CHAPTER SIX

Russet kept his chin up as he squared off with the black-and-white tom. The two circled each other, keeping their distance, muscles tense and claws extended. His opponent was hefty, with thick limbs and a short neck. Cruelty shone in his olive eyes, but it was a dull sort of malice, empty of cunning. The tom was big, bulky, and mean, but he was not intelligent, and from the slowness of his movements, it seemed he wasn't agile either.

This was going to be an easy fight.

Russet let his opponent strike out first. He ducked underneath the tom's outstretched paws as they sliced through the air and then leapt, landing on his front paws and pivoting so that his hind legs kicked into the air. The black-and-white tom threw himself backward to avoid the blows. Russet spun, landed on his back paws, and leapt forward again, this time aiming for his opponent's shoulders. He knocked the larger tom down, and they both fell to the ground, legs tangled together.

He heard the jeers of other cats as they watched, laughing at his position. A surge of anger went through him and he reared up, only to crash down on his opponent with all his weight. The black-and-white tom flailed, trying to rake Russet's belly with his forepaws, but his strikes fell short. Russet maintained the pressure, and eventually, the other tom gave in.

"Nicely done!" crowed a familiar voice. Russet turned to see Baron striding toward him. His pale amber eyes wandered around the assembled cats, never pausing, not missing a thing. There was a strange softness to his gaze that made Russet shudder; Baron's eyes were pallid, with just the hint of a sneer.

Russet mumbled a thanks, moving off of his opponent's chest. The black-and-white tom sat up, spitting snow from his mouth as he moved. When he realized that Baron was watching him, he quickly scrambled to his paws, awaiting his leader's judgement.

"That was pitiful, Tanner," said Baron, his words made of ice. "You're disgusting. Get out of here, you're hurting my eyes."

Tanner grudgingly stumbled off. Russet sighed, relaxing as his opponent left the ring. Now it was just him and Baron, surrounded by the other rogues, who had all fallen silent. The sparring circle usually rang with the cries of cats who were waiting for their turn, but when Baron was around, it was better to be silent. It was that or lose your tongue.

The rogues came in all shapes and sizes, from slender she-cats to hulking toms. There was a short tabby tom who reminded him of Oaktail, and a beautiful she-cat who could have been Lilypaw's sister, were it not for the story she had told him of how she had murdered her parents. Yet despite all their differences, they all had the same feel – they were fighters. Baron's cats were muscular and mean, and most of them had pelts criss-crossed by scars.

There weren't too many of them here; most were back in the city, under the watchful eyes of Baron's second-in-commands Needle and Zephyr. But Baron had decided to lead a group of his cats over the mountains, and Russet had come along for the ride. There had been some explanation of what they were searching for, but most of them did not know, and none of them wanted to ask Baron.

Russet turned his attention back to Baron. "Walk with me," commanded the tom. Without checking to see if Russet was following, he strode out of the circle. Russet hesitated a moment before leaping to keep up. Cats moved aside to let them pass, and he heard them murmuring as he walked by. Were they talking about him? Some didn't trust him, he knew, but they all respected his abilities.

Respected, and feared.

After leaving RiverClan, Russet had fled to the collection of Twoleg nests known as a city. There, he had lived off of scraps, fighting off alley cats, until Baron's group had found him. Impressed by his fighting skills, Baron had invited him to join his band. He had been with them for about a moon now, though he still felt like an outsider.

They were walking through a field. The sparring circle had been placed inside a grove of stout elms, their spreading canopies providing shelter from the heavy snowfall. Beyond them lay Twoleg farmland, covered in thick layers of snow and ice.

"I lied," said Baron, as they walked, carefully picking his way through the large white drifts. "That wasn't nicely done at all. Tanner is strong, but he's stupid. A kit could have outsmarted him."

Russet mumbled an acknowledgement, eyes averted – as ever – from Baron's pale gaze. The tom was of medium build, with hard muscles and thick reddish-brown fur. He walked as if he owned the world, the air of confidence around him nearly tangible. The others followed his every command, and it was easy to understand why. Baron was scary, to put it bluntly.

"Russet, do you understand how succession works here?" asked Baron. His voice seemed idle, but Russet knew that he never said anything without reason.

"By family, right?" he mewed.

Baron nodded. "My son will be leader after me. At least, he should be. But there is a thorn in his paw, so to speak. An obstacle which will forever threaten his succession, unless we remove it. A cat who will stop at nothing to dethrone me."

Russet narrowed his eyes. He had seen Baron's oldest son, a hefty brown tabby with his father's light amber eyes. Shaw was a miniature version of his father, though with slightly less subtly. He couldn't imagine anyone taking his throne once he was old enough to claim it. "Why are you telling me this?"

