Scourge says the disclaimer while holding a pink puppy plushy: "Warriors belongs to Erin Hunter. Only the plot and OC's belong to Impish Empress."
A/N: Another talky chapter, but fur will fly in the next one, I promise. We learn some more about the rogues' past, and they learn more about clan culture. Trigger warning for slight description of abuse: this fic is rated T for a reason. I confess that I enjoy imagining Tigerclaw having to put up with snarky rogues because he was desperate for minions and couldn't be picky.
Chapter 3. Tigerclaw's Offer
It's been a quarter moon since Tangleburr and I fought off the dog together. I kept my word and showed her group some of the best places to hunt and forage for twoleg rubbish, warning them about places where twolegs trap cats to take 'em to the vet. They look pretty confused when I mention the vet, but then Tangleburr figures I be talkin' about what forest cats call the cutter.
Blackfoot, the leader of the former ShadowClan cats, ain't too happy about us hangin' around. He and I almost unsheathed claws when he thought he could order us about. But we've reached an uneasy peace. The six of us are sunning ourselves in a patch of grass near the edge of the woods. The tantalizing scents of earth and live prey waft toward us. Stumpytail, a brown tabby cat with a ridiculously short tail, is tellin' a story about the time he helped drive a fox out of ShadowClan territory. Snag and Mowgli gaze at him like adoring kittens.
"That's incredible!" Snag exclaims. "Will you teach me some of your battle moves?"
"Sure," Stumpytail says, leaping to his paws. My brother's tail lashes with excitement as he squares off against Snag.
"Are you sure 'bout this, Mowgli? Your paw's still healin'," I say.
"I ain't a kitten, Cici, no matter what you think," my brother snaps.
Before we can really get into it, Tangleburr asks, "How'd you hurt your paw, Mowgli?"
"Stepped on a piece of glass," Mowgli replies. At the warriors' blank looks, he says, "The sharp, clear, shiny stuff. Twolegs make things out of it, but sometimes they break and splinters get everywhere. They can be real hard to see."
"My first day as an apprentice, I got a huge thorn in my paw. Thank StarClan our medicine cat was able to get it out before it got infected," Tangleburr meows.
"What's a medicine cat?" I ask.
"They learn about herbs so they can heal sick cats and communicate with our warrior ancestors in StarClan," Blackfoot explains, sounding wistful. That's one homesick cat.
"What's StarClan?" Mowgli asks, blinking in confusion.
"The spirits of our ancestors. When clan cats die, they go to the stars and watch over their descendants," Tangleburr meows. Snag and Mowgli exchange eye-rolls, but I'm focused on somethin' else.
"You use plants to heal wounds?" I ask, scorn edgin' my meow. The idea sounds ridiculous, but all three forest cats be noddin'.
Blackfoot's words get my head spinning. I don't know 'bout all this warrior ancestor business, but could a medicine cat have saved Mama? I never thought that could even be possible. How did the forest cats learn this stuff? I look to see if Mowgli heard what Blackfoot said and find the same question and the same wonder in his green eyes, the only gift either of us got from our unknown father.
"What's an apprentice?" Snag wants to know.
I marvel as the ShadowClan warriors explain how things work in the forest: kits cared for in a nursery, then trained by a more experienced warrior. Then, when warriors get old, the clan takes care of 'em.
"You mean these elders don't have to hunt for themselves?" Mowgli asks incredulously.
"No, they've served the clan. Now it's the clan's turn to serve them," Tangleburr says.
"We got a group of cats 'round here callin' themselves a clan, but they don't work like that. In BloodClan, a she-cat's mate gotta look after her and the kittens, 'cause ain't nobody else gonna help her. Near as soon as kits open their eyes, Scourge and Bone take 'em to fight," I say.
The sun is warm on my brindled pelt, but I still shiver. Our mother, Nala, used to live with twolegs she said were cruel and vicious. She didn't talk much about that time, but she told us they hurt her and never gave her enough to eat. My brothers and I were born in a house, but I don't remember much except loud, angry voices and a sharp slash of pain in my muzzle, where I've still got a scar. Mama believed her twolegs would kill us, so we ran a quarter moon after opening our eyes.
