Chapter Text

Allegiances

RippleClan

Leader: Stonestar: old gray-brown tom with amber eyes.

Deputy: Sparkwhisker - reverse tuxedo tom with rangy build, green eyes, and long black whiskers.  Apprentice, Sunpaw.

Healer: Gyrestorm: Longhaired pale tabby tom with white patches and green eyes.  Apprentice, Frostpaw.

Warriors:

Rosepelt: Large yellow tom with amber eyes

Shadestep: Sleek gray-black molly with dark blue eyes.

Hazelclaw: Pale brown and white molly with yellow eyes.  Apprentice, Sparrowpaw.

Apprentices:

Sunpaw: Big fluffy blue tom with blue-green eyes and a lilac star-shaped mark on his left shoulder

Frostpaw: Pretty gray-tabby-and-white molly with blue eyes

Sparrowpaw: Light brown tom with darker flecks and amber eyes

GroveClan

Leader: Dawnstar: Blue-black molly with violet eyes

BeachClan

Leader: Valestar: Pale golden tom with white chest ruff, curled ears, and blue eyes

HeartClan

Leader: Pebblestar: Old gray molly

Cats Outside Clans

Brando: Golden tabby tom with orange eyes, black tear lines, and large fangs. Also known as Lion or Lionfang.

Axle's Gang

Axle: Golden brown tom with amber eyes and scarred muzzle, wears collar embedded with metal and glass shards

Raccoon: Large orange molly with black mask marking

Kempo: Siamese tom

Other Animals

Chaan: Male raven, small with long "eyebrow" and "mustache" feathers

Luck: A male wolf with long, steely gray-blue fur who was said to have guarded the territories long ago

Torc: A red-grizzled bear who was said to have guarded the territories long ago

Prologue

An ancient root stretched over a gap between two jagged mountain cliffs.  It was as narrow as a kit’s tail and swayed precariously in the slightest of breezes.  Yet the two cats perched in its center, standing almost nose-to-nose, stood still and perfectly balanced.  Though the air was still this sunhigh, their pelts faintly waved with ambient energy.  Below them was a small valley, closed off from the outside world by piles of boulders from a rockfall untold seasons ago.  Shapes of other cats, small as beetles, sparsely dotted it.

The expressions of the two toms facing each other on the Highest Bridge were grave.  The older was the first one to speak.  “You’ve done well to survive three seasons of training as my apprentice, and many more serving your Clan as a warrior.  You can run from horizon to horizon without so much as raising your breath, and cross the surface of the lake as freely as though it were land.  You are fit to be named deputy, and when I am gone to succeed me as leader of RippleClan.  I will train you in special techniques that only leaders have the privilege to know.”

The younger cat’s green eyes widened.  “I would be honored to accept such a position.  Thank you, Stonestar.”

The gray-brown tom sharply flipped his tail up over his shoulder, a cautionary gesture.  “I will say it again, Sparkwhisker.  If you continue along this path, the fate StarClan has chosen for you shall be sealed; you will meet an early death.  Should you reject my offer, different paths will open up to you.”

“Stonestar…” Sparkwhisker was determined.  “Please tell me about this path to my death that you saw.  Where will it end?  When?”

Stonestar turned away.  “And what would knowing your fate help to change it?”

A light snow began to drift down from the highest mountain peak, dusting Sparkwhisker’s black-spotted fur.  “I seek to know the course of my life.  Now that I have caught scent of this lead, I cannot let it go.  Once I know of my death, I will accept it, be satisfied with whatever may come in the future.”

“Very well.”  Stonestar nodded gravely.  “If you must know… I will tell you.  I saw a stone serpent biting its tail with terrible fangs, and a young lion, trapped in a cave reeking of death.  Your power must become his so that he may escape and drive out a creeping darkness that threatens all the Clans and beyond.”

“A young lion… a creeping darkness… Does this have to do with that other prophecy?  The Great Prophecy?”

“I must consult with the healers to be sure, but I believe it may.  Twin stars will fall to light and to darkness.  Ripples of sunlit blood will echo to the end of all things.”

“I am not one to doubt the word of StarClan, or of my leader,” said Sparkwhisker.  “If it is my destiny to find this cat and give my life for him, then so be it.  I shall become the deputy of RippleClan, and when the time is right I shall search for him.  I’ll travel the world if that’s what it takes.”

“I knew that I could rely on you.”  Stonestar nodded.  “It is done.  Now that you know, there is no going back from this path!”

Sparkwhisker remained still, his resolve as unswaying as the rope of root beneath his paws.

The two cats crossed the ancient, swaying Highest Bridge as easily as ants on a blade of grass and skillfully descended the cliff to the RippleClan camp.  Stonestar leapt to an outcrop overlooking the hollow, fringed with scrubby lichen.  Old though he may have been, his voice carried across the camp as he yowled, “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Stone Arch for a Clan meeting!”

More warriors flowed as smoothly and stealthily as streams into the center from dens and over the boulders.  A few gangly apprentices joined them.  Amber and gold and green eyes were round with attention and fixed on their leader.  Stonestar reflected sadly for a moment on how few faces gazed expectantly at him before he began.  “I say these words before StarClan, so that the spirits of our warrior ancestors may hear and approve of my choice. The new deputy of RippleClan is Sparkwhisker.”

The gathered Clan sent echoes bouncing off the sides of the mountains with their cheering.  

Neither ceremonies nor fate nor prophecies were on the mind of the dun-colored molly.  Even if Stonestar’s pronunciation to his warrior had happened in the city and not within the mountains that overlooked it, six moons had passed since that time.  Within that time, the molly had left her mother, gotten into fights with the strange insular organization of fellow street cats who called themselves HeartClan, gone into heat, and, well… she didn’t like to dwell on what followed that. It was deeply unpleasant, as the fleabitten old dump-scrounger who’d tracked her scent down was, but it was just part of life as a female.  That’s what her mother had told her before she left.

She tried not to think about it, as she tried to ignore the cramping in her belly and search for somewhere, anywhere, to take shelter.  It couldn’t be here, not under the stone-and-steel bridge that spanned the slow-flowing, grimy river.  All it would take was one heavy rain and her kits could be swept away.  The nameless molly took a deep breath, steeled herself, and swam across.  The water dragged and tugged at her pelt like the clammy, naked hands of Twolegs.  Her body rode low in the water with the extra weight of the litter soon to be born.  But she made it across, hauled herself out, and shook herself dry.  The rotting smell of the river water clung to her fur and to her tongue as she tried to lick herself clean.

She hissed and curled in on herself as the pains came again, stronger than before.  She had to find a nest soon.  Up the steep bank she bounded, and sat in the harsh yellow-orange glow of a light-tree as she examined her surroundings.  Of the few stars that shone through the Twolegs’ constant artificial light, one fell, a sharp streak arcing duskward across the sky.

There was a dark alley across the street; below the ever-present oily odor of cars that clung to everything, the molly could smell rats.  Those could pose a threat to newborn kits… or serve as a meal for her.  Hunger now cramped her stomach in concert with the labor pains; she hadn’t eaten in three sunsets.  Something shifted deep within her.   Her time was close now.  It would have to do. 

She found a gap in the oncoming pack of cars and darted through.  She escaped only a whisker’s breadth from the onrushing hulk; she flattened her ears at the angry bellow it emitted.  The molly caught her breath and flitted into the alley.  It was like many others in the city: carrion-boxes next to doors on the backsides of buildings that formed its walls, a pile of old color-leaves damp with rat urine, and a large trash-box… standing just high enough off the concrete that a skinny cat could squeeze under it.  The molly dragged a hasty nest of color-leaves and dead grass under it, but it offered sparse comfort as she gave birth, alone, in the rotten-smelling darkness.

By the time the sun rose, she curled around three kits: two golden-furred toms, and a small misshapen thing that never took a single breath.  The molly felt a pang of sadness for it, but was deep-down relieved that she wouldn’t have to feed quite so many extra mouths.  She turned her attention back to her two living kits.  Their fur color and features were quite similar, though one was much smaller.  His skinny body and tiny clawed paws reminded her of a lizard.  The larger kit had black tear lines from his tightly closed eyes to the corners of his muzzle, and already the beginnings of a fluffy golden mane.  He kicked out blindly and squealed with all the ferocity he could muster even as the molly freed him from the remains of his birth sac; already she knew he would be fierce.  So she came to think of the smaller kit as Lizard and the larger as Lion.

It was a difficult life they were born into, in the Twolegs’ world.  They were the ones who built the city for themselves, and few of them looked kindly on street cats. Every other creature that clung to life in their concrete jungle, from dogs and foxes, other cats, down to the rats and crows would be vicious rivals for every scrap of food and shelter the kittens could scavenge.

When Lion and Lizard were a moon old, they and their mother were chased out from under the trash-box by angry, disgusted Twolegs.  While those kits followed their mother across the city on still-wobbly legs, a purebred British Blue queen gave birth to her own litter, attended by her owners, in a warm nest box lined with plush blankets and towels.  Before she had retreated into it, she was sitting at the windowsill, where she noticed a shooting star arc toward the rising sun.

They were all fine, healthy kittens, sure to grow up into wonderful pets for loving families.  Their fur color was the same pure, uniform blue as their mother.  The only exception was the largest of the five, who had a curious spot of lilac on his shoulder.  The litter’s sire sported this mark as well, their mother recalled.  The queen’s owners remarked among themselves that it resembled a five-pointed star.  

Seasons later, far away in the mountains, Stonestar saw two more shooting stars.  One fell toward the light of the rising sun.  The other, in exactly the same heartbeat, streaked across the darkness that remained and fell to the night that clung to the other horizon. He watched them, transfixed, and called his deputy into the leader’s den.  “Did you see it too?”  Sparkwhisker nodded.  “StarClan spoke to me.  The time draws near.  Twin stars have fallen to light and darkness.  The one who is instrumental to your fate - to RippleClan, to all things - now lives and has been set on his path.  The Stone Collar that took so many warriors from us remains, and has tasted blood once more.  Where either of them may be, I cannot say.  Will you seek them out?”

“Of course.  I shall begin preparation for my journey at once.”

“You know what this means, then.”  Stonestar’s meow was grave.

“I made peace with my fate long ago. I shall proceed toward it without fear.”  Moonlight glowed on Sparkwhisker’s white fur as he ducked out of the leader’s den, making the black splotches on his muzzle, chest, paws, and tail stand out all the more.  Familiar amber eyes caught his attention as he trotted briskly across the camp.  Rosepelt stood at the entrance of the warriors’ den.  “So you’re leaving, then?” the yellow tom meowed quietly.  

Sparkwhisker nodded.  Rosepelt had been his apprentice, and remained his close friend and training partner even after earning his warrior name.  “I’ve told you, you mustn't join me on this journey.  Not only will it be long and fraught with untold dangers, but RippleClan already has so few warriors to its name.  For one as strong and dependable as you to leave would be a serious blow.”

“I had no such plans.  I only wanted to see my mentor and friend off.”  Rosepelt touched his nose to Sparkwhisker’s shoulder.  “May the sun and stars light your path.”

Sparkwhisker returned the gesture.  “And yours as well,” he purred.  “If I ever need your assistance, I will see to it that word reaches you.”

“I will offer you my life if I must,” promised the warrior. “Now go.  Pursue your destiny.”

A young warrior, Shadestep, turned her head toward the tom as he passed, moss packet of traveling herbs held in his mouth.  He nodded, assuring her that he would return.  Then he leapt down, toward the other side of the mountains, and was gone.

Chapter Text

The woods were dark.  Silver pools of moonlight scattered on the forest floor were scarcely lighter than the shadows cast by vast and ancient trees.  Jojo crouched amid the undergrowth, all senses on high alert, grateful for how well his deep blue fur blended into the gloom.  All around him, he could hear the rustling and chittering of small creatures.  Their scent-trails wove through the leaf litter; the young tomcat chose one to follow.  Ancient instinct told him how to crouch and creep closer to his prize.  A thrill coursed through him, down to the tips of his claws.

Jojo’s ears perked at a sharp rattling sound, but he was unable to pinpoint from which direction it came.  His quarry lifted its head as well; he heard its breathing quicken, its tiny heart race even faster.  He clung to the hope that he could still make his kill while the prey was distracted, and pounced.  But it was to no avail.  The furball vanished beneath his paws as the night-shrouded forest was flooded with white light.  A deep vocalization resounded in his ears and a thick, fishy scent met his nose.  Jojo reluctantly opened his eyes to find a very different creature’s face looking over him, hairless except for the top of the head and a bushy brown stripe between the strange-looking nose and mouth.

Oh, that’s right , he thought.  Mr. George always refilled his dish before he left in the morning.  His owner pet the top of his head, speaking more of those strange human words that rumbled and tumbled like falling rocks, as the kitten uncurled himself and stepped out of his plush bed.  Jojo had lived with Mr. George since he was a tiny furball of two moons, too young to remember much of anything before.

The dry food in his glossy bowl wasn’t bad by any means, but it simply wasn’t the same as what his dreams had promised him.  It filled his stomach as it always had, but it didn’t bring any excitement .  He didn’t even flinch at the huge, ungainly pawsteps that lumbered into the entryway, only lifting his head to lick the last traces of flavor from the corners of his muzzle.  Jojo meowed a goodbye as his owner stepped into the car-den and shut the door behind him.  A large dog with heavy jowls and long legs pawed at it and whined.

“He’s gone, Danny, just like he is every morning.  Silly fellow, when will you ever learn?” Jojo sneezed with amusement at the dog’s despondent stare.  “He’ll be back at sunset.  Come on then, let’s go to the garden!”  Perhaps I’ll be able to try hunting for real! he thought, leading his friend out the pet door.

