Disclaimer: I own only what was not in the books

Thanks to:

Crowfood: Thanks! -grins- The accents are fun to read, but get a bit annoying to write. I still like it though!

Mademoiselle Giry: Glad you like it!

EveningSongEnchantment: I'm glad, and same here! And Flick is SO much fun to write about! I still like my First Prophecy fic best though, but like you, I might come to like this one.

Little Miss Sparrow: Updated as soon as I could! Enjoy this chappie!

Chapter 2: Trouble

No cat stirred in the ravine as Firestar strode through Thunderclan's new home. Even the sentry, Brightheart, was dozing lightly. He didn't blame her. At this time of night, every cat should be asleep.

He made his way to Cinderpelt's den, treading carefully past his sleeping daughter, as not to wake her.
The Medicine Cat was, as he'd expected, still awake, sorting through herbs.

"You should be asleep," Cinderpelt mewed without looking up. "We've a Gathering tomorrow."

Firestar sat down beside her and raised and eyebrow. (a/n- I know cats don't have eyebrows, but you catch my drift) "So should you," he retorted.

This time she looked up. "I don't have to speak in front of all the Clans tomorrow," she purred. "It would be a shame if our great leader fell out of Greattree out of exaustion. Is there something you need?"

Firestar nodded. "I can't sleep," he admitted, "I was wondering if I could have some poppy. I hate to take it, but I've had a hard time sleeping for the past few nights."

Cinderpelt nodded, "Wait right here," and disappeared further into the den. She emerged a moment later with a small seed in her mouth. "Go back to your den and eat this. It'll knock you out," she purred.

He gave her ear a quick lick. "Thanks Cinderpelt. Now you go to bed. It's late."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes mother," she mewed sarcastically, padding over to her nest and settling down. "Now shoo. How can I sleep with you tramping around my den?" She flicked her tail over her eyes and Firestar left, suppressing a purr.

He picked his way back to his den under Highledge and, flopping down onto his nest, swallowed the small seeds. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was beset by a dream.

He walked through a whirlwind of images, all moving around him so swiftly he couldn't make out what was what. The stink of two-leg monsters filled his nose, the only still place being beneath his paws.

The images parted before him, but never let him escape their cacoon. He strode foward, realizing it wasn't dirt or grass beneath his paws, but the hard touch of a Thunderpath and the crunch of snow. The images continued to spin, a blur of memories. Now, though, there was sound.

Yowling, screeching, snarling. The sounds of anger, pain, hate, grief. The images kept spinning, the sounds blurring, fading, returning. The roar of a two-leg monster. He felt dizzy, as if he head would simply burst from the barrage of images and sounds. Then, quite suddenly, it stopped.

There were not more images and all was quiet and still. He was no longer striding down a hard Thunderpath, but standing on an island. Above him stretched a tree, as large as the ones at Fourtrees. The new Gathering place.

A familiar scent; a familiar voice. "Firestar. Times of trouble lie ahead. Death brews in the forest and danger stalks the land. Lightning will come from the land of chaos and plunge all into ruin. Only then can you be saved." Spottedleaf's scentdisappeared along with her voice and Firestar's eyes snapped open.

Gasping, Firestar shot out of his den and into the early morning light. Most of the camp was still asleep, though a few cats were stirring in the warriors den and the dawn patrol was setting out as the moonhigh patrol returned. Some early hunters were making their way back into camp as well, prey clutched in their jaws.

The activity of the clan soothed Firestar. Something wrong with the poppy seed, he thought. I was just remembering the last days in the old forest.

But even as he started forward to see what the moonhigh patrol had to report, he couldn't help remembering that the Clans had left before leaf-bare. There had been no snow on the ground.

The pigeon pecked idly at the seeds the two-leg, dressed for bed, threw to him, unaware of any danger. Flick rolled here eyes from where she crouched behind it, then lunged. Before the animal could even squawk, it was dead. The two-leg screamed and fled.