Bone, the huge black-and-white BloodClan deputy, saw her on the street and took an interest. When he demanded that she become his mate, she couldn't say no. We would've starved otherwise.
Bone hated my littermates and me like garbage, but he often insisted on training us to fight for Scourge. Most of this so-called training involved him attackin' us, pittin' us against each other, and beatin' us again when he thought we weren't being tough enough. Mama did her best to protect us, but all four of us felt his claws and teeth plenty. We all bled. We all lived in fear. But only Coal got killed.
Mowgli licks my shoulder. "C'mon, Cici, Stumpytail and Tangleburr are gonna teach us to fight like warriors."
Glad for the distraction, I get up. I reckon it can't hurt to learn more fightin' moves. Never know when you'll have to defend yourself.
I've had to fight a time or three—dogs, other cats, rats, even a twoleg once when it grabbed me—but I've always relied on instinct and what I learned in BloodClan. But the forest cats have actual skills. "Extend your tail a little more to balance," Tangleburr tells me.
"Snag, you're putting too much weight in your hindpaws when you leap. That means it's easy for me to knock you over," Blackfoot says, nudging my tabby friend into a better stance. Even he seems eager to teach us now.
We keep practicing, and eventually, I'm able to knock Stumpytail off his paws. As Tangleburr cheers, a shadow falls over me. "Well done, Cici. All three of you are learning quickly," purrs a new, deep voice.
I whirl around to see Tigerclaw, the huge dark tabby we met a half moon ago, padding into the alley. "How you know my name?" I demand. "How long you been watchin' us?"
Blackfoot and Tangleburr exchange a quick, furtive glance. Am I imagining the guilt in the gray-and-brown she-cat's eyes? "Tigerclaw came by a couple days ago. I just told him how well you fought off that dog," Tangleburr says quickly. I don't quite believe her.
"This lot's from ShadowClan," Mowgli says, pointing at Blackfoot's group. "Ain't you from ThunderClan? Blackfoot said your clan is holding their leader prisoner." A growl bubbles in Blackfoot's throat, and Stumpytail's claws scrape against the ground.
"Those were my leader's decisions, not mine. I have pledged to restore Brokenstar to the leadership of ShadowClan in exchange for these warriors' help in clearing my path to the leadership of my own clan," Tigerclaw says.
Snag gives me a confused look. I back away, sure with every hair on my pelt that I don't want no part of this. "Y'all got warrior business to discuss. We'll leave you to it," I say.
Tigerclaw blocks my way. "No need to leave in such a rush," he meows silkily. "You and your friends would make strong warriors. If you fight for me, I guarantee you a place in ThunderClan. You could eat real food every day instead of that twoleg trash. You could belong to a strong, noble group of cats who will protect you and fight beside you all the rest of your lives."
I bristle and glare up at him. "You want us to fight your enemies for you in exchange for some vague promises? Is this a joke, or do you think 'cause we're rogues, we're mouse-brained enough to believe anything?"
"Careful," Mowgli hisses, coming to my side.
Tigerclaw's eyes flash, but almost instantly, his face settles into a calm expression. "I understand that you don't know me or have any reason to trust me. But you and the ShadowClan exiles are getting on well together. Won't your odds of survival be better if you join a formidable group of cats loyal to each other?" Tangleburr nods eagerly, but I notice Blackfoot and Stumpytail trade a glance. Maybe they don't fully trust the big dark tabby either.
"Warriors don't break their word," Tigerclaw continues. "My clanmates would thank you for intervening and gladly accept you as honored warriors. Our leader Bluestar is old and weak. The only warrior she listens to is Fireheart, a stinking, conniving, traitorous kittypet. He runs the clan now, driving us farther away from the warrior code. You can help us save ThunderClan and ShadowClan and be well paid for it."
"This Fireheart hasn't done nothin' to us. Ain't no fur off my back if he takes over the whole forest. Our lives are way more important to me than your problems," I snap.