The scents of earth and the cool breeze blowing down from the mountains were muted under the cloying sweetness of blooming roses.  Jojo still took them in with an alight curiosity as he patrolled his garden.  A prey-scent hit the roof of his mouth.  “A rabbit ran through here!” he meowed to Danny.  “They’re rather large, and very fast, but I’m sure you could catch one.”  Danny woofed back at him before resuming sniffing around for a place to make his dirt. 

Jojo completed his rounds, stretched out his legs, and then laid down in a lovely patch of sunlight.  His catnap was not to last, however.  His whiskers detected a disturbance to the breeze, and another foreign scent.  He opened his eyes.  It was a gawky little fledgling, the corners of its beak still fleshy and yellow.  Finally!  Now’s my chance! Jojo thought to himself.  He didn’t dare give himself away with any excited cry.  He got to his paws and crouched, tail flicking, testing his balance.  The young bird hopped toward the neighboring fence.  Had it noticed him?

Jojo crept closer to the bird.  His usual midmorning sleepiness had evaporated; energy surged anew through him.  But as he prepared to pounce, his prey called out sharply and fluttered away.  A dismayed yowl escaped the kitten.  He clawed at the grass in frustration, only to perk his ears again.  He wasn’t the only cat out in their garden this morning; in fact, he heard three different feline voices, screeching and wailing, right on the other side of the fence!

“D’ya think it tastes like a real mouse?!”
“We’ll just have to find out!  Give it here!  I’ll rip it open!”

“Stop it!  Stop it, you fox-hearts!  Give her back!”  This voice was softer and gentler than the rough meows of the other two, and strained with fear.  Erina ! Jojo realized.  His fence-neighbor was a young molly just his age.  They played together or at least conversed almost every day.  And now strange cats were attacking her?!  He wouldn’t stand for it!

Jojo leapt up onto the fence.  His lip curled at what he saw.  Two scruffy, lean street cats had Erina backed into the corner of her garden.  “Cry-kitty!  Cry-kitty!” the first cat taunted.  A toy mouse, an unnatural sky blue in color and smelling faintly of catmint, was pinned under his paw.

“What are you going to do about it?  Run mewling back to your Twoleg?” his friend sneered.

“What do you think you’re doing?!  Haven’t you anything better to do than harass a young molly over a toy?” Jojo yowled at them, his fur standing on end.

“Oh, look, kittypet!  Your little friend is here to come save you!”

“Two kittypets!  Twice as worthless!  I hate soft cats like you who think they’re tough!”

“So what if I’m a house cat?!  I won’t stand for you picking on her!”  Jojo launched himself at the street cats in a furious flurry of teeth and fur.  He slammed into the larger one, knocking him to the ground.  The toy mouse flew out from under his paw.

“Rat dirt, he’s strong!  This ain’t worth it!  Let’s not waste our time on kittypets.”  The shorter stray scampered back through Erina’s yard and hastily squeezed himself through the gap in the fence from which he’d come in.

“Good!  I never wanted your attention!” Jojo hissed.

“Where do you think you’re going?!  Don’t leave me here!”  His friend slammed his back legs into Jojo’s stomach, launching him off, freeing him to flee as well.  Jojo was left gasping to recover his breath.

“Thank you.”  Erina pressed her nose to Jojo’s flank, right below the mark on his shoulder.

Her touch warmed him and took his mind off his stinging scratches.  “It was nothing.”  He gave his chest a modest lick.  “I couldn’t just sit there and watch them humiliate you like that.”  

“That was very brave of you,” she purred.  “Strays are tough.  But I’ve heard that the wildcats are even tougher,” she added excitedly.

Jojo’s ears perked.  “Wildcats?”

“I’ll tell you.”  Erina picked up her toy mouse and disappeared through her house’s own cat flap.  Jojo was left to lick his scratches until she returned without it, no doubt having safely tucked it away somewhere.  The two kittens began their usual stroll among the houses, Danny dutifully trotting behind, as their conversation resumed.  “Yes, Freddy said that there are cats living in the woods and mountains!  They kill other animals for their food and even eat their bones!  And line their nests with the pelts of house cats!” Erina meowed, wide-eyed.

“Oh, goodness.  I hope they never come down here. Those strays were bad enough.”  Jojo shivered at the prospect of having to face an opponent like that, able and willing to kill him just for getting in its way.  Yet, hunting for food and roaming freely…

“Why would they?  The territories they roam are supposed to be vast.  Far bigger than a garden.”  Erina suddenly raised her head and looked away, toward the tall buildings that rose on the horizon.  “Do you hear something?”

Jojo barely made out a flurry of sharp caws over the distant omnipresent drone of the roads.  “Just some crows being crows.  I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

So they didn’t.  They continued exploring, playfully pouncing at birds while not really expecting to catch them, and greeting other cats and dogs they encountered with friendly meows.  “You know, it’s interesting that you mentioned the forest,” Jojo said, as their long circuit neared completion.  “I actually had a dream about it, just last night.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t eating house cats.”  Jojo gave a mrrow of quick laughter.  “But I was hunting.  The moon was so bright.  I felt… alive .”  He scrabbled for words that could potentially hope to capture what he felt then.

“I think I would be scared if I found myself alone in the woods…”

“I would protect you.  It would only be honorable,” Jojo purred.  Then he glanced up at the sky.  “It’s nearly sundown.  Mr. George will be home soon.  I wouldn’t want him to worry.”

“I should get home too,” Erina said.  “Well… today was fun!  I hope we can see each other again soon!”  She touched her nose to his shoulder again and trotted off.

“Me too.”  Jojo turned back for a moment.  He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to watch her leave.  Her grey-and-white patched fur seemed to glow golden in the early evening light.  He had never really noticed before how long and graceful her tail was.  Then he trotted home.  He and Danny were back in through the pet door by the time Mr. George’s car pulled into its den.

Jojo came running to greet his owner like usual.  But Mr. George didn’t come in right away, like he did every night.  His steps toward the door into the house were slower, uneven.  When the human did finally step inside, Jojo saw why: he was carrying a gray box scored with holes under his arm.  Jojo knew that box; Mr. George had once lured him into it with treats and taken him to a sharp-smelling place where a strange human had stuck something like a giant bee stinger into his rump.  His tail fluffed at the memory that seeing it brought, and then some more at the realization of what was inside it.  The scent of another cat hit the roof of his mouth: a young male, like him, but unfamiliar and dirty.

“Jojo!”  Mr. George said his cat’s name.  “ Hmrgh hmrgh brando.”  Jojo didn’t understand the rest of what he said, but he clearly wanted his attention.  This must be very important.  He set the cage down on the couch and opened its front.  Owner, cat, and dog waited with bated breath for one heartbeat.  Two heartbeats.  Then, in one fluid motion, the strange cat leapt out in an arc of gold and landed gracefully on all four paws.  

Jojo had never seen a cat like this before.  His eyes, set in black tear-streak markings, were sharp and orange as he glared at each creature in turn.  His fur was matted in some spots, patchy in others, and filthy all over.  Dark tabby stripes accentuated how lean his legs and tail were.  Three small black spots were visible on the inside of his left ear.

“Hello!”  Jojo lifted his muzzle in greeting.  “My name is-”  But the other cat shoved right past him.  He crossed into the kitchen without a word and drank deeply from Jojo’s water bowl.  When he finally lifted his muzzle, barely any was left.  He skulked back, licking his lips, and glared at the three of them again.  Danny started barking excitedly, as if he had just caught on to the situation, and trotted up to the stranger.  There was another flash of gold and the dog yelped.  Danny ran whining back to Mr. George and looked up at him plaintively.  Jojo gasped; he was bleeding from a claw-slash scoring directly across his wet black nose.

The new cat followed and then twined himself about Mr. George’s legs, purring, as though he’d lived his whole life in that house.  Mr. George cooed at him and scratched him behind his ears, just like he always did with Jojo.  He made that sound again: “ Brando .”  That must be the name he was giving to this stranger.  But… did he not even see what this so-called Brando had done to Danny?!

Maybe I’m judging him too harshly , Jojo thought with a pang of guilt.  All of this must be very new for him if he’s never lived in a house before; a street cat would find my ways strange .  I’m sure things will go more smoothly once we get to know each other better.

After Mr. George had fed the cats their evening meal and gone to bed, Jojo tried introducing himself again.  “Hello, erm, Brando.  I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong paw earlier.  You must have been quite thirsty after your trip here.  And I suppose that Danny can be rather scary if you don’t know him well; I would be scared if a large dog came charging at me too.  But he’s actually very gentle and sweet.  He’s my best friend, actually… But I’ve lost the point.  My name is Jojo, and it looks like we’ll be living together from now on!”

Only now did Jojo’s new housemate address him.  “I want to make a few things clear, kittypet,” he hissed.  “I’m not interested in being friendly with you.  You will not call me Brando, or any other meaningless name that Twolegs might foist upon me.  My name is Lion.  And I loathe dogs.  The way that they fawn over and mindlessly serve Twolegs disgusts me.  Keep that slobbering beast away from me or I’ll teach him another lesson.”

“Oh…” Jojo’s ears and tail drooped.  “Well, if you need anything that may help you settle in, I’ll be right here.” 

“Like I would ever need a kittypet’s help,” Brando spat, and climbed to the back of the couch in two smooth leaps.  

“And good night to you as well,” Jojo sighed and turned away.  He padded to his bed, where this whole long, eventful day had begun.  He curled up into a ball and pushed his nose into the crevice between the cushion and the wall, hoping to somehow catch the wild scents of his dream and return to those woods.  Jojo had started this day filled with curiosity, excitement, even hope, because of it.  But now?  He just didn’t know.

Chapter Text

Lion hissed and swiped with extended claws at the crow.  It hopped back easily out of his paw’s reach and croaked mocking laughter at him again.  While he was distracted, its partner behind him nipped his tail in its sharp beak and yanked.   The first of the birds grabbed the morsel that had started this fight in the first place and flew off to a roof.  It was no prize: a dead frog that had tasted like mud even before it began to rot, and had already been picked at by some other pond creature.  The crow stared directly into Lion’s eye with its beady black one, threw its head back, and swallowed it whole in a few rapid, juddering gulps.

The young tomcat let out a yowl of rage and frustration, golden-striped fur standing on end.  The victorious crow lifted off its perch and swooped back at him, black talons aimed squarely at his eyes.  Lion pounced at it, but it changed course at the last heartbeat.  He landed face-first in a lump of goose dung.  

He tried in vain to wipe the foul stuff off in the grass, but heard the loathsome birds advance toward him while he was distracted.  He braced himself for a sharp beak-jab to his rear, but it never arrived.  Insrtead, there was a rush of air as another creature sailed over him.  The crow let out a strangled “ awrk! ” and fell silent.  Its companion flew away, cawing sharp alarm calls as it sailed over the park fence and the roofs beyond.

Lion opened his eyes, face still twisted with disgust.  Over the lingering dung-stink he detected a strange cat-scent.  The crow was now limp in the jaws of a large calico cloaked in the smoky scent of HeartClan.  Her yellow eyes were slitted as she glared at him holding her feathery prize high, almost daring Lion to attack her for it.  She growled a warning.  Even without words, her message was clear: You’re hunting in our territory.  Get out of here or my Clanmates and I will drive you out, stray.

He gave up.  It pained him to give up; it stung his pride as badly as the crows’ beak-bites and wing-cuffs bruised his flesh.  But he was in no shape to pick another fight so soon, let alone with any cats who called themselves warriors.  More pressingly, it was nearly sunset and he had nothing to show for the day’s hunting.  His sire expected to be fed before he would allow the kit he took in to eat a single thing.  “Ya call yerself a lion?  Well, that’s how lions have it!” he would wheeze.  “No one eats before the king!”

King of what?  A stinking trash heap? Lion groused to himself as he started back towards the dump. But that was all he had to return to.  His mother had died shortly after weaning him and his littermate.  As soon as they could eat solid food, she offered it all to them, taking only the leanest, foulest scraps for herself.  She wasted away after that; she was already little more than patchy fur draped over bones by the time greencough finally took her.  She sent her kits away so the deadly disease wouldn’t spread to them, urging them with her dying breath to find a home with Twolegs where they could live safely and comfortably.

The brothers went in separate directions then.  Lion hadn’t seen Lizard since.  His brother may have heeded their mother’s desperate plea and sucked up to the Twolegs and become nothing more than their plaything, for all he knew.  Lion would die before he would ever submit to them, for it was because of them that his mother was dead in the first place.  It was because they created this world he was born into, where he had to struggle and fight for every scrap of crow-food, to skulk in the shadows alongside the filthy lower creatures, as though he were no better than a rat, a fox, or stars forbid a dog .  That’s what kittypets were: no better than dogs.  All Lion had in this world was his freedom.

And even that had been taken from him no sooner than it had arrived, when he crossed paths with the one cat his mother had warned him against more than any other.  

“That’s it ?!”

An incensed hiss sent foul-smelling saliva spraying through yellowed and broken teeth.  The old tom pawed indignantly at the single dusty little sparrow laid before him.  He had no name for himself.  Not many cats out here did, when they lived only for themselves.  “Yeh were out there since ‘afore sunhigh!”

“You know how it is out there, Father,” Lion replied coolly.  “That rotted Clan controls every spot where one might find decent hunting.”  The tip of his tail trembled as he fought not to lash it.

“Bah, who needs to hunt?!  The Twolegs cast off plenty o’ food for us every day.  If yer so i’sistent on killin’ everything you eat, yeh can keep this.”  The old tom swatted the sparrow again, sending it rolling out from under the pitted sheet of metal where he made his foul nest.  “Get back out there and find me some sausages.  Now there’s a meal fit for a king,” he added, licking his chops.  