The sounds of the training hollow faded away. They were in the middle of the field now, surrounded by open air. A cold wind blew over the snow, but Russet didn't flinch. Though he was chilled to the bone, he had to keep on a strong face for Baron. The reddish-brown tom could sense fear easily, and Russet was determined not to show weakness. Never again, he thought. Never again.

Baron continued on like he hadn't heard the ginger tabby speak. "My current second-in-command, Needle...he's a strong cat, very smart, but I don't think he'll do what it takes in order to ensure my son's safety. When I took control of this band of rogues, he immediately betrayed his former leader to come to my aid. I can't trust a cat like that. I need a second-in-command that I know will never turn on me. That's where you come in, Russet. We have the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone."

"Keep talking," said Russet slowly. He knew he was a great fighter, stronger than most of the rogues despite his age. At seventeen moons, he was younger than most of the them, but the formal training he had received from RiverClan gave him the advantage. Despite that, he hadn't been expecting such an offer from Baron. After all, he was new to the band.

The side of Baron's mouth twisted a slight smirk. "Take out this threat for me and ensure my son's safety as heir. I'll grant you the position of second-in-command."

"Sounds easy enough," said Russet. Finally, an explanation. Baron had kept most of them in the dark for so long. New territory, he had said. They were to move out of the city and find a more prosperous home. But Russet had guessed that it was more than that. Now he knew that he was right. "Where do we find this cat?"

"By the lake," said Baron, twisting his head to look at the giant mountains rising behind them. "Just like the Tribe cats said."

.

As they walked back to their temporary camp, Russet tried not to think about RiverClan. But the germ of the thought had entered his mind, and the rest sprang unbidden from his memory. He was better off without them – they were weak and cowardly – but he always felt a surge of anger when he thought of them. Russet had been trying to save them all, to protect them from Falconswoop. The ShadowClan deputy would have destroyed his Clan and all the cats he loved. Russet had made a deal in order to save them.

In return, they had exiled him. It had been Toadstripe, cold and unfeeling. I did it for her, he had wanted to scream. It infuriated him. He had lost everything trying to save his Clan. Russet ground his teeth. At least here, Baron appreciated him. He was going to become the second-in-command, both respected and feared. He would have a new life, where his skills would be useful. There would be no Toadstripe, no voice whispering that strength isn't everything, no Lilypaw to provoke those strange emotions that would only distract him.

They reached camp. It wasn't much to look at, merely a stack of rough grey rocks piled by a shallow pond. Bramble bushes provided shelter from the snow, and a fresh-kill pile had been started by a mossy stump. After being dismissed by Baron, the ginger tabby headed toward the pile of prey, his stomach growling. Russet picked a scrawny mouse from the top of the pile and chose a relatively dry spot to eat it, seating himself down at the base of a towering oak tree.

Almost immediately, his dream from last night flashed into his mind. He had been bringing a mouse back to RiverClan, eagerly barging through the reeds. Lilypaw had met him, except she was a warrior now, a queen, and by her side had been a beautiful ginger she-kit, with bright green eyes and a sunny expression. The kit had called his name – Russetheart, because he was a warrior too – and they had been a family together.

It would have all come true, if it hadn't been for Sootpaw. He had come in and stolen Lilypaw from Russet. Not only that, but he had planted seeds of doubt in Toadstripe's mind. If Sootpaw had never sought shelter in RiverClan, everything would be different.

Russet tore at the mouse in his paws, viciously ripping it apart. He pretend that it was Sootpaw, that he was killing the ShadowClan tom, that fresh, hot blood was seeping out over his paws.

"What did that mouse ever do to you?" Russet looked up to a see a broad-shouldered cream tom standing over him, a grin covering his face. His blue eyes were dancing with humour. It was Flynn, one of Baron's primary lieutenants. The cream rogue was handsome and charming, and he had half the she-cats in camp falling over him. In fact, a good portion of the kits back at the city were probably his.

"Nothing," he grumbled, suddenly no longer hungry. Russet cast the mouse aside, staring up at Flynn. He was of mixed opinions about the dashing tom. Flynn was always cheerful, but Russet had seen him in fights. Flynn was still grinning even as he tore out his opponent's throat.

Russet shuddered in a mixture of fear and awe. He wanted to be strong like that - would have given anything to be strong like that - but he wasn't sure if he could ever be that heartless. He longed for the chance to try, to tear out another's throat, to be as ruthless as Flynn, but wasn't sure what it would make him afterwards.