Tigerclaw snarls, and his eyes blaze with what I'm pretty sure is pure hate. But he turns away from me and starts muttering something to Blackfoot, who gives us a disdainful sneer. I head back down the alley, toward the road that leads to our den under the twisted tree. Snag and Mowgli hesitate, starin' at the forest cats with an eager longing I don't like one bit. Panic trickles through me like icy water. If they stay, I'll have to stay too. My home is whereever those two dumb furballs are. They trade a look, then pad after me.
"You two ain't thinkin' of fightin' for that mange-bag, are you?" I demand, not botherin' to wait till we're out of earshot.
The two toms shrug. "I ain't rulin' it out. What happens next time one of us gets hurt, Cici? What happens when BloodClan finds us? They be expandin' their territory every moon. If Tigerclaw becomes leader and lets us join his clan, we could be warriors, and we wouldn't be on our own anymore," Mowgli says. Snag is nodding like he ain't got no more sense than a pigeon.
"Don't you idiots realize Tigerclaw's betraying his clan, comin' up in here to plot against his leader? What makes you think a cat like that gonna keep his word to us? Like as not, he'd just use us to fight his battles and then kill us or drive us out. We gotta lie low, not get involved in some forest cat drama," I say.
"Why you gotta be so negative?" Snag growls.
"Lookin' at things how they really are ain't negative," I snap.
We pause our bickering when we get to the edge of the road. The twoleg machines Mama told us are called cars roar past, their foul, hot breath washing over us. Snag opens his mouth and breathes in deeply, his fur standing on end. "I smell blood," he says in a low, tense voice.
When the cars stop, the three of us hurry across. Snag noses his way into a clump of scraggly bushes at the side of the road. A few heartbeats later, he lets out an anguished wail. Mowgli and I race to his side. Snag is gently nuzzling a limp, blood-soaked lump of gray tabby fur.
"Is… is that Jerry?" Mowgli meows, his paws trembling. Snag answers with a broken whimper.
Snag's mama and the rest of his litter were taken by twolegs when he was just four moons old. Jerry used to live with twolegs, but they left him when they moved to another town. He always said life on the streets suited him better anyway. He took the feisty kitten under his paw, and when Mowgli and I fled BloodClan with Mama, he helped us hide. And now Jerry is dead, hit by a car and left here at the side of the road like trash.
I press myself against Snag and run my muzzle against his cheek. I don't say anything for awhile, just let my friend know he's not alone. A helpless rage boils my blood. How can twolegs be so careless? Why did this happen to a good cat like Jerry?
Snag lifts his head and stares at us with dull, glazed eyes. "I ain't lettin' the twolegs throw him in a dumpster," he says.
"Course not," I say.
I help Snag lift Jerry's broken body. We carry it to the withered patch of grass around our den. Snag picks a place about a cat's-length from the twisted tree, where the sun shines especially bright. All three of us dig the grave. My paws ache for awhile, not that I mind. This ain't nothin' next to what my best friend is feeling.
When we lower Jerry into the grave, Mowgli asks, "You wanna say somethin', Snag?"
Snag swallows hard, whiskers quivering. "He was a good cat. He didn't deserve to die like that," is all he can manage.
We bury him in silence. The whole thing takes me back to when the three of us buried Mama. She was so thin after the sickness got done with her, just patchy fur over sharp bones. Don't think I'll ever forget the moment when I watched that spark of life leave her amber eyes. Part of me's still stuck in that moment, still can't find the words.
When the business is done, we lie down in our nest of dead leaves and trash, exhausted by grief and horror. I groom Snag's pelt with slow, gentle licks. He's still shaking.
"Please don't leave me, Cici," he murmurs almost too low for me to hear. "I can't imagine burying you like that. Or Mowgli."
"We all got seasons ahead of us," I try to reassure him. "You and I will have kittens one day, and they'll be as beautiful and strong as any cat could want. They won't have to put up with none of this dog shit."
But with a fresh-dug grave so close, I know I be the one talkin' like a starry-eyed kitten. But Snag loves me too much—or, more like he's just too tired—to point out the fact.
