Chapter 16

The loner that smelled of grass and flowers quickly took on the Clan's scent over the next half moon. It was almost as if Tiger was a blank slate of a feline that appeared out of thin air. More than a few thought it was suspicious, but until this trial warrior made any huge mistakes, there was nothing to be done about it. In fact, the mood had lifted a bit with a new set of paws helping out.

They'd left behind the high-class region and entered into a part of the City so thick with smog and heavy with stone towers that hunting grounds were just about impossible to come by. Though she hadn't eaten in days, Mosspaw's mind was far from prey. Far from her warrior training.

Rubyheart could tell. "Snap out of it, rot-brain!"

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking herself off. "I'm just worried about Glassp-"

"A loose dog isn't going to care who you're worried about. Get your head on straight and focus."

Mosspaw could feel the words she wanted to say as if they were bile she needed to spit out, a taste most foul and sharp as it burned the back of her throat. Her legs shook beneath her weight. Every breath was like fire in her ribs. She spent half the time blinking tears from her eyes and wondering how the humans could ever stand to live like this. Everyone else could feel it, too. She knew they could. Yet here was her mentor, pushing her harder and harder and harder… Mosspaw wanted to scream. Oh, how she wanted to scream.

But she was an apprentice, and the Code dictated her subservience to warriors. Especially her mentor.

"From the look of it, Glasspaw's finally made up her mind and decided to act like a real warrior. She's done nothing but train since we left that neighborhood and that's a damn good thing. I don't want to see you start acting like she used to, just moping around all the time. You are going to act like you deserve a warrior name, and I won't stand for anything less. The Clan needs us to work harder now more than ever and I'll be damned if you think you're not going to do your part just because your sister grew a spine! Do I make myself clear, Mosspaw?"

"Yes, Rubyheart," she answered, dipping her head.

#

Carmen's pelt was filthy, and she didn't even care. Her having equal priority to queens and elders meant nothing when there wasn't enough to go around. The most prominent prey running these concrete grounds were rats, and they were notoriously risky business. Carmen hadn't even bothered trying to grab one. She was beginning to think she should.

Her ribs were on full display. It was barely morning, and the asphalt was already hot enough to burn the kits' paws. Whiteroad, contrarily, was basking in the sun. She'd apparently gotten her name from her longstanding habit of sunning herself on hot roads and parking lots. Carmen couldn't say she understood. The elder was one of the few cats not asleep or busy though, so Carmen padded over to her and sat down.

"Shouldn't you be out making yourself useful?" snapped the older molly, not bothering to open her eyes and spare Carmen a single look.

"There's almost nothing out there. I can't help it. I'm really hungry and it's making me wea-"

"You think you're the only cat who's ever been hungry? You still think you're the center of the world, pet? How dense can-"

"Whiteroad." Her voice was dry and heavy. "What would happen if someone from the Clan let me get hurt? Would they be in trouble?"

She finally cracked an eye open at her. "Darkwood's ordered that your sorry tail be protected like the kit you are."

"But what if someone didn't care what Darkwood said?"

"We're a Clan, furball. We've got morals and standards. We have a Code, and we devote our lives to it. We're not like you pampered show cats. What the leader says, goes. All warriors know and honor that."

"What if there was someone that… didn't have any hon-"

"You know what? Why don't you root some of these fleas outta my pelt?"

"Why? You think you're the only one who's ever had fleas?" She lashed her tail and started to leave. "Get them yourself!"

Ignoring Whiteroad's belligerent yowling, she trotted away from the scrapyard the Clan was sheltering in and walked aimlessly through the alleyways. There wasn't a hint of rain in the sky, and she doubted there would be anytime soon. Carmen wandered a few blocks out from their temporary camp in search of a bite to eat. Her mind was elsewhere, and her skills were poor though, and she wound up alone at a fountain.

The droplets spraying onto her were a strangely welcome feeling after her fiery pelt had baked in the morning sun. She drank her fill and laid down on the stone rim, caring not for the humans passing her by. They didn't care for her, either. Why would they?

Carmen saw her reflection in a nearby window, and she understood why the humans hardly spared her a glance. Her fur was oily and ragged, her form was scrawny, and her posture was worlds away from all those graceful poses she'd practiced. What's more, she looked practically ancient in comparison to the youthful kitten face she'd had at the start of this.

How far had she come from home? How much farther was there to go? She thought back to her days of lounging on a cat tree, feeling superior to her siblings for staying out of their messy games. She'd wanted to be a Show Cat. She'd wanted it more than anything in the world. She'd tried for it harder than any of her littermates. She'd rarely played, learned to eat her meals cleanly, and preened herself all the time while her brothers and sister got to enjoy daily life. Carmen was important. She was special. She was royalty bred to be perfect. Why did Wick get to have her dream while she was out here half-starved and cooking alive?

"It could've been worse; at least I got to say goodbye to everyone."

She was on her way to her Show Cat destiny, yet in this moment, she didn't really care. Carmen's heart had ached with longing for a life filled with glamorous victories. Now, all she wanted was to curl up beside her mother's belly and feel safe again. Her siblings were gone, her family split apart just like that, and she'd been too wrapped up in her own head to say goodbye properly. She knew they'd never be united again, and it was all because of human choice. It was just how things worked.

What did Duchess think of it? What did she think of one of her kits slipping away in the night? Did she even think of Carmen at all? Or was she too preoccupied with her chosen son to care that the rest of her litter was scattered in the wind? Carmen had left that night on an impulse, with ghost cats filling her mind with promises of destiny. She'd set out to earn her rightful place at the top of the social food chain.

Now here she was, caught in the middle of something she didn't understand, but knew in her very core was going to get deadly before it was all said and done. Communing with the peasants. The cats with dirty blood. The cats whose existence began and ended with grime and chores and constant readiness for battle. She was living out a version of the stories their parents had told them to keep them in line. "Don't run off trying to explore. The mongrel cats live on the streets, and they don't like us Purebreds. They'll rip you to shreds and ruin your beautiful pelts!"

Well, if that was what Stainpelt and Steelclaw had in mind for her, she wasn't going to stand there and take it. Her dream life echoed against the walls of her chest, faint and ill-defined in the face of what loomed before her. Until she reached her destination, Carmen would have to settle for victories a little less sparkly. She'd dwelled on the idea since the night Tiger came to them. Now, she had finally decided.

It was time to start living like a mongrel. It was time to start thinking like a warrior.