Those foul Twoleg concoctions are more than likely why you’re in no shape to even scavenge them yourself in the first place, Lion wanted to reply.  But he nodded.  He couldn’t risk another beating when any wound inflicted by his sire was sure to grow swollen and foul.  “I’m afraid I don’t know where the best place to find such a thing would be.  I could steal them for you if you only show me where they are.”  Or you can just keep rotting away in this filthy dump.  I don’t need to be protected by the likes of you anymore .

Lion devoured his sparrow in a few quick bites while his sire heaved himself to his paws and lumbered out into the dump.  The bird was more feathers than meat; he hardly felt any more full than he had at the day’s start.  He followed his sire around and over vast mounds of Twoleg refuse, through reeking muddy puddles, through greystone tunnels, and under bridges.  All the while, the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, setting the clouds ablaze with pink and orange.  Lion stopped for a moment to take it in.  Was this the Twolegs’ doing too, like how their light washed out the stars?  No, it couldn’t be.  It was far too beautiful.

“Quit gawpin’!  We just have to cross one more road and then we’ll have all the sausages we can eat!”  The promise of food did what few other things could and spurred the old yellow tom into a clumsy run.  He was so focused on his goal that he never saw the blindingly bright night-eyes of an approaching car.  He never heard the low rumble or his son yowling “Wait-”

He never reached the other side.

George’s heart dropped as some sort of animal ran right out into the road before him.  He slammed on the brakes, but it was too late.  He could hear and feel his tires run over it at nearly full speed, a stomach-twisting thud thu-thud .  “Oh no, no, no, no, no…” he muttered to himself, wringing his hands.  He loved animals.  The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt them.  That was why he adopted Danny, and then a kitten to keep the puppy company while he was away at work.  Once his car had fully screeched to a halt, he got out to assess the damage.  Maybe the creature wasn’t hurt too badly, he could bring it to a vet and they could save it…

It was indeed hurt too badly.  It was a gory sight, even.  The animal’s chest was crushed, with splinters of broken ribs standing out against a mangled mess of meat.  It was a cat, George could see now, an old cat with matted yellow-grey fur now stained bright red.  Rheumy yellow eyes stared now unseeing at the butcher’s shop across the street.  

George prayed to God for forgiveness.   The stray was dead because he had been distracted, reminiscing for the umpteenth time about his late wife and her fascination with archaeology.  She liked to bring home artifacts from time to time, and the last one she had procured before her untimely passing was a small stone collar, the perfect size to fasten around a cat’s neck.  She would never put such a valuable artifact on her own animals, so the couple hung it on their wall as a symbol of their combined passions.  

There was nothing he could do for the stray now. He took a deep breath and prepared to get back into his car and continue on his way home, but then he noticed a small flash out the corner of his eye.  He turned to the opposite side of the road, from which the cat had come barreling, and saw a kitten.  

Its orange eyes reflected red in the low light.  It had been staring, stunned, at the scene.  When it saw George, it arched its back and hissed, baring large and well-developed fangs for a cat its age.  But it was skinny, and its pelt shivered with irritation from flea bites.  George’s heart welled up with pity for it.  The poor little thing’s only family was now dead because of him.  It looked far too young to be out on its own.  And yet, there was some sort of gravitas to its boldness, an intensity to its gaze that put George in mind of old Hollywood stars like Rutger Hauer or Marlon Brando.

Maybe there was something he could do for the old stray after all.  Not to save its life, but to honor its memory by saving its child.

A jolt of fear set Lion’s fur standing on end.  The Twoleg was looking at him.  Was he next?!  No, it seemed upset at what it had done.  It must have been too stupid to realize that all it had done was put an old fleabag out of his misery.  Then what could it want with Lion?!

The Twoleg crouched and made small sounds at him, a mooing mockery of the fine subtleties of cat-speech.  Lion relaxed slightly, but not for the reason the creature hoped.  Yes, this Twoleg was far too stupid to pose any threat to him.

But then, his legs shook and his stomach growled loudly.  Even the Twoleg’s dull senses surely must have been able to hear it.  That one sparrow hadn’t been nearly enough to last Lion all this walking after eating little else all day.  Sure enough, the Twoleg cooed more kitten-talk to him, then moved closer .

A wave of exhaustion and shock crashed down on Lion.  No matter how fierce a face he put on, he couldn’t hide how tired he was.  He didn’t have any more in him to fight even as the Twoleg picked him up by his scruff with its creepy naked hand.  He still couldn’t quite believe that his loathsome sire was actually gone .

The Twoleg set Lion in some sort of box just big enough for the young cat to stand up and turn around in.  Inside was a soft scrap on its floor and a fake bird with unnaturally brightly colored feathers sticking out at odd angles.  Both held the stale scent of another cat: a young tom, like him.  Lion curled up and resigned himself to his fate.  At least wherever he was going, there would probably be something to eat and a way to escape.  He could rest and regain his strength while he planned his next move.

Jojo didn’t know what he was doing wrong.  He ate out of his bowl as he always had, quickly and excitedly.  Sure, he tended to spill some bits, but he could just lick those up too.  But now, in the moon since Brando had arrived, Mr. George scolded him for that and took his food bowl away.  Brando would only watch, slit eyes betraying his amusement.  He took delicate, precise bites of his own food, as neatly as if he had been born in the house.

Brando liked to set his housemate up, too.  The golden kitten would watch Mr. George’s and Jojo’s activities, make some sort of mess, and flee the scene just before the others arrived.  Mr. George would see Jojo with a broken vase or a shredded pillow, assume he had done it, and berate him.  He would even lock Jojo in his carrier, sometimes overnight.

All the while, Brando was the perfect house cat to Mr. George and his human friends.  He sat on his owner’s lap, purring, and let inquisitive hands pet him.  He would even playfully sniff and grab at their long fingers.  They cooed and gaggled amongst themselves at how cute and well-behaved he was.  Only Jojo could tell that Brando’s purrs rang hollow.  The appearance he put on was as fake as the toy fish he liked to kick.  And if Jojo were to come out seeking human attention?  Mr. George used to happily introduce him to guests.  Now, the blue kitten would be scolded for being “needy” and “clingy.”

Wandering outdoors brought little respite.  Brando quickly ingratiated himself among the neighborhood cats as much as he did the humans.  He awed them with tricks and lurid tales from his life on the streets.  The toms wished they could be as quick and clever, while all the young mollies swooned over how elegant and mysterious he seemed.  All, that was, except for Erina.  Even as Brando spread rumors about Jojo that led to his former friends distrusting and excluding him, she stuck by his side.

There was an oak tree in the park where the two liked to meet.  They would race each other up to the lowest branch and sometimes playfully egg each other on to climb higher.  But Jojo and Erina would always settle perching next to each other on a long, low bough and simply watch the birds, the butterflies, the dogs and human children running and playing.  That branch was “their spot.”  The designation went unspoken; it simply was.  Until they marked it with their intermingled scents.  “Now any creature who comes by this tree will know that it’s ours,” Jojo purred when it was done.  

“My my, aren’t you two adorable,” a voice drawled.

“Brando?!” Erina gasped.

Jojo leapt in front of her and arched his back.  “What are you doing here?!” he hissed, unsheathing his claws.  

Brando slunk out from behind another tree.  “Can’t I keep an eye on what my dear little brother is getting up to?  Jojo, have you and Erina made anything official?  Will there be even more soft useless kits running around someday?”

“Wgh- How dare you?!  What are you even implying?!”  Erina’s silver-white fur stood on end.

“You’d best act fast, JoJo.  Do you know what the Twolegs do to toms once they reach our age?  If your dear Mr. George has it his way, he’ll take you to the Cutter and you won’t be a tom anymore.”

“Don’t be disgusting, Brando!” Jojo yowled.

But the golden tom pushed past him and rubbed his side up against Erina’s.  He pointedly ignored the disgusted curl of her lip as he wrapped his tail around hers like a snake with its prey.  “Erina, have you done this with Jojo yet?”

Erina roughly shoved him.  “Get off me, you vile-” she hissed through gritted teeth, and then spluttered as Brando swiped a rough, rasping lick up the side of her muzzle.

“You thought JoJo would be the first and only to do this to you.  But it was I, Lion !” he crowed.

“How dare you?!” Jojo yowled, and leapt at his housemate.  They tumbled and rolled in the grass, snarling and biting.  Brando was nothing if not a dirty fighter, but Jojo was larger and heavier despite being a moon younger.  The blue tom managed to wrestle his rival onto his back and pin him down.  Jojo scowled and then dared raise his head and look for Erina.

The molly was dabbing her paw in a mud puddle and smearing it on the side of her face - right where Brando had licked her muzzle.  Her movements were furious, yet delicate and deliberate.  She glared at the golden tom with eyes as cold as a late frost.  Then she pounced.  Erina’s white paw lashed out and nicked Brando’s ear with dirtied claws.  Then she gave one final disgusted hiss and fled, back toward her home.

“Erina, wait-” Jojo started to call after her.  But then he was tackled and shoved to the ground.

“Kittypets are so easily distracted,” Brando sneered.  “You wouldn’t last a day in the dump.”

“It’s a good thing we’re not there, then,” Jojo mewed.

Brando ignored him and glanced up at the sky.  “We had best get home, too.  Surely you don’t want your dear Mr. George to worry, hmm?”

“Why do you stay?” Jojo asked.

“What?”  The two were walking home with the setting sun at their backs.  They were done coming to blows, but tension still crackled between them like lightning among storm clouds.

“Why do you stay here?  In our house?” Jojo’s meow was wary. “All you ever do is complain about everything he does for us.  If you hate being a ‘kittypet’ so much, why don’t you just run away?”

So naive! Lion wanted to spit.  “And do what?  Go back to being a street rat?  Spend my life half-starved and fighting lower beasts for every half-rotten scrap?  Get captured again and sent to the Cutter, my claws lopped off, made into a fat dumb eternal-kitten for squealing Twoleg cubs to torment?!” His voice rose to a frantic screech.

Jojo blinked. He had never heard of such a thing as a Cutter, and thought it must be some horrible monster.   “...What about the wildcats?”

“The what?”

“The wild cats that live in the forest, and the mountains.  They’re supposed to be vicious, but strong, proud, and free,” Jojo purred.  “You would fit right in with them.”

“With the tales told to scare kits into staying in their gardens, you mean?” Lion scowled.  “I’ll wait until I see one for myself before I go off chasing fables.”

“So you would join them?!” Jojo’s eyes brightened.  “We could run away together!  You could teach me how to survive in the wild!”

“Bloody stars, do you hear yourself right now?!  The Cutter won’t have to do a thing to you.  You’re already just an overgrown kit,” Lion scoffed.

And yet, he had to admit that the fantasy was an appealing one.  He supposed that he couldn’t blame a kittypet who had known nothing else for getting lost in it.  He knew that there were three other Clans somewhere out there that HeartClan parlayed with; he wanted nothing to do with that particular group, though.  Not when they chased strays like him away from anywhere that could be considered good territory.  If he weren’t city-born, he would be wild and free.  And even more intriguing: he would be feared.  Street rats like his runty littermate and good-for-nothing sire, and kittypets like Jojo and Erina, would cower before him.  Should he deign to let them live, they would run home cowed and whisper tales of Lion - no, Lionfang, he’d be called in the Clan tradition - fiercest and strongest of all the wildcats, from horizon to horizon.  The thought was enough to make his claws twitch in their sheaths.

The cats returned home.  Night fell.  Mr. George went to bed, Danny sprawled out at his feet.  Jojo wasn’t sure where Brando had slunk off to.  All he knew was that he couldn’t relax and get to sleep no matter how much he kneaded his bed.  The events of the day kept repeating themselves in his memory.  One thought resonated louder than all the rest: I should have done more to protect Erina .

As the moon climbed higher in the sky, it all ate at him more and more until he could take it no longer.  Jojo got out of bed, shook himself out, stretched, and finally stalked out into the living room, tail lashing.  Sure enough, he found Brando in his favorite perch, sitting on the windowsill, staring out into the garden and the mountains beyond.  The light of the full moon cast a silver glow on his golden fur.  “You’re up late,” he meowed, not moving a whisker.  A white bandage encircled the ear that Erina had torn.

“I’m not finished with you,” Jojo growled.  “You need to face justice for what you did to my friend.”

“Oho?  Is that how it is?” Brando languidly dropped to the couch seat.  “Then come on.  Fight me.  Show me what you’re capable of, kittypet .”

Jojo tackled his housemate yet again, this time without a battle cry.  Brando had no such reservations as he  sank his teeth into Jojo’s foreleg.  “So weak, so weak!” he growled.

Their wrestling, hissing, and clawing took them across the living room floor, into the hallway leading to Mr. George’s den.  Jojo was bleeding from a torn ear of his own and a scratch across his muzzle.  He licked a drop from his nose and tasted the metallic tang of his own blood.  But he ramped up onto his hindlegs and grappled with Brando.  Each cat tried to push the other down or over onto his back to get at his underbelly.  Or that’s what Jojo was trying to do, anyway, until Brando slashed at his face.

Jojo flinched at the last thousandth of a heartbeat.  Brando’s claw tore at his cheekbone just whiskers from his eye.  More blood spilled, staining the carpet and muddying his rich blue fur to a reddish-brown.  This isn’t just a scuffle over a molly anymore, Jojo realized.  That was a strike to blind.  Brando is fighting like he’s back on the streets.  He’s lost himself to battle-rage .

Then I have to get serious too!  Jojo didn’t like to use his size to his advantage, but if Brando wasn’t going to fight fairly, then neither was he.  He squeezed the older kitten between his forelimbs and twisted to throw his opponent into the wall.  Brando’s lithe body slammed into the wall with a thud.  And the Stone Collar that hung on a peg six tail-lengths above them

fell

straight

d

o

w

n

and hit the floor

scarcely a muzzle-length from Brando’s head.

Jojo cried out in alarm.  That thing had always unsettled him, but Mr. George cherished it!  If it were broken, he would be furious!  And no doubt, Jojo would be the one to take the blame!  Cautiously, he stretched out his neck to sniff it, turn it over with his muzzle, inspect it carefully.

