Well I promised that chapters with numbers ending in 7 will include a different and interesting POV... This is a cat whose mind you are used to seeing into, but who has this horrible way of not admitting anything, even to himself, so we never find out enough, which is, essentially, my job. Have you guessed? Here we go!

Chapter 17

Slick's POV

They were drawing closer, like those memories that Slick tried so hard to keep at bay. He knew them. He recognised the big tom and the she-cat, the other tom must be a newer addition. He could only pray that they didn't recognise him. He was a deserter. If they did remember him, he would die.

He could hear Ivy trying to argue with the big tom, whose name he thought was Stone. He couldn't let her do that. She'll get shredded!

He pushed in front of her to tell her to give it up and do whatever they wanted. Ivy looked like she was about to argue with him, too, then she seemed confused.

"Okay...?"

Stone led the she-cat, Night, he thought her name was, and the small tom out of the clearing, glaring at Slick and Ivy over his massive shoulder and growling at them to follow. As they obeyed, Night and the skinny tom slowed down to get behind them. Slick wasn't blind; and though he hated to admit it, he had recognised that technique straight away. Most cats wouldn't notice that they were making sure that they had no way of escaping, and would think that they were lagging behind, and were, therefore, not on top form.

But they couldn't fool him. He had been raised the same as them: among lies and blood, and sneaky, dirty fighting. But, another advantage of this technique, he couldn't talk to Ivy at all, or they would hear him; he couldn't even slow down to get further away from the others and have an opportunity to explain to Ivy what they were doing.

They were led in silence over ditches and fallen trees, ducking under low-growing branches and strangely shaped rocks. Slick tried to recognise the way but failed. Blood land... he realised they must have moved their camp, but whether temporarily or permanently, he couldn't tell. He guessed he would know when he saw it. They followed Stone across leafy glades and sunny meadows which warmed his pelt uncomfortably. He would much rather have a chilly, darkish place with a breeze. It would be so easy to just slip away, melt into the shadows...

But Ivy's pelt was more visible than his in the dark, and, anyway, it was Leaf-season, when it was too sunny, too warm, and too light for too long. Give me Fall-season any day! He hated how the heat seemed to get under his thick pelt and appeared to have a nasty habit of staying there, and how the sun was shining directly into his eyes on purpose. It was impossible to get an early night because the day persisted in staying much too long instead of just giving way to a calm and cooling darkness.

I hate Flower-season and Leaf-season. He grumped as he went along. He didn't know why Ivy, even though she was being led to goodness knew where for goodness knew what, looked so happy. Maybe she liked it. He shuddered, and, as he breathed in, pollen got into his nose again, making him sneeze. Stone whipped around suddenly, claws glinting, teeth shown clearly. Then, after assuring himself that they were not going to make a break for it, he turned back and resumed his long, confident strides.

As they presumably got closer to wherever they were being led, Slick realised that a stench that was far too familiar was hanging in the air. It stank of crowfood and prey and cat blood. He shivered in disgust. He's hoped he'd never smell it again, and, if anycat recognised him as the deserter... surely Beetle would remember him! But would he turn him in? They had been best friends, they had trained and slept by each other since they were kittens. Both had lost their littermates at a very young age, and their mother as well. But distance had emaciated their link to a thin cord of shared memories.

As he approached the place where he knew the camp would be, as the reek was getting stronger, anxiety rolled off him in waves, but he tried to stop it. It would make the Blood cats suspicious of why he was so nervous when Ivy seemed rather calm.

It was so close now... he could feel that they were being watched. He felt at least two pairs of eyes staring intently at them; now any attempt at escaping was doomed, not that it wasn't before. He could take three of them at most, but, however well she looked, Ivy could not beat two on her own. And they had Stone on their side. Stone was brute strength; he was head-on attacks with less planning than a dog could do; he was a storm of death on a battlefield, and you could safely guess that, if it was bloody, at least of of the crimson had been spilled by his deadly claws. But he wasn't the leader. The leader of the Blood was known as the Governor, their name was seldom used.

The Governor was not like Stone. He was only the Lieutenant. The Governor was much, much worse. Apprehension leaked from his pelt like rain. They were going to be taken to the Governor. Surviving requested acting skills and luck. Fortunately, Slick had already proved to have both. But would they be enough to save his pelt this time? The Governor was an incredibly sharp-minded cat; was it possible that he would be recognised?

The reek was overpowering. They would be escorted into the camp any heartbeat now, speaking of which, Slick's seemed to be abnormally fast. He was sure they were doomed. If he was recognised, the Governor would have them both killed without hesitation. Cruel, heartless, hard, icy, merciless, the Governor was all of them. They would be executed with no further thought.

Luckily, Ivy had no idea what had happened. It was all as well; she would have given it away.

The scent was going to his head... it made him dizzy, in a bad, a very bad, way. He had heard of cats seeing things, being transported back to their worst memories, reliving them, powerless to change anything... hallucinations. Just the smell triggered feelings from long ago that he thought he had left behind. But they were catching up.

He had stopped briefly.

"Hurry up." Night nudged him hard from behind. "We don't have all sunround!"

Doesn't the other one ever talk?

"Twig! You're lagging behind!" Stone growled, not bothering to look backwards. "We're about to walk in, you don't want to look like the weakling who can't keep up again!"

Slick risked a glance over his shoulder to see that the tom named Twig was in fact slowing down. Was he limping? If so, he was hiding it rather well, but it was slowing him down anyway. Noted. This cat was a potential breach in the Blood's security. Any small possibility of escape had to be taken into account.

Night shoved them unceremoniously through the brambles and they were marched into the camp in as stern, solid and stony a silence as the one that had escorted them all the way. They were greeted by a wall of hostility so powerful that Slick nearly stumbled. Strangers were clearly not welcome, as the hateful, belligerent, aggressive glares proved.

Blood. He had never really thought about the name. Such a vicious choice... It should have tipped her off before she decided to join... and look what happened.

He was in the camp. The Blood camp. It wasn't the same one as last time, but it was enough. Suddenly, the full realisation of how much danger they were in crashed over him.

Many times, his acting skills had gotten him out of sticky spots; but now, he and Ivy relied on them to keep them both alive.

No pressure.

That's right, no pressure. See y'all!

B
Y
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~Crystalshine of LightClan