Chapter 2

The scent of blood and death filled the nostrils of the young she-cat. This was not the home she once knew. Everything had changed. Her kit's, only five moons old, followed her around the twoleg dump. "Mom, I'm cold!" The youngest one mewled sadly, his tail drooping and his head hanging low.

"Don't complain, Rusty!" His brother pushed into him with such a force, it knocked him off of his paws. "We're ALL cold." The black and white tom kit broke into a trot to catch up to his mother, leaving Rusty splashing in a grimy puddle on the side of a Thunderpath.

"Mother!" He cried, struggling to stand up. The ginger pelt of his was covered in dirt and leaves by the time his mother was able to make her way over to him and pull him out by the nape of his neck.

"Barley, stop it!" the queen huffed after licking Rusty clean. The other four of her kits sat by the metal twig fence obediently, while Barley lay his ears flat on his head and whined. "I'm sorry Mom, but he's complaining." The queen hoisted her ginger kit onto her back and began to walk forward again.

"So are you." Sighing, the other five kit's followed her on her tail. Their mewling and crying had gotten quite a few of the neighborhood cats to give them dirty glances.

The queen's kits had grown up with these nasty cats. She had given birth to them in this general area. They all knew her, they all knew them. Not that they liked them, mind you. In fact, no one seemed to like anyone. The street cats lived by one rule, and one rule only: "Every cat for themselves."

One cat in particular seemed to lead these cats, though. His name was Scourge. Or at least, that's what the street cats called him. He was known to wear a collar around his neck, showing he once belonged to Twolegs, but the collar was also laced with a dog tooth.

The queen was not fond of this cat. She tried to stay away from him as much as possible, though he wasn't much younger than her own kits! He was still a kit himself, and yet the cats in the area treated him like a king.

As the light brown tabby she-cat turned into an alleyway, she noticed her things had been moved around. This is where she had been living, with her kits, since they were born. She had taken them to the twoleg nest where she once lived, because Violet, the small orange and white tabby, was sick. That had been the only time they lived in a nest.

This was their home. If that's even what you would call it.

The boxes and wood had been thrown around, their food stash raided, and the twoleg pillows it had taken the queen weeks to find were torn to shreds.

"Mother who did this!" Cried Rusty, taking a step forward, only to be pulled back by the swift movement of his mother's tail.

"Your kit needs to mind his manners." A low hiss broke through the shadows, and the queen didn't dare turn around. Her kit's knew better then to look, also. So the family stood still, barely breathing, as the small black and white tom circled around them, growling.

"Who are you, and why don't you have a collar on?" His icy gaze matched his voice, so sharp and menacing it could cut the bark on an elder tree.

The queen didn't answer, she just held her tongue and squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would save her from his wrath. Her kits pressed closer to her flank, all as silent as they could be, fear scent emanating off of their thick kit pelts.

"You're Jake's kits, aren't you…" Was all he could say when he got a good look at the ginger kit's. They looked just like their father.

The tom sat to lick his paw, still glaring at the queen and her children. He was no bigger then Barley, and looked even smaller because his fur was no where near as thick. This was the leader. This was the cat that had ruined many lives. And he was barely 4 moons old…

"Please… Scourge." The queen shook as she began to speak, "Leave them alone. What do you want?"

Wrong answer.

Paw hit muzzle, and the queen was knocked off her paws by one surprisingly powerful kit.

"No one speaks to me like that!" He yowled, leaping on top of her and biting at her ear. The kits watched on in horror. The two biggest, grey twins, Jumper and Hoot, huddled close to each other, staring in awe. The two she-kits, a light brown one called Princess, and Violet, called to their mother, but were too afraid to take a flying leap onto the younger kit.

Barley's head was buried under his paws, too afraid to watch.

But Rusty, not willing to see his mother die in front of him, squealed with rage and attacked Scourge.

His tiny claws dug into a jet black pelt, his teeth met the soft skin of Scourge's ear, and his tail lashed with anger and hatred.

Scourge tried to shake the ginger kit off, but he was hooked on too deep into Scourge's pelt. Blood was gushing from his ear where Rusty had nipped him, and as Rusty's hind legs raked at Scourge, tufts of black fur went flying.

"You stupid kit!" Scourge screamed as he jumped off of Nutmeg and fell backwards, landing on Rusty. Rusty's cry filled his sibling's ears, but they did not move. Nutmeg could only sit and watch as she regained her strength.

The weight of the somewhat larger tom was crushing Rusty more then he could take. His breathing was shallow and he tried to speak, but nothing but gurgled mumbles came from his tiny mouth.

"Rusty!"