A drop of blood, from the slash Brando had inflicted on his cheek, fell onto the rough gray stone.

The Collar shivered.

Jojo drew back, tail fluffed.  It was moving!   By itself!  Like it was waking up !

Brando watched with cold interest.

Thin spines sprang out from the Collar’s inner surface.  They leapt with incredible speed, too quickly to even see, toward a point above the center of the stone circle like the stabbing fangs of a spider.

For a long moment, silence fell over the house.  Moonlight reached silver fingers into the hallway, casting the bloodstained Stone Collar into terrible cold relief.  Finally, Brando panted, “Did… Did you know it could do that?”

“No,” Jojo replied, just as shaken.

“Does the Twoleg?”

“If he did, why would he keep such a horrible thing around?  Why would you even put this on a cat?  If they got so much as a scratch, it would hurt them far worse!”

“Because it’s not meant to be a typical collar, mouse-brain.  That thing must be made to kill cats.”

“Kill cats?!” Jojo yelped.

A tall shadow fell over the scene.  Mr. George, in his thin sleeping pelts, glared down and grumbled at his two cats, no doubt for waking him up.  Then he saw the Stone Collar, spines bared, lying on the floor.  His eyes shot open so wide that their whites practically flashed.

Jojo shrank down into a deep blue fluffball, eyes wide and round.  Brando hesitated for a moment, then did the same.  There was nothing they could do now.  This fight was over, still without a winner, and the mysteries of the Collar went unanswered.

Chapter Text

There was an enemy in the forest.  It stalked among the trees and brambles as smoothly and silently as shadows given life.  Jojo knew not what it was, only that he must defeat it.  His claws were out, his teeth bared, and his muscles tensed in preparation to fight.  Slight traces of moonlight betrayed only a silhouette of a deeper darkness than the night.  From behind him, he caught the faintest noise: a droplet of something more viscous than rainwater hit the leaf litter.

Jojo whirled around, fur bristling.  The enemy was here, reeking of death.  Night-eyes flashed not green or yellow, but red.  Red as the blood that dripped from long fangs.  He saw it for only a blink before it leapt for his throat with a screech.  He realized, before waking up with a choked yowl, that it sounded like Brando.

The wild scents of the forest dissipated from around Jojo once again, to be replaced by the tamer odors of the garden and all its gaudy flowers.  He looked around blearily and stretched, slowly arching his back.  What could have awoken him from his sun-nap?  And why would he have a bad dream when it was such a lovely evening?  I wonder if anything is going on, he thought.  I know!  I’ll ask Erina if she heard anything.

He leapt up onto his favorite perch on the fence separating their yards.  Sure enough, there she was, batting at a butterfly.  Jojo purred softly to himself at the sight of her.  “Erina!” he meowed.

The young molly gasped and shrank back when she saw him, her clear blue eyes round.  “What is it?”  Jojo asked.  “Did you hear something just now?”

Erina looked around furtively.  “Keep your voice down.  In fact, you should leave.”
“What?! Why?”
“My owners don’t want me to spend any more time with you.”

“What?!” Jojo yowled again.  Then he remembered to heed his friend’s warning and whispered, “What would they have against me after what Brando did to you?”

“I’m not supposed to be around any other cats, actually, but especially not you two.  Something about getting too old for it?” She cast a glance over her shoulder. “They’re coming to the window.  I should get back inside, and you have to leave.  If they see you with me, they may not even let me leave the house .”

“I… well… alright.  I couldn’t let that happen to you.” Jojo’s ears and tail drooped, and he dropped back into his own garden.  It looked like he would be investigating this by himself.

What he found left him wishing that he hadn’t.

Danny was dead.  The dog lay in front of his food dish, his sad brown eyes staring glassily at nothing.  His body was twisted in the agony that must have consumed his last moments.   Spatters of vomit were stained with blood and ropy, maggot-like shreds of his own burned flesh.  From the dish rose a caustic, deeply unnatural stench that made Jojo’s muzzle wrinkle even as a horrified wail rose in his throat.  His food must have been poisoned!  Who could have done this ?!

Lion’s ear twitched toward the raw keening that traveled from the cat flap to where he lay curled on his owner’s bed.  He smirked to himself.  His plot had gone off without a hitch.  All he needed to do was lace the brainless beast’s kibble with a few pawfuls of a foul powder he recognized from his time in the alleys: rat poison.  When the deed was done, he nosed the lid back onto the container in the car-den and went to vigorously wash his paw in the sprinkler.  That oaf Jojo had lain splayed out in a sunbeam, sound asleep, the entire time.  He didn’t so much as stir when even Lion could hear the dog’s screams and desperate scrabbling thrashing.

“Brando!  Brando, where are you?!” Jojo howled.  He ran through the house, right under the wall where the Stone Collar still hung, until he tracked the other cat’s scent into Mr. George’s sleeping den.  “Something terrible has happened!  It’s Danny!  He’s-”

“I know!” Brando cried, back arched in terror.  “There was nothing I could do!  Strange Twolegs entered the house.  I assumed that it was nothing and they were here to fix some pointless Twoleg thing or another.  But they put that awful stuff in Danny’s bowl and by the time I found him, he was already dying!” he wailed.

“How awful!” Jojo gasped.  “Who would do such a thing, and why?”

“Twolegs are cruel.”  Brando’s reply was hollow.  “You’re one of the lucky ones, for such a soft-hearted one to choose you.  But this is now most of them are.  Should any other creature slightly inconvenience them, they want it dead.  You’ve been sheltered from the truth of this world since you were kitted, JoJo.  But me?  I lived it.”

The matter was left at that.  Mr. George came home and was just as shocked and horrified as Jojo, of course.  He buried his beloved dog in the garden, under a large stone.  His first cat clung to him, showing his sympathy with deep purrs.  Even Brando rubbed his head against the human’s legs. Only after several quiet, empty days had gone by and the shock finally started to wear off did Jojo realize that he hadn’t smelled any strange scents around Danny’s bowl, or anywhere in the house, for that matter.

Their youthful days passed by, one by one, like falling leaves.  And as leaves build up on the forest floor, days piled up into moons into seasons, until half a year had passed since Brando’s arrival to the house.  He and Jojo were kittens no more, but fully grown strapping young toms.  Muscles rippled under their sleek shining coats.  Brando’s threats of the Cutter had yet to come to fruition; Jojo dismissed it as something he’d made up to be crude.

Not all the changes in their lives were so positive.  Indeed, things only grew worse for Jojo as he matured.  Brando still commanded the lion’s share of attention from any human or cat he met.  Not that other cats were willing to give him as much attention.  Other kittens they had grown up with had changed, gaining scars on their bellies or under their tails and losing their wanderlust and zest for play-fighting.  All they ever wanted to do was sleep until they were fed.  So the Cutter was real, but for whatever reason Mr. George had spared his two cats from it.

Erina’s owners now kept her locked inside their house, not even letting her out back into their garden.  When Jojo looked out an east-facing window, he would see her staring forlornly out and to the west.  The first few times their eyes met, they would paw at the clear-stone and meow plaintively, but it did nothing to sway their owners.  They were simply forbidden to meet again and Jojo had no idea why.  Now, if Erina saw him through her window, she would only gasp and jump out of sight.  That long graceful tail would swirl and then drop away, like a leaping fish diving back below the water.

Then Mr. George fell ill.  It started off as quite minor, no worse than the whitecough that affected cats, but it simply wouldn’t go away .  Whatever it was, it burrowed into his chest and grew worse and worse until he could hardly get out of bed to feed his cats.  Strange humans started coming into the house to take care of him.  Jojo could decipher just enough of their conversations to gather that they wanted to take him away someplace, but Mr. George refused every time.  He would always mention his cats by name.

Jojo stayed by his owner’s side as much as he could, purring and letting Mr. George pet him as much as he wanted.  He would even fetch him whatever items he could carry.  After one such visit, the two cats met outside his door.  “I wish there was more we could do for him,” Jojo sighed.  “I know he appreciates our company, but I feel so helpless just standing by and watching him grow weaker.”

“I can tell that this is taking a toll on you,” Brando meowed.  “First Danny, and now this…”  The tabby tom shook his head.  “If you’re really desperate, there is… no, I shouldn’t even say it.  It would only give you false hope.”

Jojo leapt to his paws, bristling with excitement.  “What?!  Do you know a cure for this illness?!”

“There is one thing that may cure him: a glowing moss that grows in dark and damp places.  But it can only be found deep in the dark underbelly of the city.  For a ki- a house cat like you to venture all the way out there would be extremely dangerous.  If a car doesn't get you, the stray dogs and rats will.” Brando nonchalantly licked one perfectly poised paw.

“I’ll go out and find it!  I’ll do whatever it takes to save Mr. George!” Jojo cried.  Something fiery rose in his chest: the bright bird of hope, taking flight for the first time in moons.

“Really?!  Sometimes I think you act like more of a dog than a cat.” Brando sneezed with amusement.  “If you’re serious about this, you can’t just go charging off and out the door.  First, you need to know the way.  Which I do - how lucky for you!” He smirked, flashing his fangs.

Jojo listened with rapt attention as Brando listed a series of directions to navigate him through the city.  “...Finally, you’ll come to a place called Ogre Street.  You’ll know it when you see it.  It’s quite… distinctive.  There’s an overhang there at the very end of the alley.  Right under it, you’ll find the moss.  If you need help at any point, feel free to approach the locals.  They’ll be more than happy to assist you.”

Jojo purred.  “Thank you so much, Brando.”  He was surprised that the golden tom wanted to help him, now, of course.  But perhaps he had finally settled into his home after so many moons.  Perhaps Jojo had finally gotten through to him.  Perhaps he was even trying to atone for Danny’s death… Stop it, JoJo , Jojo chided himself.  He didn’t even know for sure if Brando had had anything to do with it.  He wasn’t blind; he was quite a perceptive cat.  He at least had to know how much losing his first friend had hurt Jojo.  “I promise you and Mr. George both that I will return.”

“Now you can go out and be the hero that you always dreamed of,” Brando purred back.  “It will be a proper adventure.”  He respectfully inclined his head. 

“It will!  I won’t waste any time.”  Then his demeanor fell for a moment.  “There are just… a few visits that I have to make first.”

Brando nodded in understanding.  “Take all the time you need to prepare.  This is a very important matter, after all.”

“Brando…?” Jojo’s meow was hesitant.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you want to come with me?  Since you know the way, and all?  You’d be far better at navigating the city than I.”

“I would love to,” Brando purred.  “But someone has to keep poor old Mr. George company when he’s so ill.”

“...You’re right.  I was so caught up in the excitement for this adventure that I forgot its purpose for a moment.”  Jojo gave his chest fur an embarrassed lick.  “That’s very noble of you.”

Brando shrugged.  “Perhaps your unrelenting friendship and sunny spirits have finally gotten to me.”

“I can only hope so.”  Jojo gave a happy mrrow .  “Alright, I’m going now.”  He touched his nose to his brother’s shoulder.  “I’ll see you in… what did you say? Three nights to get there and back?”

Brando had told Jojo to begin by heading north, through the grid of gardens and fences, until he came to a large, busy road.  But Jojo first made a detour into his own garden.  He approached a large stone, marked with two sharply intersecting lines.  He swore that a familiar, comforting presence descended on him with the evening breeze.  Danny’s body rested beneath that stone, in the earth beneath his paws.  Jojo touched his nose to the marker sadly, reverently.  “I’ll be going away for a bit.  Will you watch over Brando and Mr. George for me while I’m gone, old friend?”  The winds ruffled his thick fur like a dog’s friendly snuffling.  “Of course you will.  Wish me luck, Danny.”

Next, he hopped up onto the fence.  His look across the neighboring yard was futile, as it had been every day for a season.  He wished more than anything at that moment that he could tell Erina of the journey he was about to embark upon, to feel the press of her soft nose in his fur as she wished him luck.  Jojo consoled himself with walking the fence-top, not quite as lightly as when he was a kitten but still sure-footedly, and passing under the window where he could at least catch a glimpse of her.  Still he saw no sign of her.  But as he looked up, he did see a shooting star arc over the roof of her house.  He wished that it could somehow carry his thoughts to her.  I’ll bring you along in my heart.

Only then did he set out toward the towering gray shadows in the distance.  They began to light up from within as the sun set.  And the lights of Jojo’s own house, and Erina’s, and the only world he had ever known, grew smaller in the distance.

How stupid is he ?!  Lion thought, watching his rival’s fluffy blue tail disappear out of sight.  I can’t believe he actually fell for that ridiculous tale - pounced right on it like a kit on a beetle.  Hmph.  A win is a win.  It’s already happening; thinking about it now won’t change the outcome.  That fluff-brain is on his way to Ogre Street to get torn apart by the most vicious strays in this entire blasted city.  Not even HeartClan dared hunt in those dark, twisting alleyways.  Lion’s loathsome sire claimed that he had stalked there when he was younger and fitter; he’d certainly been cruel enough to fit in with the vicious reprobates of all species that lurked on Ogre Street.  Those creatures would make crow-food of a kittypet as soft and naive as Jojo as easily as flexing their claws.

Jojo probably wouldn’t even make it that far.  He’d come mewling to the first Twoleg he saw and get glass thrown at him, or find himself stuffed into a sack or lit on fire for their sick amusement.  He had no experience with dodging cars on any roads more complex or busy than the simple one that divided two rows of houses, so he could very well end up a flattened, bloodied mess just like Lion’s sire.  Or he would cross into the territory of one of HeartClan’s many roving teams, run afoul of some shady deal those code-bound warriors were making, and meet a swift end at their claws tipped with dog teeth.

