Floodkit hated the glares that seared into his pelt as he padded to the freshkill pile. He knew where they stemmed from, unlike what most of the Clan thought, he actually had a working brain.
"'Floodkit! Why aren't you as perfect as your sister?'" He mimicked nastily under his breath as he pawed a scrawny mouse off the tiny pile of prey. Naturally, prey was scarce in the leafbare moons, but there was no need for the Clan to give all the prey to Sleetkit.
"Perfect, my flank," he muttered, listening to his sister crunch loudly through a half frozen sparrow.
A cat slammed into him from behind and the dark grey tom stumbled face first into the prey. Harsh laughter echoed above his head as he lifted his face out of the stiff furry bodies of prey.
Three mottled faces loomed into view, one silver, one brown, and one white. Floodkit groaned, you know life sucks when the younger litters even pick on you.
Bellkit, the silver tom, stepped forward. He was Sleetkit's top admirer and the head bully of the Pick-on-Floodkit club. Bellkit raised a paw and slipped out his shiny, unused claws.
Floodkit was about to surrender to the usual routine: bullies come, you give prey, they give you a warning scratch and leave when he felt teeth bite his scruff. He felt his paws leave the ground and squirmed uneasily.
"Easy, kit." A rough voice muttered, the words muffled by fur.
Lemme down! Lemme down! Floodkit struggled and squeezed his eyes shut. After an endless time of being jolted and carried he felt his paws touch solid ground.
The musky scent of an underground cave touched his nose and he opened his eyes warily.
"He's awake!" An unfamiliar voice cheered and Floodkit found himself staring at a cream tabby apprentice. The smell of SolarClan clung to her fuzzy fur.
"W-where am I?" He croaked.
