Hey guys, I'm really sorry for the late update. I know "sorry is not an excuse" but I got stuck wondering what to write, and after that I was too busy. Anyway, enjoy – if you're not too busy being mad at me for not updating…

Chapter 6

Dustpelt knew who the last cat would be. He was sure.

And he was right. Firestar rose to his paws and padded towards the warrior, emerald eyes gleaming. Dustpelt waited, raising his head expectantly.

Firestar stopped, seeming to tower over Dustpelt. The warrior could feel majesty and light like fire emanating from the other cat. The ginger tom spoke.

"Welcome, Dustpelt, my warrior and my Clanmate. With this life, I give you respect."

Dustpelt blinked. He had expected something more glorious, like nobility or fairness or…something. Not respect. I mean, respect…it's just a normal, everyday thing, isn't it?

Firestar noticed his reaction. A flicker of amusement ran through the former leader's whiskers. "Yes, respect, Dustpelt. Respect – one of the most important, but overlooked qualities. Without it, we could not survive."

Dustpelt nodded, still a little uncertain.

The ginger cat continued, his voice growing in strength. "Use it well to respect your friends and Clanmates for who they are, and your enemies as who they are too. Let in show in your actions, your words, your thoughts. Respect." He bent to touch noses with Dustpelt.

Dustpelt was stunned by the force of the life. It swept through him, and for a moment he lost himself in the tide. In his mind, he ran with the cats of StarClan beside him, guiding him as he led, showing him how to show respect. And he knew, immediately, the importance of that gift, of its worth in keeping peace, more than fairness or ferocity or anything else. Worth in making friends, in fighting enemies…in life itself. Respect.

He opened his eyes, not realising he had closed them. Firestar was gazing down at him, his eyes filled with satisfaction and pride. He knew the warrior had understood and believed.

The former leader spoke again. "And here there is a change in the ceremony. You are a leader, but you will not be given a leader name."

Dustpelt gaped up at him, forgetting himself in his shock. "What?"

Firestar sighed. "If you were called Duststar, you would be leader of four Clans. Four, not one. And that was never how the forest was meant to be. So you shall be leader, but not of four Clans. You will gain a leader name when you drive BloodClan out, and perhaps, become leader of ThunderClan."

"Now, the Clans must stay together to survive, but there will come a day when they must separate again. So this is in preparation for that day."
Dustpelt nodded, a little subdued. He was half-disappointed and half-secretly glad he didn't have to bear the full responsibilities of a leader.

Raising his head, Firestar yowled, "The ceremony is done!"

The StarClan cats called. Their voices were like melodies in the night, strange and fey and wild yet beautiful. "Dustpelt! Dustpelt! Dustpelt!" they called.

Looking around, Dustpelt felt a glow of pride warm his heart. At the same time, he was also aware of the responsibilities that had settled on his shoulders like a heavy burden. Leader name or not, he was still a leader, and his task was to care for the survivors and guide them. No easy task.

As one, the StarClan cats rose to their paws and glided towards him, ghostly shimmering figures with starshine in their eyes. He watched, awed and unable to move. They swept forward over the moonlit grass, silvery paws making no impression. They were closer and closer…Dustpelt resisted the urge to back away.

And suddenly, just as they were so close he could have reached out and touch them, they leapt into the air, spiralling upwards to form a starry band that swept across the sky. More and more of them, and seemingly endless stream, leaping up just before him, their hot breath that carried a hint of wildfire and freezing ice and all mixed together, mingling with his own. The night sky filled with stars, and the clearing with the waterfall emptied.

Till only Firestar was left.

The leader looked at Dustpelt. Said nothing, simply looked. Dustpelt returned his gaze with anxiety. "What now? What do I do?"

Firestar sat down beside him. "You go back. Lead the cats to safety, to reclaim the forest one day. Remember the prophecy."

"But – I don't know where to go! The mountains, where the rushing water flows? What mountains? Where?"

"StarClan will guide your paws…"

Dustpelt's fears were not appeased, though. "Still – I don't know how to be a leader! I don't know what to do – how to do anything! I'm…I'm…"

But he fell silent under Firestar's intelligent, silent gaze. Somehow, he realised the ginger tom already knew all his fears inside out, everything he was going to say, to ask. And he fell silent.

And the leader spoke. "Do you not have faith, Dustpelt? Do you trust StarClan? Do you trust me?"

The dusky brown tom did not hesitate before answering, his voice quiet. "I trust you, Firestar. I trust StarClan."

Firestar nodded. Surprisingly, he leant forward to give Dustpelt a lick on the ear. Then he drew back, locking gazes with the warrior, the wisdom and kindness in his eyes so great that Dustpelt was unable to break the gaze, to look away.

"We have given you hope. Now you must return, and give your cats a future."

Dustpelt nodded, unable to speak.

"Go now, and hurry. StarClan's blessing is with you." There was a note of almost – urgency in his voice that the warrior's ears barely caught.

The words echoed clear in the still night air, and the flame-pelted cat seemed to fade away, his form flickering like shadows cast by firelight…

The light of the Moonstone was glimmering and beginning to fade when Dustpelt woke. He scrambled to his paws, heart pounding, from the recent experience…and something…something else.

Something was not right.

Something was wrong.

A sense of icy dread creeping into his heart, the warrior began to make the journey back to Mothermouth. His footsteps quickened…and quickened…faster and faster, till he was running, the wind whipping at his fur as his paws pounded the stony ground. It made him shiver, but the coldness within his belly was colder than the coldest wind.

He gasped when a patch of star-speckled sky suddenly appeared in the darkness before him. Not at the opening, but at the sounds that reached his ears.

The sounds of battle!

Frantic yowls, terrified and furious screeches, howls of pain and battle-lust, the grate of claws on fangs and fangs on claws. With a spurt of energy, Dustpelt sprinted the last few tail-lengths and burst out into the night air. The yowls were gradually dying down, for some reason.

And then he saw why. His cats – the Clan-survivors – had bunched into a tight group, their backs to Mothermouth. All around them, to their sides and front, BloodClanners prowled, a constantly shifting circle of dark shapes that trapped the cats in the centre. A circle of evilly glinting eyes, the flash of moonlight reflected on dog's fang-tipped claws – a speciality of BloodClan.

The Clan-cats were hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded, and they knew it. Still, there was an air of defiance in the way they crouched, huddled together but staring at the BloodClan cats with their heads held high. All seemed lost, but Clan-cats would never give in. Never!

The word almost seemed to echo in the air, so strong was the defiance radiating from the small, ragged band of survivors. Still, they shrank together just a little when the soft hisses and spits faded, and the ranks of BloodClan cats fell suddenly, ominously silent.

Then the BloodClanners parted, slinking apart, leaving a long corridor in the middle, lined by dozens of scruffy cats. And a small black cat came prowling through.

Dustpelt was frozen in place as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. Instantly, he knew that the black cat was Scourge.

Scourge. The name tolled a death knell in his mind. The dreaded leader of BloodClan. The cat who had slain two leaders with a single blow each.

The cats around Scourge towered over the skinny black tom, but they all shrank away as he passed, their fear scent strengthening. Yet he spared a glance for none of them, his narrowed eyes fixed on the cats trapped in the centre of the ring. Eyes blue as ice on a frozen stream, and just as cold.

When he reached the end of the corridor, he stopped. Unsheathing his long, dog's fang-reinforced claws, the leader of BloodClan dug them into the ground.

And he spoke, in a harsh, grating voice that was nerve-racking and icy.

"Well. What do we have here?"