Visions of so many possible grisly ends for the kittypet were enough to make Brando purr with glee.  Soon, the house would be his.  Perhaps he could even somehow slip some more rat poison to George, on paws playfully batting at his face, perhaps.  Yes… then he could actually achieve some small semblance of his greatest dream: to get revenge on Twoleg-kind for creating a world where he was born under a trash-box and raised by a crow-food-eater.  Lion should have been as proud, wild, free, and revered as his namesake.  He should command as large a territory, as much respect, and as much fear.

And he suspected that that Stone Collar just might hide a way for him to achieve that.

Chapter Text

Dirty snow crunched under Jojo’s paws.  His breath rose in clouds.  The sun had already set over the massive buildings that rose around him like the vast forest from his dreams, and the smaller light-trees blazed to life, but they gave off no warmth.  Hunger gnawed at him; he hadn’t found anything to eat since that morning, when he’d come across a bowl of cat food left out by some kindly human.  His second night away from home was falling, while he was horizons further than he had ever been, all alone, yet he remained determined for the sake of his home.  This entire journey, he’d been repeating the directions that Brando had given him to himself, and now he was finally approaching his destination: a place the former stray had called Ogre Street.

He padded past shabby, discolored facades and stinking alleyways.  Broken shards of clear-stone had a harsher gleam to them than the dull, wet snow; several times he had to weave around or leap over them to avoid gashing open his paw.  Every alley and crevice, he stuck his nose into as far as he would dare, looking for the fabled glowing moss that could cure Mr. George’s illness.  But all he found were trash-boxes overflowing with crow-food and walls whose stains and cracks seemed to twist into snarling faces that sent the fur bristling along his spine.

At first, the place seemed lifeless.  But as he wandered through the maze of greystone, shadows began to flicker through his peripheral vision.  He saw pawprints running through snowdrifts that he wasn’t sure were there when he first set eyes upon them.  Shambling, unkempt humans began to emerge from their dens.  Jojo shrank away from them; they didn’t look, smell, or act a thing like Mr. George.  He could believe what Brando had said about them when Danny had been poisoned, how some were cruel and would hurt him simply for being in their way.  He kept to the shadows behind the trash cans.  

The heap of trash ahead of him rustled.  Jojo’s ears perked at the sound of high-pitched squeals emanating from it.  He caught the flicker of a long naked tail.  Prey ! he thought.  It may not be as good as the mice and squirrels in my garden always smell, but I could catch a meal for myself!   He dropped into a hunting crouch and crept closer.  The rustling and squealing from the center of the heap intensified, intercut with higher shrieks.  Jojo’s tail lashed behind him; he licked his muzzle in anticipation of sinking his teeth into fresh, warm prey.  But before he could pounce, a shape burst out of the heap and skittered past him, carrying prey of its own in its jaws.  The animal was like a mouse, but larger, leaner, clearly more vicious - and then Jojo realized what exactly it was making off with.  The poor prey’s scent was milky, dirty, yet achingly familiar, stirring up cherished memories with one of only two creatures Jojo could ever call his friend.  He couldn’t hold back the horrified screech that tore from his throat.  That… that rat!  It was killing and eating a puppy!

He whipped around to give chase.  If he were fast enough, he thought as he sprinted out of the alleyway and back onto a larger stretch, he could fill his belly and possibly save the poor little scrap and its littermates.  But another sound chilled his blood and froze him in his tracks: a tomcat’s rough snarl.  

Three cats were charging toward him from the opposite direction.  One was nearly as large as him, with orange-gray fur and a black mask and paws.  One was more lightly built, with a long muzzle and a pale coat darkening to brown points. Their third, running in the center ahead of the other two, must have been their leader.  A thick scar slashed across his broad muzzle.  All three had their attention locked squarely on Jojo, splitting up to surround him with unsheathed claws and bared teeth.  “You do the honors, Raccoon!” the leader yowled.  “Open him up like a fish!  I want his pelt for my nest!”

So the stories had a grain of truth to them all along , Jojo thought.  But it wasn’t the wildcats we had to worry about, it was the strays!  In our humans’ very own territory!   But he couldn’t give in to fear.  Couldn’t show it in front of these rogues.  He had to stand proud, remain courageous, for the sake of his human.  The large cat, the one with the mask, leapt in front of him and slashed for his throat with one massive paw.  Jojo deftly sunk his own claws and teeth into it, dropping low to the ground to pull his opponent down with his own weight.

“Get a load of this mouse-brain!” the rogue jeered.  Only when she spoke did Jojo realize the stray was, in fact, female.  “He grabbed my foreleg like I don’t have two of them!”  Her other paw pressed up to Jojo’s throat, the tips of her claws pricking at the pulse of his blood.  “Make one more move, kittypet, and the crows will be picking your giblets out of the snow until newleaf!” she snarled in his ear, close enough for Jojo to smell her foul breath.

“You do realize that this puts you in just as vulnerable a position?” Jojo meowed.  “As soon as you remove your paw, my hind legs will kick out to tear at your soft underbelly.  I’ll lose my entire paw if that’s what it takes to save my master and my home!” he snarled, and delivered a forceful blow to the side of her head with unsheathed claws.  “The longer I stay out here, the weaker he grows, all alone.  Rogues like you would never understand.”

“I’ll take more than your paw from you, kittypet!” the pointed tom screeched, and leapt at him from behind.

Jojo wheeled on the spot and tackled him out of the air.  They crashed into a snowdrift in an explosion of white.  “I don’t have time to play games!” he growled.  “You!  Tell me where to find the moss!”

“What in the bloody stars are you mewling about?” the pointed tom gasped.

“To the foxes with that!  You say you would be fine with losing a paw?” interjected a rough meow.  Now it was the leader of the rogues who attacked.  He was close enough now for Jojo to see hard, lean muscles working under ragged, tawny fur with every bounding step.

“W- wait!  I didn’t come here looking for fight!  I only want to know where I can find the glowing moss!”

“Trying to waste my breath with nonsense, kittypet?”  The lead rogue shook his thick neck fur aside to reveal a worn old collar.  

For just a mouse’s heartbeat, hope flashed in Jojo’s chest.  Was this rogue once a house cat too?  Do we have something in common?   Then it came crashing down when he saw what adorned the collar.  It bristled with jagged shards of metal, clear-stone, and teeth - from cats and dogs alike, judging by the range in shape and size.  “Just try getting past this little beauty of mine,” boasted the rogue.

“Oh, I will,” Jojo growled.  “I’ll get past whatever obstacle stands between me and the antidote.”

“What’s a cat like you even doing in our territory?!  You’ve never fought a day in your life!  You’re only guarding your head, and the rest…” With practiced precision, the rogue slid his teeth between those jutting out from around his neck and tugged off the collar.  “...is wide open!”  Then, in one fluid motion, he whipped his head to the side and loosed it from his jaws, sending it flying at Jojo.

The blue tom leapt to swat it out of the air, hardly thinking.  The strip clung to his foreleg, and the force of the impact drove the teeth and metal shards deep into his flesh.  Jojo bit back a pained yowl as crimson blood sprayed across the dirty snow.

“You like the sound of steel on bone, kittypet?” the tawny rogue taunted with a mocking lash of his tail.  But then he gasped.  His opponent lifted his wounded foreleg, pulled the collar off with his teeth, and spat it onto the ground like it was nothing more than a rat’s tail.  It pricked at his lips and tongue, but he hardly twitched his ears.  Jojo glared at the leader with eyes burning like bright blue coals, silently daring him to come closer and retrieve his weapon.

The rogue obliged.  He darted toward Jojo and swiped the collar up in one paw.  Jojo took advantage of his momentary distraction and charged to intercept him, slamming his shoulder into him with his full weight behind it.  The rogue let out a shocked yowl as he was knocked to the ground, and the spiked collar skittered away.  Jojo pinned his opponent down on his side, leaving his now-unguarded neck exposed between his forepaws.  He lowered his head and bared his fangs, breathing heavily.  An urge rose up in him, like what he felt hunting in his forest dreams, howled and clawed for him to sink his teeth into the other cat’s neck, to claim victory and territory with a killing bite.  

But this was no mouse, nor even a puppy-eating rat.  This was another cat, just like him, looking up at him with shock in his amber eyes.  His companions must have cared deeply about him, if they fought so closely at his side without hesitation, so he must love them as his own family.  Who was he to take their leader away from them, if he was the one to intrude on their territory?  

So he swallowed the burst of battle-rage, but left his teeth bared and claws unsheathed as he lifted his gaze.  What he saw was enough to make his resolve waver; countless more unfamiliar night-eyes gleaming yellow and green filled the alleyway, as if the stars missing from the sky above had fallen into this dark place.  Saliva dripped from broken fangs as tongues licked scarred muzzles.  The dirty, oily scents of claw-scores more rogues hung heavily in the cold air.  Some wore spiked collars of their own, without quite so many teeth, or clutched broken clear-stone between their toes like more jagged claws.  They all pressed in around Jojo, ready to defend - or avenge - their leader.  Or they would have if that leader didn’t yowl, “Stop!”

The rogues drew back.  A low hum of disbelief rippled through their ranks, but they straightened from their preparations to pounce and perked their ears at his voice.  “If any of you lay a paw on this warrior,” he gasped, “I, Axle myself, will drive you out like vermin!”

Jojo blinked.  “Warrior…?” he mewed.  He knows about the warriors?

“You,” the rogue leader - Axle - said to him.  “Tell me something.  You have me right here, helpless as a trapped fledgling.  With strength like yours, you could have torn me to bloody shreds.  So why didn’t you?”

“I…” Jojo swallowed and stepped back, releasing Axle from beneath him.  He lifted his head, standing as tall and proud as he could.  “I came here looking to save someone I care deeply about.  So when I realized that your companions must be like family to you, if they fight by your side without hesitation, and you must care deeply for them as well, I… I couldn’t take you away from them, just because you stood in my way.  But you don’t !  I’m the one invading your territory.”  Jojo bowed his head.  “I am deeply sorry for the trouble.  I see that what I am looking for is not here, so I shall leave you to your business and resume my search elsewhere.”

Disbelieving murmurs and derisive jeers now rose up from the crowd.  “Is this kittypet for real?”

“I’ve heard less naive nonsense from kits.”

“How did he even make it this far?”

Axle got to his paws and shook the snow and grime from his pelt.  “Even when my friends were trying to kill you, you didn’t fight back with so much as a scrap of cruelty,” he said to Jojo,  “and I can tell you mean what you say.  You may wear a kittypet’s collar, but I reckon you have the spirit of a warrior.  I like you,” he purred.  “What’s your name?”

“It’s Jojo.”

“That’s not a cat’s name…” Axle scoffed.  “But no matter!  What did you say you came here looking for?  To make up for what I did to you-” He nodded at Jojo’s foreleg, still bleeding from the wounds inflicted by his collar.  “-allow me to guide you through my territory.”

“So you know where to find the glowing moss?”

“The what now?”

“My brother lived on the streets when he was young.  He told me that here, at Ogre Street, there grows a glowing moss that can cure any illness.  My owner is very sick, and there’s nothing else I can do to help him-”

Axle winced.  “Jojo… lad… I don’t know what this brother of yours might be plotting, but you’ve been had.”

“Huh?”  Jojo tilted his head.  

“Tricked.  Bamboozled.  Taken for a lark.”  Axle shook his head.  There’s no magical moss here, or anywhere in the world, most like.  Whatever he’s doing, he wanted to get you far out of his way, maybe for good.”

“I… I see.”  Jojo’s heart sank.  He himself had been wondering, deep down, if what Axle was saying was true, as he had wandered deeper and deeper into the city,  but refused to let the possibility drag him down.  He was going to find a cure for Mr. George, and that was that.  But a street cat was surely far more knowledgeable about schemes and deceptions than a house cat - a kittypet, they kept calling him - ever could be, so Jojo was inclined to believe him.  “I’m… sorry to have wasted your time.  And gotten into a fight with you,” he amended.  “I should go home.”  He turned tail and began padding out of the alleyway, head and ears low.

“Wait!” Axle meowed, and fell in line to walk beside him.  His crowd of rogues had dissipated when it became apparent that no more blood would be spilled tonight.  “It sounds like none of this is your fault.  You couldn’t have known what you were walking into.”  His rough voice softened.  “The least I can do for you after you’ve come all this way and gotten roughed up is to guide you safely out of here.”

For the first time in days, Jojo smiled.  “That’s very kind of you.  It’s not a short walk by any means.”  He was interrupted by a loud growl from his own stomach, and pinned back his ears in embarrassment.

“ And I’ll guide you to the best food a stray can hope for,” Axle added with an amused sneeze.  “I’m sure it beats those little brown pellets.”

A few other strays were already raiding the trash-box, but their hackles rose when they saw the gang boss and his large companion approaching, and they swiftly made themselves scarce.  “Help yourself,” Axle purred, and slashed open a large black sac.  Fish guts and heads poured out.  Jojo was taken aback by their cold visceral glistening and strong odor, yet they made his jaws flood with water.  “It’s fine!” the rogue continued.  “It’s not too rotten yet, but it will be if it doesn’t get eaten.”  He happily began tucking in.

Jojo sniffed at a small chunk of meat, maybe a liver, and tentatively licked it up.  His eyes widened as a rich salty flavor exploded on his tongue.  It may not have been warm and fresh like the prey in his garden and the dream-forest, but his food at home was only a pale imitation of this.  He quickly fell in beside Axle and began devouring the mess as eagerly as Danny would have.

“Not bad, is it?” Axle meowed.  

“Definitely not.”  Jojo licked the last traces of fish from the corners of his muzzle.  “That alone was worth the journey out here.”  The streets had widened and were lit by light-trees again.  The tallest and most closely-packed buildings were behind them as they walked.  They were coming to a hill now, a high vantage point that looked out over the spreading fields of houses that surrounded the city, and beyond them, the forest.  Somewhere down there, in one little square of that great grid, Mr. George lay sick and suffering, and his other cat was plotting something around that.

