She's too young to know where she is, too tiny to move. The city is a big place, and this pathetic scrap of fur has just washed up on its banks. She's alive, somehow, and wailing as hard as her waterlogged lungs will allow. Mud covers her sodden grey pelt, and weeds have tangled themselves around her paws. Hours ago she was the prettiest in the litter, and now she's been abandoned, left to the river's mercy, as so many before her have been. The kit doesn't know she's being watched, but nearby amber eyes are scrutinising her every movement. But she catches the scent of milk in the air, and moves blindly. Squeals, because instinct tells her this stranger will help her, because trust is all she's known despite the betrayal she won't remember. And the stranger, the she-cat with the soft smell, does help her, because she'll never be as heartless as PureClan.