AN: Finally I finished writing this chapter up. Over 3K, and I'm quite proud of that. I'm getting better with writing longer chapters, and it has only been one day since my last update. This chapter comes in a different point of view...I'm not telling you what his real name is until later on :P Anyways, have any of you ever heard Coldplay's newest album? Which song is your favorite if you have?
Chapter 7
News of the stranger's arrival had spread through the streets like wildfire. Mitch was certain that the stranger was a Clan cat—Stain had been reluctant to tell him what was going on. Instead she often changed the subject, avoiding what was really happening.
Mitch was lucky to find out what was happening. He'd happened upon two cats whispering to each other. One was a black tom with white paws, while the other was a brown and white she-cat. Neither had noticed he was listening to them. He'd hidden himself behind a dumpster that concealed his scent, and for that he was thankful. The brown and white she-cat had been reluctant to speak. If she was caught, the leader would likely kill her for revealing a secret that would cause chaos on the streets.
"Did you hear?" she asked in a low whisper after relaxing her haunches.
"I've heard rumors that Clan cats were traveling through the streets, but—" The she-cat cut him off with a stare.
"You know how the leader is—he never speaks of the Clan cats unless that ginger tom is with him," she hissed.
"Do you know why he spends so much time with that cat?" The black tom's whiskers were twitching as he held his companion's stare. "The leader seems to think that he's important, that he will save us from the Clans that are coming."
"Yes…sometimes I question our leader's motives, but he has led us well," the brown and white she-cat replied.
Mitch cursed himself silently for allowing their conversation to get out of hand. No cat—not even the leader's closest guards—were allowed to speak about him in that manner.
"So this new cat…is he like the leader's pet?" The black tom raised his head as he spoke. Something about his question caused Mitch's fur to bristle. It was obvious they were talking about him.
"I don't know," the she-cat admitted with a shake of her head. "I only saw him once—he was a powerful looking cat, with long claws and amber eyes that…." She broke off as she looked at her paws. "He reminded me of the cat spoken of in stories told by kit-mothers," she added.
By the time they were finished speaking, Mitch's limbs were shaking. He wasn't afraid. Fear was something for the weak, and he was not weak. He was thinking of what the she-cat had described. A dark brown tabby, one that Mitch had often seen in his dreams.
He tried to shake the feelings off by taking a walk towards Willow's den.
It was the first time in what felt like moons he'd seen the pretty she-cat. Willow was always spending time away from the rogues. Her scent was often faint and told him that she was either hunting or staying away from the leader. Her motives could have been good ones, but Mitch knew that they were likely for the wrong reasons. This time, much to his relief, her scent was fresh. He could hear movement within the confinements of her den.
Once he reached the entrance, he stood still. Only his tail twitched once, and that was enough to make her pause. Her silver and gray tabby head peered through the entrance, eyes wide in alarm as she realized it was him standing before her.
For a moment she seemed taken aback by his sudden appearance. Her fur stood on end as she tried to collect herself, but by than it was too late. Mitch knew something was wrong, and he wanted to know what had happened to her.
"I-I'm…." Willow looked at him, her gaze dark as she drew in ragged breaths. "I was just cleaning out my den," she lied.
"Really?" Mitch narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. At his sudden movement, Willow stiffened.
"Please, don't come in!" Her protest was in vein.
The ginger tom bounded forward in a single stride, sending her flying across the clearing. Her hiss of pain was evident, and guilt swarmed over Mitch as he thought of what he'd just done. But her change in mood had caused his own alarm. If she was hiding something, the leader would find out, one way or another. He ignored her pleas, knowing that it would get her in trouble anyways. Without hesitating he plunged into her den. What he saw next made his heart plummet in dismay.
Three tiny bundles of fur were squirming in a nest of moss and feathers, collected from Willow herself. Each were of different shades, but none looked like the she-cat. Instead they were different shades of brown, one lighter, another plain, and the lost dark brown with tabby markings around his tail.
It didn't take long for Willow to recover from Mitch's attack. He could feel the anger she felt towards him. Frustration swelled in his chest when he turned to face her, but she just glared at him. No answer came to the silent question he asked, so he would have to ask it out loud.
"Are they your…." He broke off when one of the kits squealed in protest.
"I was…expecting kits when I found them," she whispered. His face fell when she stared down at her paws. She was expecting kits? No wonder she'd spent so much time away from the rogues. "But they died when the leader found out," she hissed bitterly. "He didn't want more rogue-born kits roaming the streets. All he cares about are those retched Clan cats." She spat at the word Clan, and a shudder raked down Mitch's spine. "I found these kits near the river. Twolegs were shouting something—I knew they were looking for the kits. But I…I don't know what came over me." By the time she was finished her ears were flat and her expression was filled with shame.
"Who was their…father?" Mitch knew that it was stupid of him to care. He'd been taught by the leader never to worry about petty things such as love, but Willow was different. She was an exception to his rules.
"Name him!" Willow's voice rose to a screech. The kits squealed once more from the sudden noise.