“I can take you to the edge of my territory, but no farther.  And we’re getting there now.”  Axle stopped.  “I can’t leave my friends without their boss for too long.”  He touched his nose to Jojo’s shoulder and then turned back.

“I understand completely.  Thank you, Axle.  You’ve been too kind.”  Jojo returned his gesture and inclined his head.  Then he looked out one more time to get his bearings.  Recalling the path he took to get out here two days ago, he set off, trotting over the scrubby grass coating the hillside, toward the rising sun.  

As soon as the kittypet was out of sight, two forms crept out of the lengthening shadows.  Axle’s two lieutenants had been following him at a safe distance to keep an eye on their leader.  Having caught their scents, he didn’t need to turn to them as he addressed them.  “Raccoon, Kempo, I may have to take back what I said.  If my hunch is correct - and I’m usually pretty sharp about these things - Jojo’s not going to go home to anything good.  I can just see him walking into the jaws of a trap… He’ll need my help.”

“Suuuuure.  You’re worried about the kittypet.” Raccoon chuckled.  “You always fall as hard and fast as a brick.”

“You always did like a tom who could kick your tail,” Kempo added.

“So don’t get your hopes up.”  Axle playfully swatted at his third-in-command.  “But I’m serious.  I have an awful feeling about this.  I can count on you two to run the gang while I’m gone, can’t I?”

“There’s no use dissuading you, is there?  Of course you can.” Kempo nodded.

“Swear on the truck that killed me mum,” purred Raccoon.

But Axle was already running down the hill, following the pawsteps of that fateful visitor.

Lion could only take so much of playing the comforting, devoted pet.  To keep George from noticing that Jojo was gone, he cuddled with him until his fur reeked of the Twoleg’s sickness and clammy, hairless hide, and purred until his throat went dry.  Lion was used by now to playing the role of the perfect kittypet, but it sickened him every time.  Spending moons debasing himself before the Twolegs had paid off, though.  He had grown strong and healthy in their care - he knew that he was in prime condition to venture into the wild and make a name for himself, as soon as this old fool finally died.  There were just a few things left to do first.

George had finally fallen asleep with his beloved cat purring beside him.  When he was sure the Twoleg wouldn’t notice, Lion straightened himself, stretched deeply, and leapt down from the bed.  He had to get out of this house for a night, stretch his legs, maybe hunt a bit.  And, most of all, he needed to test something.

Snatching the Stone Collar from where it hung on the wall was easy enough with a quick leap onto a nearby end table.  For once, Lion was grateful that the Twoleg filled his nest with so many useless things.  He gingerly picked up the deadly Collar in his mouth, the ancient stone rough against his teeth, and slipped through the cat-flap.

Not even he could hold back a purr of relief at being back out in the fresh air, after spending most of the day in a room stale with sickness.  But he couldn’t let himself get too comfortable.  He needed to find some lowly creature whose loss wouldn’t go noticed or missed, if he was to determine exactly how best to use the Collar.  And there was no shortage of those to be found deeper in the city.

He pondered as he hunted.  A rat?  Too small.  A fox?  Close enough in size to a cat, but too wily, too much trouble to take on easily.  When it came to other cats, one never knew who had allegiances with whom.  The last thing Lion needed right now was to incur the wrath of the Ogre Street rogues, or worse, HeartClan.  One day he would have built the strength and the following needed to crush them, but not yet.

The moon reached its height and descended toward the east, and still Lion stalked, savoring this window of freedom even as he prowled for his victim.  Beneath it all, his thoughts were muddled.  It’s because of Jojo that I’ve been stuck there , he thought, growling under his breath.  Ever since I was captured, he’s been dead weight, holding me back from my full potential, like water soaking my pelt and weighing me down.  Did he meet a rat’s death on Ogre Street, or even before?  I can’t rest easily until I know.   A night breeze sent a familiar odor sweeping over his scent glands.  The rotting stench of burnt and strange Twoleg food, abandoned in trash-boxes, set his jaws to watering and his stomach to rumbling, even though he’d had nothing to do with it for seasons.  Lion hissed with disgust, at the trash and at himself.  If I helped myself to that, I’d be no better than my foul sire , he chided himself, and reluctantly turned back toward the house.

He had given up on his excursion for this night.  The Stone Collar hung heavily in his jaws.  Was he losing his edge?  Had he gone soft from moons of imprisonment and kittypet food?  But then, his ears pricked.  A rough yapping arose from behind a slatted wooden fence, resolving itself into simple words: “ My yard!  My house!  My yard!  My house!  Cat!?  Yucky!  My yard!” Lion had never been so happy to hear an annoying little dog.

It would do.  He squeezed his sinuous body through a gap in the wood.  The dog, a ragged old furball little bigger than a cat with round, dark wet eyes, barreled toward him, growling with all the ferocity it could muster.  It lunged at Lion, but he intercepted and easily tackled the dog.  It was more solidly built than a cat, but still defenseless to push onto its back.  Its blunt, clipped claws scrabbled uselessly at his fur as he pinned the open Collar about its neck.  Its two ends found each other like a snake biting its own tail, and it fastened over the dog’s own collar.   Strange, Lion thought momentarily, but he had no time to study the thing further.  He slashed at the dog’s soft belly, not deeply enough to kill, just to draw plenty of blood.  It cried out pitifully, loudly enough to set another dog several yards away to barking.   He brushed his bloodied paw over the Stone Collar, leapt off of his victim, and darted back through the fence.  He watched with triumphant, expectant eyes from behind a small tree trunk.

As they had that night in George’s hallway, curved spikes sprang up and out with shocking force.  They plunged directly into the dog’s head, just as it was rolling to its paws.  For a heartbeat Lion doubted they could penetrate its thick skull, but that notion was swiftly put to rest.  Then he gasped and drew back.  A brilliant light shone from the Collar, and from the wounds it stabbed into its victim.  What was this thing?  Who or what had created this, and why?   The dog stiffened, convulsed, slumped back to the grass, and lay still.

Perhaps I’m just seeing things , Lion thought.  Losing my mind from this life.  So it was something Twolegs devised just to torture and kill smaller animals.  Of course they would create such a thing.   He padded back to where the old dog lay in a growing puddle of blood, black in the predawn light.  The Collar’s bloodied spines retracted as neatly as a cat’s claws.  He reached a paw down to start working it off of the animal’s head, but swiftly drew it back.  The dead dog twitched .  

And then rolled to its paws.  

The ends of the Stone Collar came apart again, and the dog shook it off with a toss of its head.

Lion gasped and fled back to cover, his tail bushing out.  How was it still alive?!  Its brain was destroyed!  It staggered toward him, tongue lolling and eyes rolling like it was afflicted with the foaming madness, but no slaver dripped from its short jaws.  Its once-wet nose looked dry, the soft flesh graying.  But its teeth - particularly its fangs - looked longer.  And much sharper.

“ Blood!”  The dog lunged at Lion with a truly vicious snarl and a born predator’s focus, aiming those fangs straight for his throat.  Lion scrambled up the tree and clung to the first branch large enough to hold his weight.  His mother had taught him that climbing was a foolproof method of escaping from dogs and foxes.  Briefly, the memory of her washed over him; watching her encourage his litter-brother Lizard to climb higher, gently nosing his skinny body upward.  Then, a judder shook the whole tree and jolted him back into his terrifying new present.

The crazed dog sunk its teeth into the trunk and, with a single jerk of its head, tore out a chunk of wood, as if it were as soft as rotting fruit.  The young tree pitched dangerously as the creature kept pushing its paws up against it, gibbering in dog-speech.  “Blood!  Blood!  Kill!  Kill!”

All thoughts of the Stone Collar and eliminating Jojo were gone from Lion’s mind.  He had to flee from the monster he had created; with strength like that, he no longer stood a chance in a fight against it.  He leapt from the tree as it fell and darted back through the gap in the fence through which he’d entered.  The dog-thing abandoned the jagged stump and gave a far faster pursuit than it should have been capable of with such short legs.  Lion felt musty breath in his fur and then sharp teeth meeting in his flank.  He screeched with horror as much as pain; how had this pathetic animal actually caught him?!

“Blood… ” the dog gurgled with a sick contentment.  It pushed Lion to the grass, pinned him down with its unnatural strength, and greedily began to lick and suckle at the wound that it had inflicted.  Lion could only struggle and watch in horror as it dug its blunt claws into the flesh of his side.  Tendrils burrowed into him, like worms he could see pulsing under his skin.  And as the dog drained his blood, its grip grew stronger still.  The white and gray faded from its muzzle like it was aging backwards.

Dawn finally broke over the bloody scene.  Rat dirt… This wasn’t supposed to be how he, Lion, would die.  Some random Twoleg yard stinking of dog piss wasn’t supposed to be the last thing he would ever see.

Lion’s ears pricked at the sound of a door sliding open.  The beam of a light-stick swept over the yard.  A Twoleg stepped out, yelling a challenge, but its anger turned to screams of horror.  They mingled with the agonized screams of what had once been its dog, as the smaller creature suddenly began to burn .

Its fur ignited and withered to nothing like dry moss in the first rays of sunlight.  Its ears shriveled like leaves and its dark wet eyeballs shrunk and sizzled.  Its very flesh burned away, and a moment later its stunted skeleton.  In just a few heartbeats, all that was left of the beast was an ash-stained collar falling limply to the grass, right before Lion’s muzzle.

The Twoleg pointed at the cat and gibbered, then ran back into its den, shrieking and crying.  Lion took advantage of its distress to slip into the yard one more time to recover the Stone Collar, and took off before there was any chance that he would be spotted.  Terror sped his paws back toward the place he reluctantly called home.  So great was his shock from all that had transpired that his wounds hardly registered.  The sunrise saved my life, he thought as he ran.  With strength like that, that thing probably could have taken down a Twoleg, let alone a cat.  Healing from any wound with enough blood?  Staying young and strong forever as long as it stayed out of the sun?  And that was just a stupid little dog.  Imagine how dangerous it would be if it actually knew how to use all that power…

…Like I would.

Chapter Text

Jojo lay curled on the seat of the couch, facing the entryway.  The house was still and dark but for the crackle of the fireplace, and grew darker yet as heavy clouds, rumbling with thunder, covered the setting sun.  He had finally returned home, greeted Mr. George with a purr and a headbutt, and taken a long drink of bitter but clean water.  He’d wanted to visit Erina again, as well. The prospect of telling her all about what had happened and all that he had seen made his tail-tip quiver with anticipation.  But when he’d glanced over his fence into her yard, there was no sign of her, and her sweet scent was stale.  Now, as he waited for another familiar face to show himself, he dared not let himself grow tired.

Finally, the cat flap rustled.  A sleek golden shape pushed through.  Brando had returned at last from his own mysterious jaunt.  But his gait didn’t carry his usual liquid grace.  His strides were stiff, and his flank was crusted with dried blood.  He acknowledged neither.  Orange eyes met turquoise as lightning flashed.  “So,” Brando meowed coolly, “you’re back from your little adventure in the city.”  

Jojo leapt down from his post and advanced on the other tom, bristling.  “You lied to me,” he hissed.  “Though you ensured I could never call you a friend… it still pains me to realize that the one raised alongside me as a brother tried to get me killed.”  The hurt and anger that had been stoking within him ever since coming to this realization finally exploded out.  “And this wasn’t your first such lie, was it?  If you could do this to me, surely you could poison a dog as well and blame it on strange humans.   You are no longer welcome here,” Jojo snarled.  “Now get out .”

“To feel for me, even though you’ve come to hate me… How very like you.”  Brando sat, primly tucking his tail around his paws.  “Jojo… I know that I’ve been nothing but selfish for all the moons I’ve lived here, but… may I make one last request for myself?”

Jojo said nothing.  He waited, eyes narrowed.

“May I see him one last time?  The T- George?”

Jojo blinked.  Why would he -?

“If I must leave, I must at least thank him somehow for all that he’s done for me!  I was but a half-starved kit when he picked me up off the street!” Brando wailed piteously. “I was kitted in a dump!  All my life, I took my anger at the situation of my birth out on everyone around me!  You, Danny, and George!  When none of you had a thing to do with any of it!”  Tears welled in his eyes.  “At least let me make this small gesture of atonement for all that I’ve done.  Then I’ll leave.  Just as you said I should, all those moons ago.”

Jojo was taken aback.  This had come out of nowhere, and such open vulnerability was terribly uncharacteristic for the proud tom, but he had a point… he had realized how pointless his cruelty had been…  His mind raced.  He sought to see the good in others, always.  If he had done so with a pack of rogues who tried to kill him for simple trespassing, surely he could with the cat who he’d grown up alongside since they were kittens.  To reconcile the Brando he’d known all those seasons with the snake he had revealed himself to be all along… Jojo didn’t know if he could.  But if his housemate was telling the truth, and now was choosing kindness… He opened his mouth to affirm Brando-

But a rough meow from the shadows cut him off.  “Jojo, do you really trust this fox-heart?”

A third cat stepped out of the shadows.  His eyes reflected a warm amber in the dim light.  “You’re probably wondering who I am,” he mewed, nonchalantly as if he were taking a stroll in the park.  Brando only curled his lip and hissed.  “Well, allow me to elucidate ya.  They call me Axle. I’m known as something of a meddler.  And I followed Jojo here all the way back from Ogre Street because I feared for what you were plotting to do to him.”  Axle stalked forward, pointedly positioning himself- and his spiked collar, and his tooth-tipped claws - between the two feuding cats.  “I’ll tell you this,” he said to Jojo.  “When you’re born and raised in the gutter, you learn right quick to follow your nose.  A single whiff can tell you if you’re dealing with a good egg or a bad apple, and that can mean life or death.”  Axle glared at Brando with slitted eyes, spitting, “And this fox-bastard stinks!  He stinks worse than roadkill so rotten the buzzards won’t touch it!  You say your upbringing made you do what you did?!  I’ve never seen nor smelled a creature born so evil!”

