A/N: M'kay, this chapter's about half the size of the previous one. Never mind - I'll make it up to you with the one after this. This, however, is dedicated to Aevany Storm - the first person to review on this story. Thanks, Aevany!

CHAPTER TWO

Life two

Part one– A true beginning and a Corinthian dream

Weary Sev' nights, nine times nine;

Shall he dwindle, peak and pine;

And though his bark cannot be lost,

It shall be tempest toss'd!

- Shakespeare's Macbeth, act 1 scene 3

We now begin this tale, to its fullest, in the kitts' second year, in human temporal measurements, when they are about the ages of seventeen, fifteen, and sixteen moons old, respectively.

Munkustrap, always the elder brother and playing the part well, had just been marked as heir apparent – in the event of Deuteronomy's death, it would be he who had leadership of the tribe.

Tugger had only just begun to realise the full potential of the fairer sex, and had yet to go beyond a few intimate nuzzles and (on one memorable occasion) a tugged tail, resulting in a claw-studded slap.

And Runda had long been under the tutelage of the mystic Twins, having discovered his gift a good ten moons ago, and in almost full control of his powers (baring one or two odd incidents – usually involving Munkustrap in some way - that he would later swear he had nothing to do with) only waiting now for the day that would reveal to him his fourth name; the extra name given to all magical cats as a way to call up the most powerful part of themselves.

But for now, for this star-strung evening, he dreamt.

He was walking along a long hallway or tunnel, so dark that even his feline night-vision had a difficult time seeing more than vague images. Eventually, it either began to lighten slightly, or his eyes became accustomed to the blackness, for he could see that the hall was lined with mirrors on one side and doors on the other.

Curious, he opened the first he came to, and was greeted by a roar of noise and light, a painful contrast to the monochrome world in which he stood, as two fully-grown tomcats, one a naggingly familiar silver tabby and the other a wild and vicious looking red, fought to the death under the lights of an unfamiliar train-station.

He shut the door. He didn't want to know.

As he turned away from the door, a purring voice called out, "Don't you want to see your own future, tom?"

The adult ginger tom was leaning against the frame opposite him, smiling faintly and watching him with half-lidded, cold eyes. Despite the elder's fearsome appearance, Runda felt no fear of him.

"No," he answered, meeting those metallic green eyes with his own, emerald ones. "I think I should take things as they come, like anyone else."

The other's ears flicked back. "You're a fool. But you'll soon learn well enough."

The young cat's hackles raised uneasily. "W-what do you mean?"

His smile sharpened, became a mocking grin.

"W-what do I mean?" he mimicked, laughing, then shook an unnaturally long claw at the younger cat. "Nu-uh-uh-uh, little fool. You specifically told me that you didn't want to know. Contradicting one's self is terrible form."

He turned away, but Runda called after him, unable to help himself, "What do I call you, if we meet again?"

The laugh came back, sharp and abrupt as breaking glass. "We won't. But call me Macavity."

A wind picked up, blowing the young Jellicle's semi-long fur back into waves and rips. He had to yowl to be heard.

"But who are you?"

The laughter rose in a chilling scream above the howling wind, and it was now that Runda realised that which had been niggling at him since he had first turned to face Macavity. The mirror split even as he thought it, and he ducked as it exploded, the shards raining down in a painful torrent, and the old tom's perversely joyful shout only confirmed his fear.

"I am you!"

And so he fell.

A/N: Look at the poor purple button down there,

Give him a click, to show that you care.

Please review, tell me what you think

And that my efforts aren't a waste of ink.