[Author's Note: Okay! Here is the long-awaited (Not really) chapter 3! It's rather short and mostly is just a character's thoughts, but whatever works, you know? Anyway, I'd like to thank Storm Of The Fate for being the first to review. Thank you very much and I'm glad you like my fanfic! And to all you other people out there, please read and review! Thanks! :D]
Tony stood in the thick weeds, not sure what to do next. He had run as far from the crumbling Twoleg-place as he could until he was long away and in dandelions and grasses long enough to hide him. He had finally paused in an overgrown field by a broken-down barn while the sun began to set. He settled down in the prickly weeds and pondered what to do next. He knew he couldn't stay in The Gang Of Claws territory much longer, or Night would hunt him down and maim or kill him. But, where would he go? There was a rustle in the weeds. Tony pounced on a tangle of grass, landing on a small mouse and snapping it's neck. He tossed it back into his flattened tangle of weeds and settled down. He gave it a quick sniff. It looked plump and juicy, unlike the bone-thin prey back home. Er, his old home, anyway.
Which reminded him, he was going to need a new home. Tony didn't mind...much. He had been planning to leave the Gang Of Claws and join up into the Gang Of Fur anyway. Prey in the Gang Of Claw's territory was getting scarce, and Night was getting too pushy. But now Tony couldn't even join up with another Gang, because by now Night would have sent a scout to spread the news that Tony was a wanted criminal. No Gang would take in a wanted cat. Too risky.
He thought for a moment. He knew of a forest far away, many days walk. He took a large bite of his mouse and chewed slowly, Mmm, not bad. Better than rats. Anyway, back to the forest. He knew it had ample space, was crawling with prey, and had everything a cat needed to live. But he had heard stories of that place. Vicious wild-cats the size of badgers roamed the woods, river, moors and marshes. They ate rabbits and squirrels in two bites, and devoured the bones as if they were merely berries to be swallowed. They had claws as long as their paws, and constantly waged wild, bloody wars against each other. Their pelts dripped blood and they slept on nests lined with their enemies pelts and tails!
At least according to the legends. But he didn't have any reason to not believe the stories. One night, many moons ago, when the Gang Of Claws made their headquarters in an old walled garden, they were awoken in the night by wild screeches and shrieks. The sound were very far off, very faint. But they sent a blood-curdling chill through all the cats. Those were war screams and howls of pain. And, judging by the varying pitch of the screams, it was a battle that involved many, many cats. That definatly wasn't a Gang skirmish! None of the Gang had gotten much sleep that night.
And then there was the Gang Of Bones. They used to exist in the loose communities of other Gangs. They weren't very large and they were somewhat exclusive, rarely taking in outsiders or former members of other Gangs. Tony didn't remember much of them, only that their leader was a huge white cat with a fluffy pelt and all the members wore collars studded with metal spikes. Anyway, like many other former Gangs, they faltered and failed. The prey in their territory ran out, they were too small in number to take land from another Gang, and Twolegs were causing trouble for them. So they left. The headed in the direction of the forest. Their leader boasted that they would grow fat from the plentiful forest land and return.
But they never came back. And, several moons later, a scout for the Gang Of Fangs was dispatched to look for more land. He went as far as the elusive forest, and there, merely several tree-lengths from the tree-line of the woods, he found a metal-spike studded collar. It was half-hidden in a briar bush and soaked with blood. No Gang ever sent a scout back there again.
Tony shuddered, suddenly choking on a bone. She spat it out and wiped the mouse fur from his lips. Pushing away the small pile of bones (All that remained of his meager dinner), he lay his head on his paws. He wasn't going to go to the forest. Forget the wild-cats, there were foxes and badgers and snakes. If he had a Gang he would take them on, but a lone cat would die. Okay, new plan. Think think think. He knew there were huge farms and cozy barns beyond the wild-cat's forest home. But they were almost all occupied with cats, and Tony didn't know nor did he want to find out if they were as blood-thirsty as the forest cats.
He thought some more. There were big mountains beyond the farms and forests, no one he knew had known what lay in or beyond those jagged teeth of stone. Tony wasn't sure he wanted to go that far. Besides the fact that it would take moons to reach, there could also be foxes and badgers and raccoons and mountain lions, and-
Tony shook his head, not wanting to think about that anymore. His head was throbbing from pain and exhaustion and thirst He looked up at the sky. Threatening storm clouds gathered nearer to him, bunching up like thick bushes. Beyond that, the sky was becoming dark. If he stayed out much longer, the storm would hit and he would have to camp out. And the longer he stayed, the more easy it would be for Night to track him down.
Tony scratched earth over the remains of his mouse, making to dig deep to conceal the scent. Then he smoothed out the smashed weeds taht he had been laying on, putting them back as upright as he could. As an afterthought, he pulled up some steams of onion-grass, crushed them with his teeth, and spread the odorous herb across his weed patch, covering any traces of his scent that were left. With a purr of satisfaction he licked his paws, gave one last stretch, and set off towards the unknown.