The rogue’s furious tirade was cut off when a light blazed to life overhead.   Axle darted silently back out through the cat-flap as a tall shadow fell over the floor.  Mr. George emerged from the shadows at the top of the stairway.  Shock and then a deep sadness filled his round, dark eyes when he saw his two beloved cats circling each other with hackles raised and backs arched.  He shook his head and retreated back up the stairs into his sleeping den.  Jojo’s ear swiveled toward the chirps of the talking-stick he kept beside his bed.

“He’s probably calling for someone to come and take me away,” Brando said solemnly.  The battle-rage that had flared in him moments before seemed to dim.  “Even if he doesn’t understand what I’ve done, he’s had enough of our fighting.  I can only hope they won’t take me to the Cutter.”  He relaxed out of his fighting stance and fixed his sharp orange gaze on a corner.  An image shaped somehow from metal stood there, resembling a human female with birds’ wings sprouting from her shoulders.  Her arms raised a long, straight branch, tipped with a sharp iron fang, to the sky.

“If I’ve learned one thing over the course of my life, short as it’s been,” Brando continued, almost absently, “it’s that life is precarious.  You could claw your way to the top of the heap, you could be the king of your particular jungle… and it could all be taken away from you in an instant.  Sickness.  Storms.  Twolegs destroying everything in pursuit of whatever their goals are and you just happening to be in their way.  Planning does nothing.  The more you plan, the more you prepare, the more likely that everything will go wrong and leave you with nothing,” he spat ruefully.  “Such is life.  So if that is the fate of every living thing…”  He lifted one forepaw and carefully removed something that he’d been holding close to his body, between his chest and the pit of his other foreleg.  Something elongated, rough, and gray.

“...I’ll become something else!”  Brando’s yowl was triumphant, maniacal.  He slipped the Stone Collar over his neck and lunged for Jojo’s throat.  “With the help of your blood!” But he had been so preoccupied with his own display that he hadn’t noticed the heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs behind him.  With an undignified shriek, he found himself grabbed by the very same human who’d first picked him up as a street kitten, all those moons ago.

Brando hissed the filthiest back-alley obscenities at George and whipped around in the human’s grasp to claw at his face.  He cried out in pain and reflexively pressed a hand to the fresh bloody scores across his cheek.

A drop of blood fell onto the Stone Collar.

And that was enough.

A wave of blood erupted, silhouetted black by a viciously brilliant light.  The terrible needles sprang out once more and seized Brando’s skull in their cold, unerring grasp.  

George cried out again, this time in terror.  Jojo, too, shrank back, eyes wide, as he watched his adoptive brother writhe, howl in agony, and collapse to the bloodstained carpet.  But his relief was not to be.  A mere heartbeat later, Brando stood back up.

His legs were shaky, his first pawsteps uneven, and his eyes unfocused.  “Blood…?” Brando slurred.  He sniffed.  His lips curled back into an exaggerated flehmen, as though he needed to learn anew how to scent the air.  And he liked what he smelled. “ Blood !” he screeched, and leapt straight at Mr. George again.

Jojo could scarcely comprehend it.   Brando’s speed and strength as he pounced was nothing like he had ever seen.  It was more like a falcon, striking its prey from an impossibly fast dive, than anything a cat was capable of. The impact of the bolt of claws and fangs and burning orange - no, red - eyes knocked George over backward.  His furred head slammed into the wall with a sickening thud .  More sickening still was the sound of fangs and claws tearing into thick flesh as Brando rent the human’s throat open.

George’s eyes rolled wide and white with terror as he found himself dazed and bleeding out while a monster devoured him.  It pushed its muzzle into the hole it had torn in the side of his neck and greedily lapped up his spurting red lifeblood straight from the carotid artery.  Then the rasping tongue pulled away.  His vision blurred and, for a second, went dark, but he was just able to make out the thing that mauled him - the thing that had been, until just now, his dear rescue cat Brando - leap straight through the closed window behind the couch.

Helplessly, the human reached out one great arm, with those strange long fingers, toward Jojo.  Jojo pushed his head against the hand, just like he always would.  George managed to choke out his affectionate nickname for his beloved pet.  “Jo… Jo…” he gurgled.  A ghost of a smile flitted across his pale face.  He coughed, one more pitiful spume of blood and spittle.  And then the love that had been plain in those strange round eyes faded out, and the great petting hand fell limp.

It shouldn’t be any of my business what happens to a Twoleg , Axle thought, as he watched the horrific scene unfold from outside a window.  But… bloody stars!  That Brando was waving an old collar about like he thought he was one of us, and then…!  Whatever he was, he definitely wasn’t just a kittypet any more!  All of his instincts were screaming at him to flee, that he had just witnessed a predator far beyond anything he, or even his entire gang, could ever hope to outrun or outfight.  But he couldn’t just leave his friend to it.

No, Jojo wasn’t just a friend to him.  He’d met this cat not long ago at all, and seen him at first as nothing more than a lost, soft - if annoyingly handsome - kittypet.  But then he had fought well, even untrained as he was, and was so earnestly, sincerely determined to use all that strength solely for the sake of those he loved.  Axle had never known a cat as powerful as Jojo to do anything more with it than fight off rivals over territory and mollies.  He had risen above them to where he now stood using brains over brawn, but his motivations for doing so were no different, save that he preferred the company of other toms.  Clever and influential he may have been in his grimy world, but his Ogres were just another pack of scavengers.  Axle had become blinded to any other way his life could be.  Jojo was a wonder, ray of life-giving sunlight that pierced the shadows of his heart.  To lose him now would be for a brilliantly burning flame to be snuffed out.

Now, Axle felt a pang in his own heart as he watched the kittypet mourn.  Jojo wailed with grief, hopelessly nudged at and even kneaded the mauled corpse.  Never had Axle thought that a cat would ever feel sorrow for a Twoleg, but he had to do something for him.

Jojo felt shaggy fur brush up against his own, and a broad muzzle press into the fur on his shoulder.  The scent of the cat who now consoled him should have been foul, but was familiar enough to bring him just a mote of comfort.  “Thank you, Axle.”  His mew was shaky, hollow.  “Wh… what do I do now?  Where will I go?”

Come with me , Axle ached to say.  We’ll flee this awful house and run away together, wild and free, and I can teach you everything you’ll need to know to survive.   But he was well aware that that was far too much too soon.  The last thing he’d ever want would be to scare him off.  “For now, let’s just get out of here and find somewhere to rest,” he purred, and nosed Jojo’s shoulder.  “You go ahead.  I’ll take one last look around.”

Still numb, still shaken, Jojo padded toward the cat-flap.  He’d been so excited the last time he’d left through it, so filled with hope.  Now - had it really only been three sunsets? - he felt trapped in a horrible nightmare, one he couldn’t escape from no matter how much he pleaded with himself to wake up.  

“Wait!”

Axle’s sharp yowl stopped him in his tracks.  Jojo looked back at his friend, perched on the back of the couch, the very spot where Brando would sit and watch the nights go by.  Right in front of where the very same cat, or a beast that had once been the very same cat, had smashed directly through the clear-stone, letting cold rain and winds wash in.  “He’s gone!  The carcass is-”

From above them, there came a scratching sound.  Then a hiss.  Jojo and Axle looked up, neck fur bristling, and saw a creature clinging to the wall.  A creature with bloodstained golden fur and hungry red eyes reflecting the guttering firelight.

“What is he?!  He was sliced up by the clear-stone and fell straight onto a bed of it!  How is he still alive?”  Axle shrank back, but didn’t dare take his eyes off the monster that now crawled across the ceiling as easily as a spider.  Sparks seemed to glimmer in his pelt, but the light was cold; Jojo realized with a lurch of his stomach that the spreading flames were reflecting off clear-stone shards embedded in his flesh.

Brando dropped to the floor and landed nimbly as ever, without a sound.  Axle crouched behind Jojo’s bulk, shaking, his tail completely bottlebrushed.  “Do something!” he wailed.  The monster advanced coolly on the pair, a cocky smirk curling around fangs that now extended out of his jaws.  “I know!” Axle gasped.  “Take this!”  He twisted his head around and worked the largest and sharpest spike out of his collar.  Jojo took the thick end in his jaws and stared Brando down until he was nose-to-nose with his brother.

This close, his scent was overlaid with blood, death, and something cold and venomous that Jojo couldn’t place.  But underneath the pall, it was disconcertingly, painfully familiar: the same scent that he had known since they were scarcely six moons old.  Jojo couldn’t hesitate.  That was then.  This was now.  

With a twist of his head, he speared the metal spike straight into the side of Brando’s throat, where his life should have pulsed.

Blood (his blood?  Or Twoleg blood taken from George?) only passively dribbled from the wound where it should have gushed.  Brando did not even stagger at the blow.  He merely smirked again, raised a paw to the wound, dislodged the spike as if it were merely a clod of mud, and dabbed at the blood.  He brought the paw to his mouth and licked it clean.  He fixed his gaze again on the two other cats and licked his lips slowly, almost sensuously.

Then, finally, Brando spoke again.  “Jojo…” he rasped.  “Look at me.  Look at what I’ve become: so much more than a mere kittypet.  Isn’t that exactly what we always wanted to be? I’ve awakened such incredible power through that Stone Collar… and your dear master’s blood.”

Jojo swatted the metal spike back to the cowering Axle and procured his own, tugging it out of the hands of a strange figure standing guard.  “I’m terrified,” the house cat admitted.  “I would have to be an absolute mouse-brain not to be.  But I can’t let something like you live in this world… Brando.”  Warriors, brave wildcats, if you’re out there, lend me your strength , he implored.

Brando seemed to make a point of ignoring him.  He circled around Jojo, eyes narrowed to slits, black tail-tip flicking.  His crimson gaze landed instead on Axle.  His hindquarters tensed, and he pounced.

But he sailed directly over his target’s head.  Brando instead leapt up from the wall, all the way up to the ceiling, where he pushed off again.  Jojo rushed to intercept him when he realized what was going on, but Brando was simply too fast, faster than any cat should be.  Only then did he tear at Axle as he streaked down like a golden comet.  The rogue howled in pain as blood gushed from his flank. He staggered and fell to his side.  One foreleg drew up to his chest, twisted painfully.

  “Just run away, Jojo!” he yowled.  “Not even you can stand up to that thing in a fight!  If you try, you’ll only get yourself killed!”

Jojo growled around the metal stick in his jaws.  Righteous fury rose in him at seeing his friend attacked so viciously.  He must have some sort of weakness , he thought, his mind racing.  The claws of the Stone Collar somehow stabbed into and attacked his brain, so that was where the transformation started… so if I can find a way to destroy the brain, I can destroy Brando!  I’ll have to destroy his head!

To do such a gruesome thing, my will must be strong.   And it was.  Brando wasn’t his brother anymore.  He was a monster, an abomination, and Jojo wasn’t about to let him maul another living creature.

Brando vanished into the shadows.  Jojo wheeled around, ears and nose straining to pin down the location of his near-silent pawsteps or his carrion-cloaked scent.  Then Axle yowled again.  “Watch out!  He’s attacking from above!”  Jojo ramped onto his hind legs on the spot.  Mere whisker-twitches told him where to aim the upward thrust of his metal fang.  Its tip pierced flesh and splintered the tiny bones of a paw… and then halted just a hair before it could meet its target, directly between Brando’s eyes.  “He took it through his own paw to stop it!”  Axle gasped, and then wailed again when he saw the side of Brando’s neck.  “And his other wounds are healing!  Is there any way to destroy a body like that?!”

“Weakling,” Brando hissed, and wrenched the fang-stick out of Jojo’s jaws.  “ Weakling! ” he repeated, this time in a gloating yowl.  The fang-stick’s shaft twisted and tore raggedly in two with a terrible shriek.  Both the metal fang itself and the jagged end of the other half sunk into Jojo’s muscled shoulder, one above and one below the small marking there.

Lion leapt to the other side of the room.  He was still testing his new limits even as he savored his new effortless strength and grace.  “Jojoooooo…” he drawled as he lazily stalked back around. “A kittypet like you doesn’t even know the fun of playing with his prey before eating it.  And I’m having so much fun right now with my wonderful new power,” he purred.  “Can’t we play together for just a bit longer?  Isn’t that all you ever wanted from me?”

He rounded back on where Jojo and that caterwauling gutter rat had quailed before him.  In just the few heartbeats he had taken to tease them, they had vanished.  Fox dung, he thought.  I’ve already grown cocky.  But they won’t be hard to find.   He scarcely had to sniff to pick up their mingled scents.  As strong as if they glowed in the night, they led, along with a thin trail of blood, behind a heavy curtain.

He taunted them as he stalked into the room where he knew they hid.  “Have you already forgotten the wisdom I offered you?  You can think and plan and plot all you like, but you are still mortal.  Calamity can strike and take everything from you in a heartbeat.  I can save you from it all, Jojo!  You can surpass all of these weaknesses!  I’m not scared of little mice hiding in the shadows, so come out already. ”  Lion hooked his claws into the curtain and pulled it aside… only to find himself attacked by fire.

Fire from behind the curtain.

Flames roared out at him, dazzling his sharp eyes and enrobing him in pure burning heat.  Lion screeched  in shock and pain.

“Does this look like a plan to you?  This is courage !” came Jojo’s bold meow.  

Something like a metal tree branch lay on the floor. Small flames burning at the tips of each twig eagerly spread across the floor and the wooden box the thing had sat upon.  “It worked!” Axle shouted.  “He’s burning!  Nothing can survive that!”

“Think again,” Brando spat.  He lunged at them, wreathed in flames.