"We'll go t' ano'er side o' the park tomorrow, as this pigeon 'ill fill us up fer a while. Ye 'ave to' try yerself. Pigeons are easy t' catch inf'n ye stay downwind an' quiet," she mewed to Frost, who had been watching carefully. "Then we gotta go t' th' dump an' check up on Sally Boneses sis. Af'er that we go back t' Sally an' report. I wanna get it all done by tomorrow's dawn, so we's gotta make it fas'. Now, share this bird wit' me."

The two she-cats made shrot work of the large, plump, pigeon.

"Always bury th' bones," Flick told Frost absently. As the white cat gathered up the bones and took them away, Flick rose and stretched, thinking. The dump was just around the corner and this time of night was perfect to approach, as all cats would be up and about.

Frost emerged from the bushes. "I buried the bones behind a bush," she mewed. Her eyes were wide and she looked ready to do anything Flick asked of her. Secretly, the she-cat wondered how long this good consideration would last. Frost didn't look like a cat who took orders easily.But rather than voice her doubts, she mewed simply, "Good. Stick clos' t' me and if anythin' happens, I mean anythin', run. Run and don'look back. Those dump cats kin ge' pretty rough."

Flick suppressed a grin as Frost gulped and nodded. It was, of course, a lie. Infights happened all the time, but Flick was on pretty good terms with the dump cats. They wouldn't lay a claw to her. Frost, fortunately, didn't know that. It was the only way Flick could think of to get her to behave.

Flick leapt onto a fence that separated this two-leg's yard from the next one and padded easily across. Frost teetered precariously behind her, clinging to the boards with unsheathed claws as she stepped forward uncertainly.

A tree provided a bridge of sorts to the next fence, so Flick, who had no desire to see if the monstrous dog sleeping below liked cats or nor, leapt onto the nearest branch and padded across. It was only when she was safely on the other side that she realized Frost, who was usually so chattery chatty, had fallen silent.She turned to look and gasped.

The white cat had leapt onto a springy, weak branch and was only just managing to hang on. Her bottom half was dangling toward the ground and the branch, bent under her weight, put her tail right in front of the sleeping dog's nose. As he exhaled, the white fur was blown back and as he took a breath in, the fur was sucked forward. Luckily for Frost, she was downwind so it would take the dog longer to smell her.

"Okay," Flick breathed. One noise to loud would wake the sleeping beast. "Try clawin' yer way up th' branch. Go on. If'n ye wait any longer, ye'll be dogfood."

Slowly, the younger she-cat pulled herself about a tail length up, paw over paw. Now her back legs dangled over the big dog's house. If she let go, she would land on the roof.

Flick had a sudden idea. "When I say so, le' go an' jump fer the fence," she whispered, leaping lightly down from the fence and creeping toward the dog house. She gathered up her shaking legs and leapt up.Once on top, she breathed a sigh of relief, though she couldn't suppress a surge of pride. Very few cats could sneak past a dog. Then again, the dog could easily get them on the roof, as it stood at least a tail-length taller.

"Okay," she breathed so quietly she was not sure if Frost even heard her, "le' go… NOW!" The final word erupted from her in a screech.

Frost dropped like a stone and landed on the roof with a thud, immediately lunging for the fence. She scrambled up and started shakily across before the dog even realized what was happening. It didn't take long though. The animalleapt to his paws, barking hoarsely and started toward the fence. Flick leapt. If he slammed against the boards that Frost struggled across, an unbalanced cat like her would go flying.

Flick landed on the dogs head screeching bloody murder, sinking claws and fangs into his unprotected head. She knew it didn't hurt, protected as he was by rolls of skin, but it distracted him. He reared onto his hind legs, snarling and barking as the disgusting taste of dog filled Flick's mouth. At last, when she was sure she had his attention, she leapt clear, spitting hair from her mouth.

Disgustin' creature, she thought coolly. Dogs were big, but stupid. If you handled them right, you could wrap them around your paw.

