Chapter One:

How strange it was. The sun had risen and the sky had been as red as blood, yet, as the day went by, there was no sign of rain. The sky was as clear is it could be, and the weather was exceptionally warm. Winter had, to the great luck of all the cats in Twolegplace, released its death grip.

For a great many seasons, the a small colony of cats had sat in wait. They had been trapped in a vicious cycle for as long as some had lived. BloodClan supplied them with food, but, as payment, took bits and pieces of their land. The more land that was taken as payment, the less food the little group could supply for themselves. Therefore, they had to take more food from BloodClan and loose more hunting territory. Soon, they would be completely reliant on BloodClan. One critical questions plagued the cats: "What do we do when the land is all gone?"

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A beam of shadow cast from a tall but scrubby-looking oak snuck its way through a dusty window pane and settled on a she-cat. A queen, to be more precise. A queen called Margalo with long fur the color of sand and white socks on her paws. Beside her, two kits were nestled; a she-cat and a tom. The tom favored her greatly, right down to the white stockings that rose halfway up his legs. The she-cat, a brown tabby, favored the other side of the family.

The queen rose, trotting out of her shadowy den to lie on the widow seal where it was warmer. As she rocked back on her haunches and prepared for the leap, a voice cheerfully called out, "Margalo! Margalo! Look what I have!"

Margalo, at first, ignored the calling of her friend, a very lanky brown tabby she-cat with large, owl-like eyes. "Look at this squirrel! Doesn't it look tasty?" the she-cat continued. The queen finally turned, her eyes locking themselves on the squirrel that hung from the tabby's mouth.

"Harper, where did you find that?"

"The park. I got up really early to go and catch it. That's the only time you see squirrels on our territory nowadays."

The cat called Harper licked the blood from around the squirrel's neck. Margalo was becoming increasingly flustered.

"Yeah. I've seen them over there. Caught a few myself a while back," the queen answered, annoyance evident in her voice. Harper seemed completely unaware and continued to lick the squirrel. Margalo turned her back to the tabby and continued. "Speaking of hunting, I was just about to head to the park. Watch my kits?"

"Sure," answered Harper. Margalo nodded and thanked her friend in a tone of manufactured gratitude. She hadn't been out of the upstairs of the old house since her kits were born, and she was downright incensed that Harper would both catch a squirrel four times larger then any Margalo had ever seen AND not share it. It would be easy enough to show up the little brown tabby; all the queen would have to do is head to her "secret" hunting spot.

She picked her way down the old, creaking set of stairs that led to the first floor. This floor was much like the one which she had come from. Small, dusty, and full of trash -- mainly old newspapers. Just what you would expect from a place that had been doomed to the wrecking ball for years, but was not thought of as enough of a problem to destroy quite yet.

Sitting on one of the two old recliners was a willowy, pale gray she-cat with bright orange eyes like a harvest moon. She turned her head slowly, gracefully, and said in a calm voice, "Where are you going? Anyone watching your kits?"

"Of course, Fleur. Harper's taking care of them," replied Margalo. She spoke to Fleur with a great deal more respect than she did with Harper. Likely on account that this bright-eyed gray cat was the "leader's" mate and was held quite highly as a medicine cat and politician. Many times had the little colony been saved from BloodClan by Fleur's quick thinking.

"Alright. But --I ask again-- where are you heading to?"

"I'm going hunting," said Margalo. The gray she-cat nodded.

"Ok, but please don't go too far or strain yourself. You need to recover slowly from having kits."

"I'm fine," she assured Fleur. After a moment, Fleur nodded.

"Be careful."

Margalo jumped onto the window sill and squeezed through a hole in the glass. It feels like forever since I've been able to do that, the queen thought happily. She landed softly in the yard of old house.

Once at the sidewalk, she pushed herself into a brisk trot. The outside world was a welcomed sight; she had been locked up in her den for who know how many days. The only exercise she had gotten was occasionally pacing around the room or walking up and down the stairs.

She stopped dead as she passed an alley, drawing out her claws in case of BloodClan. But no; it was merely a mouse scuttling about. What luck! Margalo thought victoriously. Not even bothering to set herself up in a hunter's crouch, she shot off into the alley. She even allowed the mouse to run a bit for her own enjoyment before cleanly killing it.

It was a winter mouse; small and lanky with barely any meat. It had likely come out, desperate for food, because of the sudden warm spell. Margalo decided to eat it once she had arrived at her "secret spot."

Her personal hunting ground was definitely not a secret among any of the cats of Twolegplace, or to her extended family. (They moved from their current camp to the place every Green Leaf.) It was a small stucco house with only four rooms. With no one to care of it, the yard was overgrown with English ivy and the numerous oaks had taken over the small yard. Scores of windows, most of which had been broken, lined the walls. This made the house light-feeling and airy. Perfect for hot summer days.

The house loomed into view, the oaks silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Margalo paused when she got to the chain link fence. Something felt a bit off. Placing her mouse on the ground, she scented the air. A smell not unlike that of a musky weasel crept into her nose. BloodClan. It was strong; so strong that the source had to be very near.

I must not have smelled the boarder mark with that mouse in my mouth! thought Margalo. But what are they doing here? This is my family's territory!

Her thoughts were cut short when quiet pawsteps came from a thick bed of ivy. Whipping her head to the side, she saw the source of both the sound and the smell. It was a small cat no more than eight months old. His silver tabby fur was dull and his body was covered in numerous scars. To Margalo's relief, he didn't wear a collar studded with bones nor were his claws reinforced with the teeth of dogs.

His expression was rather hard to read; he didn't look angry, but not happy either. Actually, he had the visage of a grumpy teenager. The queen stood her ground, for she didn't fear kits.

"What are you doing here?" she started, barely hiding her anger and annoyance. "In case you didn't know, his isn't your Clan's territory. This is my family's land. It always has been and always will be my family's land."

The silver cat's brow furrowed.

"No," he answered, his tone of aggravation mirroring Margalo's. "BloodClan has claimed this. It's thei-- our's now. Leave." The queen snarled.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll run you off if I have to," Her hackle fur rose threateningly.

The silver cat's eyes flashed left and right, as if unsure what to do. It seemed that, up to now, mere threats usually scared off his enemies and he had never had to go much further. Seconds passed and neither cat moved.

"I don't like to hurt kits, so I'll give you the first move. That, or you could just run." Margalo's confidence was strengthening. BloodClan or not, this cat was but an apprentice. He was new; he could barely stand up to the vicious look in the queen's eyes, never the less fight a cat three times his age.

Suddenly, more paw steps broke the ominous silence. Margalo whipped her head to the side again, but this time, she didn't see a grumpy kit. No, it was a full grown BloodClan warrior. A huge gray tom with icy blue eyes.

"Son," he said to the silver tabby. "Haven't I taught you anything? Never let lower cats disrespect you." He sneered at Margalo. Now she was afraid; this cat could kill her if he wanted to! "Attack. Run her out. Bone will be pleased."

The little silver cat drew a breath. Margalo sensed that he didn't want to fight. "Go. Now," the gray tom ushered. The silver tabby seemed to mutter something under his breath before taking a half hearted leap at Margalo. Panicked, Margalo countered with all her strength, forgetting he was just a kit. She felt her claws drag through flesh and heard a yowl. She didn't wait to see where he had been hit; she ran full tilt back towards her home.

I hope you enjoyed it! This is my first time writing, so please critique! :)