"Baron sent Carrionpaw and I over to talk to you about this cat he's looking for," Flynn explained, looking over his shoulder. Carrionpaw was coming toward them, looking as unpleasant as usual. With his mangy dark brown fur and scrawny build, he was Flynn's opposite in appearance. Their personalities were also as different as night and day, but they were both just as ruthless. It was no wonder Baron had chosen them as his lieutenants.

"Did Flynn tell you why we're here?" asked Carrionpaw. The rumour was that his parents were originally Clan cats, so he had chosen his name to mock them. At fifty moons, he was older than both Flynn and Baron, yet Russet kept thinking of him as an apprentice. It was strange that a cat with an apprentice name had such an important position.

"To tell me about the cat who is a threat to Baron's son," muttered Russet. A sudden rush of boldness overtook him. "That's why we've been travelling this way, isn't it? Baron wants us to hunt this cat, not just find new territory."

Flynn and Carrionpaw exchanged glances. "Politics are complicated," said Flynn softly. "Under the old leadership, the band was weak. Baron saw an opportunity to make it stronger; I'm sure you understand. He got rid of the old leader, but the son escaped. Until we make sure that the son is dead, Baron's leadership will never be entirely secure."

Russet understood. He knew what it was to care about something so much that it was painful to see just how weak it was. Baron was a good leader; back in the city, his rogues were strong, controlling more territory than they ever had before. He wasn't kind, but he was effective. Any further power struggles would only serve to weaken the band of rogues.

"His name is Alder," barked Carrionpaw. He was short-tempered and he seemed to be perpetually glaring. Words came unbidden to Russet's mind: if you keep sneering, your face will freeze like that. His mother wouldn't have liked Carrionpaw very much.

Flynn nodded. "He's more dangerous than he seems. That's why it's so important we find him and kill him. The Tribe said he was heading to the Clans. Maybe he thinks he's escaped from us. He never will."

"The Clans?" asked Russet. He had been too nervous to ask Baron earlier, but this was Flynn, and so he cautiously inquired: "What happens if any of the Clan cats get in our way?"

Flynn shrugged. "We kill them too. This is about protecting the band. We have a responsibility to ensure the safety of Baron's regime. Stability is good."

We kill them too. He could do that, no problem. The Clans were weak, and he was a rogue now, a loyal fighter in Baron's service. He could become a second-in-command, too. His future lay with these cats. With Baron and Shaw, Flynn and Carrionpaw, even with Tanner.

"Understand?" asked Carrionpaw.

Russet nodded. "It won't be a problem."

.

Russet stared at himself in the pond, wondering how he could look so similar and yet so completely different at the same time. He had grown since he left RiverClan, his muscles hardening and his body filling out. He was taller, too, towering about most of the other rogues. His fur was the same burnished ginger, his eyes the same spruce green, but he felt different. Maybe it was in the way he stood. Maybe it was because every time he looked at himself, he knew he was no longer Russetpaw.

They were weak, he reminded himself, and while he knew it was true, he wondered if being weak was really such a bad thing.

x x x

Fogpaw woke up with a killer headache. She looked around, disoriented, her vision dotted with black and fuzzy around the edges. As her senses returned to her, the she-cat realized she was in a small, dark den. In front of her, the ground sloped abruptly upward. From the top of the tunnel, she could see a small circle of light.

She was underground.

Immediately, her chest began to constrict. Fogpaw tried to take deep breaths, but her throat was tightening, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. She gasped, scared beyond belief, and forced herself to breathe slowly. Eventually, the air began to return to her lungs. A hysterical sob escaped her, and Fogpaw immediately clammed up. She didn't cry.

"Help me!" she called out, but her voice sounded small and frail in this makeshift prison. It must have taken them a long time to build it, she realized. Opening her mouth to scent, Fogpaw confirmed what she had guessed – she was in WindClan camp. She could smell the musk of rabbits and the dry, spicy scent of heather, but overwhelming her senses was the dark scent. It was even stronger here, acrid and rancid, burning her scent glands.

"Help!" Fogpaw called again, scrabbling at the dirt in front of her. The slope was too steep for her to climb, and she wondered how she would ever get out. She would try later, the grey she-cat promised herself. She had been in tight spots before, and she knew how to climb. The RiverClan apprentice was the expert on getting out of sticky situations. This was no different.

She just needed rest.

"Relax," said a voice. A paw's worth of poppy seeds fell from the top of the tunnel and landed, scattered, around her. Fogpaw lapped them up gratefully, too confused to care who was helping her. A few moments later, she felt sleep begin to overtake her once more, and she fell into it, letting out a sigh of relief as the blackness stole away her pain.