She waited until he was a mere tail-length away before leaping suddenly to the side. The big dog slipped on the mud and fell, sliding. Using his distraction, Flick glanced at the fence and swore. Frost still had half the way to go.

The dog was up and moving again. Flick made sure his chain was secure around the pole in the ground she had purposely led him around, then fled. Weaving in and out of lawn figures, trees, plants, chairs, two-leg kit toys, and a table, Flick made sure his leash was thoroughly tangled, though all the while she felt his hot breath on her flanks. She chanced a glance at the fence and sighed in relief. Frost was there.

Whipping suddenly around, she lashed out at the dog, catching his soft nose with her claws. He yelped and drew back. She fled to the building and the dog, now recovered, followed. She stood calmly, one paw raised slightly, and waited. He was three tail-lengths away…two…one. She slipped to the side and the dog charged passed her--right into the wall of the two-leg nest and around a final pole.

Flick sat a few tail-lengths away and watched, triumphant, as he slowly recovered. He blinked at her, then seemed to remember why his head hurt so much, and lunged. She didn't bat an eyelash as his jaws closed a whisker's width from her face. The dog lunged again, but his chain was so thoroughly tied he could go no farther. He was stuck.

Flick batted him lightly on the nose. "Ye should stick t' doggy food them two-legs give ye, mate," she mewed, mock friendly, then turned and calmly padded away, leaping onto the fence where Frost waited, slack jawed. She leapt down, signaling for Frost to do the same. Once safely on the ground, Flick began to wash away dog slobber, aware of her student's stare. She tried to ignore it. It made her feel uncomfortable.

Finally, the white she-cat gasped, "That was amazing! I wish I could fight and run like that and be so… so calm about it."

Flick stopped mid-lick and stared at her, mouth still wide open. Only when a fly flew into her gaping jaws and made her choke did she close them with a snap. After she had coughed the insect out, she rasped hoarsely (throat now thoroughly cut up) "Ye mean t' say ye ne'er learned 'ow to fight? Or even distract a beast?"

Frost shook her head. "Mother thought it was loutish, for street cats."

Flick snorted and returned to her washing. "Well, yer a stree' cat now, so I'm gonna 'ave to teach ye. Now come on, we still 'ave t' reach th' dump." She got to her paws and shook herself quickly, thinking. Today they had been lucky. But who knew what tomorrow might bring. Frost had to learn how to fight, and fight well. It was the only way to survive in the street.

Flick trotted into the two-leg dump, Frost walking so close to her heels that she kept tripping. It was unusually quiet for this time of night. Typically the dump was alive when the moon shone. Rats and mice thrived here, despite the cats, and birds, like seagulls, often stopped here too. Even in the snow, the cats were always about. But now everything was covered in white, not a paw print to be seen, and all was silent.

"Wait 'ere'," Flick murmured and, as Frost looked at her like she had just asked her to eat her own ears, she slid into the shadows to investigate. There was no sign of any cat. She crept through the snow and discarded two-leg junk, and searched for any sign or scent of cats. There was nothing.

Suddenly, Frost screeched from far away and there was the sound of paws scrabbling madly on snow and the heaps of two-leg rubbish. Flick wheeled around and sprinted toward the sound, dodging a broken monster and a two-leg shoe. She scrambled down a heap of junk to where Frost was standing, and panted, "Wha' happened?"

"Very jumpy frien' ye 'ave there Flick," a cool voice mewed. Flick looked up and relaxed. It was only Twist, though the sight of him could send even a two-leg screaming. He had been mauled terribly by the dog that had slaughtered his family when he was a young tom. Although it was said he had, at one time, been handsome, his once sleek black fur was ragged. Half of his nose was peeled off, and one eye and eyelid were missing, leaving only an open socket filled with scar tissue. One ear was gone, the other in shreds, and the fur on half his face and part of his neck and chest had been peeled off to reveal pink skin. A scar ran over his good eye, past his ear and to his shoulder.
When he had lost his looks, he had taken to fighting. Brawls with other cats, which, legend had it, he had never lost, had left him more scars, though smaller and a tail, broken in two places.A bad incident with a two-leg monster had twisted one of his paws so it was facing out rather than forward, causing him to limp heavily. He was older now, though no less fierce and he had yet to loose a fight with any cat, no matter how young and fit.