By the time Mitch had figured out what she meant, his claws unsheathed. Anger boiled within his chest—he rarely allowed his emotions to get the better of him. Now it was personal. The cat that had trained him—the same cat that had killed Willow's kits, had also been the father.
"I was forced," Willow whimpered as she dropped to a crouch. "He didn't stop, even when I begged for mercy."
"When did this happen?" Mitch tried to force down the anger that threatened to overwhelm him.
"It was while you were with Stain," she whispered. The pain in her voice made his fur crawl. "He told me that it was another step towards becoming a high guard. I thought that…."
"You thought you would obtain the power," he finished.
His tail was lashing as he stared at her. A mixture of pity and outrage coursed through his mind as he thought of what Willow had gone through. Her sudden change in mood explained why she'd disappeared for so many days.
"You know he's going to kill these kits, right?" Mitch regretted asking the question.
A fierce light gleamed within Willow's eyes. "I won't let them die," she snarled. "Not in the same way my kits died…they were tortured, and I won't let that happen to these kits."
"You have to give them back to the Twolegs," Mitch meowed. "They'll die without their mother. The leader will know where they came from—he will recognize their scent immediately."
Willow looked up to meet his gaze. The fierce light had faded, replaced by sorrow. Again Mitch felt nothing but anger towards the cat he thought was his leader. The least his leader could have done was take away the memories of his meetings with Willow. She would not have to face the pain every night when she thought of the kits she lost. This was torture.
"Fine," she grumbled.
"We will need help taking these kits back," he said after the tension left them. "I know someone we can both trust."
Willow didn't argue for him. He was thankful that she didn't, but her sudden mood swing made him worry. If she changed her mind while they were returning with the kits, everything would be ruined.
He tried to move closer to her side, hoping to comfort the young rogues. Instead she shifted away, hissing like she barely knew him at all.
Hurt by her reaction, the ginger tom padded quietly away, hoping that she wouldn't take the kits away.
Once he was safe from her sight, he moved quickly towards a nest that was an odd color and shape. Many cats lived in this place, but most of them managed to keep the rogues at bay. One cat had befriended Mitch when they gave one of their kits to the rogues. A light brown and darker brown dappled she-cat known as Fleck often sat on the windowsill, staring off into the forest. She was always happy to see him, and this time he had a real reason for visiting her.
To his relief, she was at her usual spot. Her blue eyes gleamed when she noticed his arrival. He sat upon the bed of dried bracken and flowers that had wilted from the heat and lack of rain. The Twoleg rarely left it's nest, and so most of the outside had suffered from it's lack of interaction.
She managed to squeeze through one of the cracks on the window. Mitch knew that because of her lithe shape, she was able to squeeze through smaller cracks than most cats could.
"I was wondering when you would come again," she purred after rubbing her muzzle against his.
"Fleck, there's something I need you to do," he murmured once they'd settled down.
She listened intensely, ears angled towards his direction as he explained what had happened. Her eyes widened in dismay when he told her about Willow. Anger gleamed within them as she heard the tale that Willow had told him.
"We always knew something was wrong with your leader," she hissed after he was finished. "To think we were right this whole time!"
"Listen, those kits need to be returned to their mother," he meowed once she was aware of what was happening. "I've managed to convince Willow that it's the right thing to do, but we can't take all three of them at once."
A look of determination gleamed within Fleck's eyes. "I would be more than happy to confound the cat you once called your leader," she growled.
Mitch was beginning to grow uncomfortable with how much he'd furthered himself from the leader. The cat that had helped raise him—train him to become what he was, had betrayed everything. He couldn't go back to the leader, not after what had happened to his friend.
Together the two of them returned to Willow's den. The half-broken tree trunk she lived in loomed ahead of them. Mitch could hear the mewls of the kits that he'd seen earlier. A sense of relief washed over him when he realized that Willow did not leave them to their fate. The silver and gray tabby was standing beside the tree, staring down at her paws. She looked up when she heard the approach of more than one cat.
Sympathy gleamed within Fleck's eyes, but she dared not show it. Willow rarely allowed cats to show sympathy towards her. Mitch knew that she would be furious if she found out how Fleck felt about her.
"I'm…I'm sorry about what happened," Fleck murmured after Willow rose to her paws.
"Don't be," she snapped. "I'm glad they died…it means he won't have any blood kin roaming the streets."
I wouldn't be so sure, Mitch thought with a flick of his ears.
His amber eyes narrowed as he padded along the path that Willow took. The lightest colored kit dangled limply from his jaws. He was thankful that she'd fallen asleep. It made their trip easier knowing that the kits wouldn't alert the rogues that patrolled the streets. If those rogues had spotted the kits, it would likely end in disaster. Willow had already gone through enough, and Mitch didn't want her to watch these kits die.
Fleck had picked up the dark tabby; a striking resemblance to her own fur color. The only difference they shared was that Fleck had those darker brown dapples that marked her pelt and face. It made her look unique compared to the other kittypets that lived in the nest. Her blue eyes had always given Mitch chills when she spoke to him, but for the first time he saw them in a new light. They were gleaming with determination as she followed Willow towards the river where the kits had been found.
