He watches her from the nursery. She is sleek, dark-furred and graceful, and her narrowed green eyes whisper promises. Strongkit is but three moons old, mostly fluff, with a little round stomach not quite proportionate to the rest of his body. He will shrug it away, one day. Not yet. Sablepaw is a thing of beauty. Strongkit analyses her elegance every day. She gives him suspicious glances in return, and even the wariest attention she gives him thrills him. This tiny thing doesn't know what love is, really. He's arrogant and self-assured, born with a pedigree. He is but three moons old, and he wants to possess her. Not yet.