"She was a Pet-kitty 'til a bit ago. Still doesn't know th' ways o' the street yet," Flick mewed as he climbed nimbly down the rubble to touch noses with her. "Her name be Frost. Or, twas Sprinkle," at this, Twist snorted and Flick grinned, "but I 'ad to change it."

Twist limped slowly around the white cat, inspecting her as he would a juicy mouse. At last he sat back and said, "She's not much t' the eye, pretty, don' ge' me wrong, bu' not muscley, li' most street-cats, though she on'y been out of 'er nest fer a bit. But she got spirit. I kin see tha'. Bu' ye canna've come t' visit me. Ye didn't even know I was 'ere. What brought ye t' th' dump Flick?"

The she-cat sighed. "I was lookin' fer Sally Boneses sis, Tam. She here?"

Twist looked troubled. "I cem 'ere a few days gone, t' see if th' rats were runnin' good and I found em. They was all dead, fer not but a few hours. Twas sickness, it twas. Well, one was live, bu' barely. 'E tol' me it 'ad started 'bout two days gone. The cats 'ad all taken sick. First, twas nothin'. Then a belly-ache. Then a worse 'un, and a fever. Eventually th' cat would die in a troubled, fevered sleep. Some passed easier 'an others ye see. Some writhed and screeched and twisted fer hours, while others sorta faded 'e said. Then 'e fell back asleep and died, mumbling 'bout talkin' mice."

Flick stared. What kind of sickness could wipe out all nine dump cats in two days? "What'll 'appen now," she rasped.

The old tom shrugged. "It'll spread. A plague among cats li' this is needed e'ry once in a while. Our gangs ge' to big, see? Small sicknesses ge' bigger and sprea' inta somethin' more. E'ery ally an' sewer an' park'll burn wit' it and then it jus' ends." The old cat stared intently at her. "I won' make it through this 'un. I was 'ere wit' the dead fer to long an' I've no mind to travel. Rather end m'days 'ere, where I belong. Bu' ye, ye, could escape yet."

Flick snorted. "I ain't leavin' my 'ome," she mewed bluntly. She shoved down the small voice that said simply: I couldn't . "Where would I go," she went on. "There's no o'er place 'cept the city where a cat li' me could survive."

"Wrong," the old tom snapped, glaring at her intently. "Y're a natrul' in the stree', no doubt 'bout tha', but what makes ye so great a' it ain't only fer life as a Streetrat. Ye've the spirit an' instinct an' skills t' live where-e'er ye want. Bu' mos' of all, ye 'ave the will. The will t' survive. Make yer way outa th' city," he urged, "Through the slums and 'ighways and inta th' wild. Look fer the forest clans."

Flick, who had been hoping, despite her reluctance, for something let her hopes drain away as she snorted, "Ye know as well as I that th' forest Clans 'er on'y legend, tales fer kits on a col' win'er's night."

"Wrong again," the cat murmured. "Me granpappy came from the Clans. Tol' me all 'bout them and said to me, 'If'n ye e'er need t' leave this place, flee to the fore' clans an' tell em' that Dappletail's firs' kit, the blin' one carried 'way by the 'awk long go, sent ye.' 'E said they'd remember. And he was blin'. Jus' try Flick. Even if'n they aren't ther, by th' time ye return, the sickness'll be gone."

Short, I know, and a bit useless, but she learned about the Clans, the sickness, and Firestar recieved a message from StarClan. Oh, just so you know, the kit I was talking about isn't Snowkit from the Warriors books. He was only mentioned when Snowkit was taken away. Dappletail said she had a kit in her first litter that was blind and was carried away by a hawk. THATS the one I'm talking about.
Anyway, PLEASE review.