his mouth to argue with her, but closed it when he noticed that Featherpaw and Stormpaw were swaying on their feet with exhaustion. "Come on in," he invited, trying to sound as friendly as he could. "We'll have to move on tomorrow, though."
The others padded wearily into the barn. "Thank you," muttered Webfoot, not looking at Dustpelt. "We…were fleeing the rogues, and we met up and decided to travel together." He raised his head, and for the first time the fear and relief was clear in the young tom's eyes. "We were afraid we were the only ones left."
Dustpelt smiled at him. If they were to survive, there had to be good relations between the Clans. "Don't worry," he meowed reassuringly. "We will survive, and one day we will come back and drive BloodClan out."
Webfoot nodded and padded away.
Resting his head on his paws, Dustpelt wondered what to do. Somehow, he had become the leader of this ragged band of survivors. Dreams of glory and retaking the forest were all very well, but first they had to concentrate on escaping BloodClan and finding a new place to live, until they were strong, and many enough to fight BloodClan again. He was unwilling to shoulder the responsibilities of leadership, but even more unwilling to let Russetfur do it. Yes, he knew she wanted to be leader. But he wasn't going to let her.
Tiredly, the dusky brown tom closed his eyes. A sigh escaped him. He would talk with the other cats tomorrow.
Suddenly, he realised what was missing. Fernpaw. No, the tom thought desperately, his eyes snapping open. In the day's excitement, the battle, and fleeing from BloodClan, he had completely forgotten about her. His beautiful Fernpaw, with her silky dappled grey fur and gentle green eyes.
And now she was dead. He had seen her body, lying on the ground with her throat slashed open, but had not thought of it, busy defending himself as she was. He choked back a sob in his throat. They should never have been together, yet he had loved her. Fernpaw…oh, Fernpaw…
Dustpelt closed his eyes tightly, shutting out the image of her body. Yet it still lingered in his mind.
He fell asleep finally, though not after much anguished tossing and moaning.
Fernpaw…