"Do you know who their mother is?" His voice was muffled by the kit's fur, but Fleck had heard him.
"They look familiar," she replied. "I think their mother is Fiona, but I'm not entirely sure."
I remember her, he thought as he pictured a ginger she-cat with a white underbelly. Fiona had been one of the few kittypets to refuse the leader one of her kits. In the end, she retreated to the safety of her nest, and rarely left unless it was necessary. Mitch only hoped that her missing kits didn't put herself in danger.
Once they reached the river, Mitch was able to see that Willow was right: The Twolegs were searching through bushes and ferns, looking for signs of the kits that had gone missing. He exchanged a worried look with Fleck. If the Twolegs saw them with the kits, they might see the rogues as a threat.
One of the kits gave a loud squeal, causing Mitch's fur to stand on end. In an instant one of the larger male Twolegs whirled around to see the rogues standing behind him. He shouted something to the other Twolegs, and was joined by them. Within heartbeats the rogues were surrounded, and it suddenly made Mitch feel vulnerable.
Mitch dropped the kit as gently as he could in front of the male Twoleg. Fleck had done the same, but it took several heartbeats for Willow to follow their lead. She glanced at Mitch through narrowed eyes. Silently he prayed that she would listen—the Twolegs would attack them if she refused to give up the kits. Finally, after what felt like moons, Willow placed down her own kit beside the others.
The male Twoleg grabbed the lightest colored kit gently by the scruff, cooing something that Mitch didn't understand. Fleck pressed herself against Mitch as she watched the scene unfold before them. All of the Twolegs gathered around him as the other kits were picked up. They looked happy—something that Mitch had never seen before. The male Twoleg suddenly handed the lightest colored kit to another. Mitch braced himself for an attack when he leaned forward.
Instead of feeling pain, Mitch felt something that made his heart skip a beat. The Twoleg was rubbing his paw against his forehead, acting as though he was a kittypet himself. Mitch opened his eyes to see that the Twoleg was purring loudly. It was their way of saying thank you. Mitch understood everything in the Twoleg's posture. Once his paw had left, the Twoleg led his companions back towards the nest where Fiona lived.
"That was…different," Fleck murmured after recovering from the shock she'd felt. "My Twoleg never acts that nice."
"Maybe Twolegs aren't as bad as the leader makes them out to be," Mitch said once they relaxed.
By now Willow's fur had flattened. She glanced at Mitch. "I'm sorry," she whispered. The tone in her voice was laced with pain, making him wince. "I was selfish for taking those kits…they could have been killed because of me." Her ears flattened and she dropped to a crouch.
Fleck was at her side in an instant. The older she-cat had more experience with situations like this. Mitch was thankful that she offered her help. Without it they would have lost the kits, and possibly created a war between the Twolegs and Fiona.
"It's hard to give up what you love the most," she murmured as she rubbed her muzzle against Willow's. "I lost my kits when they had yet to open their eyes. I know what it's like."
Willow met her gaze, eyes dark with sorrow. For a moment, Mitch thought he saw light flicker within them. As quickly as it had happened, the light faded. A mutual friendship had been waged when the two she-cats stared at one another. One that not even the leader would be able to break.
...
"I'll come and visit you when I get the chance," Fleck meowed once they reached the Twoleg nest she lived in.
Willow rubbed her muzzle against Fleck's. To Mitch it appeared as though Fleck was acting like her mother, comforting her in a way that he couldn't. He almost wished he had that same ability. The three of them had returned to Fleck's nest, only to find out that she still refused to join the rogues. She was afraid that the leader would find out about her sudden appearance, and Mitch couldn't blame her for being afraid. Instead she'd promised Willow that she would make frequent visits to the half-broken tree trunk.
Once the she-cat disappeared into her nest, Willow was left alone with Mitch. She glanced at him thankfully. "Mitch, there's something I need to tell you," she murmured. Once Mitch understood what she meant by this, she shook her head. "Not here," she added quickly. "It has to be away from the leader, where his spies are."
Without waiting for Mitch's reply she bounded away towards the forest. His tail lashed in frustration as he bounded after her. By now his paws felt numb with exhaustion after padding along the hard pavement all day. But he was curious to find out what Willow was keeping from him. The kits had been one thing, but another secret meant she wasn't telling the leader something. Perhaps he could share the news with his leader.
The sun was beginning to set by the time they reached the forest. Mitch's heart was hammering once he reached Willow. She sat under the base of an oak tree. Her fur was stained with tints of red and orange as the sun was cast behind her.
"It's about who you really are," Willow meowed once he caught his breath. "I needed to tell you…I don't want you to be like the leader. He's nothing but a ruthless killer, and he will try to kill me for telling you your true name."
AN: Le Gasp! Don't you just love those evil cliffhangers? Possibly my favorite part about writing is leaving readers with cliffhangers that makes them angry. From now on the story will switch from Mitch's point of view to Sunstorm, but this is the only one that will have his point of view. I thought it would be good to add some description about what the rogues are like and where they came from. Anyways, thanks WildCroconaw and XxBlazestormxX for reviewing! You guys get...Fleck plushies!