She did not dream.

.

When she woke up, she was back in her den, but there were two other cats with her. One was a lean white tom, his face cold. The other was a muscular grey she-cat whom Fogpaw recognized as Willowstar. Her stomach lurched. Why was WindClan's leader down here? What did she want? What was wrong with WindClan? The two warriors were staring at her, their gazes hard and unfriendly. Fogpaw tried to take a step backward, but she just bumped into the back wall of the den.

Willowstar gestured to the white tom. "Hold her down," she commanded.

Before Fogpaw could react, there were paws on her back, forcing her into the dirt. Soil filled her mouth and she spat it out. "Piece of fox-dung!" she yowled, until the white tom forced her head down further.

"Ready to behave?" asked Willowstar.

Never. Fogpaw kept silent, trying to ignore the pain lancing through her. Her head was pounding, her stomach was churning, and now her limbs were starting to protest against being shoved into the ground. When the WindClan tom let her lift her head again, she spat at Willowstar's feet. "Chew on that!"

The white warrior looked like he was ready to strike her, but Willowstar shook her head. "Just keep her down," she mewed softly. There was a sweetness to her voice that made Fogpaw's pelt crawl. Her words were fluid and perfumed, and there was something about them that was just wrong.

Pinned against the ground, Fogpaw found herself unable to struggle. Fear blossomed in her chest and she desperately tried to pull away as Willowstar leaned toward her. But the pressure on her shoulder-blades was overpowering, and she could do nothing to stop the WindClan leader from advancing.

Willowstar pressed her muzzle to Fogpaw's forehead and the pain that followed, shooting through her body, was unbelievable. Fogpaw cried out desperately, blinded by the shock. Fire and ice were coursing through her veins, burning, stinging, shattering. She screamed until her throat was sore, until the only thing that could escape her muzzle was a ragged gasp. Then she screamed some more.

X X X X X X X X

A/N: Today's chapter was brought to you by Mumford & Sons! Their song, "Little Lion Man", is what I'm listening to at the moment, and it definitely reminds me of Russet. Yes, that's right. Russet is back in the game! After his exile at the end of PotS, he was down but not out. Anyway, Russet is starting to realize that these rogues are a bit more dangerous than he first assumed.

Also, I'm seriously loving Fogpaw. She's definitely a lot more feisty and stubborn than Dawnpaw. Any guesses as to what will happen to her? As a side note, I didn't mean for her scene to be so dark, but that's the way the world turns!

Five reviews? Eh. I guess I can't really complain. But if you're not reviewing because you're losing interest in the story, please let me know so I can try to spice it up again. Tell me what you'd like to see more of. (Yeah, that ended in a preposition. Whatever.)

KittyKat8888: I talk about naming the loners in another reply a few paragraphs down. As for Dawnpaw, the whole "dawn" thing is very symbolic. She's soft, she's warm, she's young. It's a very idealistic name for an idealistic cat. Sootclaw - the "soot" can refer to how his mind is cloud; he had to pick between love and power, and sometimes he still wonders if he made the right decision. It also sounds like snooty, which describes him perfectly. Thickfur is a very plain name. It indicates that everything is on the surface, that there is no complicated, and also that he is tough/rugged. As for Falconswoop and Kitetail, they are both birds of prey. It's a connection between them that can't be denied, even if Kitetail wants to forget all about his father.

Good call on the Branchclaw thing, by the way. He'll actually make an appearance soon!

ScourgexScarlet: Thickfur would prefer to think of it as being defensive, not going overboard XD Nice observations, though.

Thistlethorn of Shadowclan: Chantelle has her name because it's feminine and it's prissy, as she wants to get special treatment and she wants to be a queen. It's more fancy than it should be. Alder is a very neutral name, and it doesn't give much away, just like the tom himself. As for Beck, it's very short, very simple.

Hannah- Queen of Rawring: Sootclaw has a huge thing for Lilystream, but it doesn't mean he doesn't care about Dawnpaw! Shame on you for being busy, though; you should always just be in front of your computer reading my story :D I'm mostly kidding.

frostfeather: Well, hopefully this will clarify what's going on with the loners! Also, Slatestar had his reasons: first of all, as he said, he's growing suspicious of WindClan and wants extra fighters. Also, he was hoping there would be a sign from StarClan about them. Whatever the case, they'll have to earn their keep.

Weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart
Weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start

Tell me how it felt to see Russetpaw again! Do you like him more now that you have his POV?

Next chapter is Sootclaw. It will feature both Lilystream and Thickfur!

Thanks for reading and please review!

- PV :)