“He’s regenerating while he burns!  Is this how nothing can harm him?!”

“The fire isn’t enough!”  Jojo made a break for the stairs, shoving his friend out of the way.  Axle stumbled backwards, sending the fire-branch spinning, drawing more spirals of flame across the floor.  “Axle, get out of here!” Jojo yowled over his shoulder.  “This isn’t your fight!”

“You’re running up there?!” Axle called after him.  “The fire is going to spread through the whole house!” But Jojo carried on, even with the metal fang still embedded in his shoulder.  Axle knew he should heed his words and flee, but fear and a desperate confusion kept him rooted to his spot and his eyes on the kittypet.  What is he planning? 

Jojo leapt from one inner edge of the stairwell to the other, upwards and across.  But he’d nearly aimed too high.  His front claws barely managed to catch in the wood.  His hind paws scrabbled for purchase; he gritted his teeth as blood gushed anew from his wound.  Yet he hoisted himself up and continued his ascension. Once he reached the top, he looked down into the flames below.  “Come on, then, Brando!” he dared.

Brando met him with a furious red glare.   He dipped his head into the raging fire and tossed it back as though he were bathing.  The flames consumed his collar.  He let it burn away, and the heart-shaped pendant fell to vanish into the embers.  “That is not my name .” 

“Keep your eyes-” Axle never finished his latest yowl of encouragement.  There was a noise like thunder, and suddenly he was flying back on a wave of pure heat, blown out the house’s very door.  He landed with enough force to knock the wind out of him.  As he gasped to recover his breath, he could see how the inferno reached vermilion tendrils out the windows, licking hungrily up the sides of the Twoleg nest, the pouring rain doing nothing to quench them..

Brando gave him only a mildly curious glance, as though he were merely an uncommon insect in the garden.  “Is he trying to lure me out to protect his friend?” he wondered.  “No matter.”  Then he padded not to the stairs, but to the wall opposite them.  And directly up it.

Each pawstep stabbed into the wall.  Brando may as well have been merely stepping through a shallow puddle.  He bared those terrible fangs in a predatory grin.  “I’ll just use your blood to heal these burns.”

Jojo halted when he saw what was happening.  His brother strode boldly now, fixing him with that terrible sharp gaze.  “Fleeing up here is useless!  Useless!” he crowed.  “A fall from this height won’t so much as bend my whisker!  It’s you who’s been cornered by the fire!”

Jojo could see that Brando was right.  Soon, the flames would reach the upper floors and he would have nowhere left in the house to flee to.  Nowhere in the house … he thought.  A plan took root and began to sprout.  Jojo raced down one of the hallways.  He’d scarcely been allowed up here before… before everything.  Warriors, lend me your courage , he entreated again, an uncertain prayer.  And Mr. George… wherever humans go when they die, let the flames carry you there.  Reunite with your mate.

Axle saw a dark shape leap out from one of the higher windows.  Its paws found purchase on the wet roof stones.  Its whole body was tense, ready to fight at a heartbeat’s notice.  Jojo?  What are you thinking?  Stop!  You mustn’t…!

Jojo dropped into a half-crouch and listened.  His ears were pricked in search of any sound that could be heard above the lashing rain.  There!   A rumbling… a vibration in the roof-stones… behind him!

Brando burst through the roof with a vicious screech, poised to land on Jojo and drive fangs and claws into his throat.  Thinking once again with pure courage, hardly aware of himself, Jojo finally pulled the metal-fang out from his shoulder and swung it to deflect his blow.  The force, the unstoppable strength behind it, still sent him hurtling across the roof.  “How utterly pathetic !” Brando yowled.

And when that impact struck, and when the rough roof-stones scraped painfully at his flame-seared flesh, Jojo remembered.  His life - his life with Brando - flashed before his eyes.  In that couple of heartbeats he saw the street kitten leap out of that carrier.

His last glimpse of Danny in the garden.

The tree in the park that he had scent-marked with…

Erina, wiping her soft snow-white muzzle with mud.

That night the Stone Collar fell from the wall and revealed its terrible secret.

Brando’s eyes wide and round with feigned sorrow and guilt, immediately before donning it.

Jojo got to his paws.  Flames burst through the upper windows.  So the fire had consumed the rest of the house at last.  Even from here, with the rain soaking his shaggy pelt, he could feel that they burned hotter than ever.  Hot enough, he thought - or at least desperately hoped- that they might burn Brando even faster than he could heal his wounds.  “Everything you’ve done to us in all those moons… it ends now! ”  With a roar, Jojo charged at his adversary, hardly hearing Axle’s strained cry for him not to do it.  He slammed into Brando and the weakened roof shattered beneath them.

They fell.

His home burned around him.  The only family he had ever truly known - he scarcely remembered anything of his birth mother and littermates - were dead.  Jojo had nothing left in the world.  Nothing but his life.  That, he would give to put an end to Brando’s ambition, to burn out this evil from the world.

He kept his forelegs locked around the other tom’s body and his teeth in his scruff.  Like two stars they fell, going down together towards the lake of fire.  But it was not to be.  

“Goodbye, Jojo!”

Jojo had braced himself for impact on the ground far below and for the flames to devour his body.  Instead, far sooner, a sharp back-kick to his ribs separated him from his opponent and sent him hurtling down ever-faster.  He saw, rapidly receding, Brando with one clawed forepaw hooked into the wall. And above him, even farther away, a glimpse of starlight.

“For a brief moment there, I admired your guts.  That was quite an audacious move for a kittypet.  But that’s all you’ll ever be: a soft-hearted kittypet who will die with his master!  Give dear old Mr. George a purr from me, will you?” Brando gloated.  “And know, in your last moments, that I never would have discovered this power if not for you! ”

Something else fell towards Jojo, tumbling end over end.  The metal fang!   Jojo reached out to hook it towards him with a paw.  He caught it in his mouth and angled his fall.  Yes!   It pierced into the exposed stone.  The juddering recoil of the impact was worth it.  Jojo swung around, gathered all four paws on the metal rod, and pushed off of it in a mighty vertical leap.   His faithful companion throughout this terrible battle fell away, vanishing into the flames with everything else Jojo had known.  But it had served its one final purpose.

Or so it seemed, for only a few triumphant heartbeats.  Jojo lashed out with one forepaw as he soared upwards, heart in his mouth.  But his claw scarcely grazed the fuzz of Brando’s toe.  Then his stomach dropped, and he was helplessly falling once more. 

No - Jojo had one thing left!  The idea struck him like a bolt of lightning, like the one that flashed across the hole in the roof, far above.  He even thought that he felt a crackle in his fur.  The broad red ribbon that formed his collar, now dirty and worn, had been tied a quarter moon ago by Mr. George’s strange but loving Twoleg hands into a strange, wide knot like the wings of a butterfly.  Which meant that it could also be un tied.  Jojo sank his claws into one side of it and his teeth into the other, and tugged and worried at it until it came undone.  He kept one end of the ribbon hooked on his claws and lashed upwards with it.  The collar’s other end found its target as if it were drawn there; the attached pendant and bell made it heavier, so it could more easily wrap around Brando’s ankle and hold fast.

“Brando!  I’m still here!”

“You…!” Brando growled.  His deadly grip on the wall failed him at last, and once more the two toms were falling together.

“I won’t let you go!” Jojo snarled.  “Not even once we’re both dead and burning!”  He snapped at Brando’s throat, but his adversary twisted in midair so his teeth instead met in his side.  He remained there even as Brando wrapped his forelegs around Jojo’s own and crushed them with infeline strength.  His very pelt was aflame, yet still he did not let go.  

“Once again, I’m impressed,” Brando leered.  “But this body is immortal.  I’ll have the strength to escape no matter how hot the flames burn!  No matter how tenaciously you tear at me like a dog!”

And Jojo knew in his heart of hearts that he was right.  Even if he were to give his life here, this monster that he inadvertently helped create would escape into the wider world.  And the first floor of the house, the bottom of the stairs, where this had all began not so very long ago, was rushing up at them.  So he did the only thing he had left to do.  He lifted his muzzle up towards that vanishing glimpse of sky and cried out.  “Stars above!  Lend me your power!”

For he was sure, deep in that wild part of him that dreamed of the forest, that the stars had to hold power.  He didn’t know if they guided his next action, or if it was merely a hunter’s instinct.  Jojo kicked out at the wall with his hind legs and, though they screamed with sharp pain, shoved Brando down and away with his front legs.  

Pale belly up, hissing and clawing at the air, Brando plummeted.

To the foot of the stairs.

Directly onto the fang-stick raised up by the winged statue.

Brando screamed and writhed.  But with every desperate movement, he only sank down further onto the fang-stick.  It burst straight out from between his ribs.  He was impaled straight through, like a mouseling on a thorn for a shrike to tear apart at its leisure.  It wasn’t the hook-billed bird that devoured his flesh, though, but the inferno raging all around him.  His fur burned, his flesh melted, even his bones smoldered faster than even his regeneration could heal him.  His shrieks grew higher and more desperate with every passing heartbeat, until they gave way to weak rasps and finally faded out to nothing at all.

Axle could just make out the screams and snarls of fighting toms over the roar of the blaze.  His heart grew heavy as he watched the Twoleg nest begin to collapse.  What a magnificent fool that Jojo was, he thought, resigned.  And what a fool I was, to think that I could be any help against a threat like that… He heaved a smoke-scorched sigh and turned away.   I should have made tracks back to Ogre Street at the first sign that something was fishy.  All I can do now is run and pray that that thing doesn’t hunt me down.  He broke into an uneven three-legged run, even as the weight of his leadership settled onto his shoulders.  It could wipe us all out without straining a claw.  No cat, not one beast in this city will be safe anymore… We’ll find a new territory.  We wouldn’t be the Ogres anymore without our namesake, but we’ll survive.

From behind him, there came a crash and the shattering of clear-stone.  Then a horrendous wavering shriek, agonized and outraged, unlike any cat-cry Axle had ever heard before.  In the same heartbeat, the gentle whoosh of something flying through the air, and finally a thud.  Axle stopped in his pawsteps and risked a glance over his shoulder.  His heart pounded, his dark amber eyes were wide, but all he saw between him and the burning den was a mass of dark fur lying motionless in the wet grass.  It had to be-

Axle rushed to Jojo’s side.  Even beneath his thick pelt, choked with soot and dried blood, his friend’s skin was mottled with angry burns.  Both forelegs looked to be in worse shape than Axle’s own.  His eyes were shut tight.

Axle’s ears and tail drooped again.  Even though his heart sank, he pressed his nose into Jojo’s shoulder fur, right next to the lilac mark, and was prepared to turn away again.  But then, the kittypet drew in a ragged breath.  “Geo… rge…” he rasped.

Axle couldn’t keep himself from crying out with relief.  “He’s alive!  And that means…” He listened for Brando’s horrific screeches and heard nothing more.  “He won!”

“Jojo?!” an unfamiliar voice called.  “Jojo, is that you?!” The mew was soft yet clear.  Axle tensed into a defensive posture, instinctively concealing his broken foreleg so this potential new threat wouldn’t detect his weakness.  But when the voice’s owner showed herself, he realized he had little to fear.  She was just another kittypet, a silver-and-white tabby about Jojo’s age, with a noisy little bell on her pale blue collar.  Her icy blue eyes showed only fear and concern.

“You know this cat?” Axle asked.

“ You know this cat?” Her echo was confused as she regarded him.  

“As of recently, sure, but that doesn’t matter now!  Is there any way we can help him?!” he implored the young molly.  “He’s just escaped the fire and won a terrible battle, but he may pay with his life yet!”

“A battle? With what?!  What sort of beast could have done this to him?”

“I’m not sure a delicate young thing like yourself would want to know that,” Axle said gravely.  He ignored how her eyes narrowed with irritation.  “I’ve a proposition for you.  You help us in any way you can, and I’ll tell you everything I know about what happened.  Although that admittedly isn’t much-”

“My human is an expert at healing dogs and cats,” the molly said.  “He’s brought me to the place where he does it.  And he’s seen Jojo plenty of times - we grew up just a fence apart.  If anyone can save Jojo, he can.”

“Brilliant!  Then help me carry him.”

The two cats dragged Jojo across the rain-soaked grass, as gingerly as they could.  “My name is Erina, by the way,” the tabby mewed through a mouthful of his scruff.

“Axle,” he replied in kind.

They reached the entrance to her Twoleg’s den.  “What now?” Axle queried.  He looked around uncertainly.  Even though he’d been born and raised in this Twolegplace, getting this close to the creatures themselves always made him nervous.

“We get his attention.  Having another voice around will be perfect for that.”  Axle didn’t have to ask what Erina meant by that - she swiftly demonstrated exactly that.  She scratched furiously at the slab of hard wood and yowled at the top of her lungs.  Axle joined her, adding his own rough screech to her piteous wails, until he heard heavy footsteps approach.  Then he lost his nerve and darted into some nearby bushes.

From amid the strong-smelling leaves, he watched the door swing open and a groggy-looking Twoleg step out.  It grumbled something containing its cat’s name before she pawed at its leg, looking up at it.  Only then did the Twoleg look down and exclaim when it saw the injured Jojo.  It retreated into its den, only to return a few heartbeats later with some white soft-stuff it used to pick up the unconscious tom.  It vanished back inside with him in hand, and called over its shoulder, “Erina…!”

“I have to go,” the molly whispered.  “Thank you, Axle.”

Erina didn’t have time to respond before following her owner inside, trilling urgently.  Then the heavy door shut behind them.  There was no further sound but rainfall and the high howling of red flashing monsters that approached the burned-out wreck.

Two sunrises later, a raven descended onto the burned-out nest.  Not a plume of smoke rose from it to singe the bird’s delicate lungs, and the big-wingless that had swarmed over it like ants on a food spill had left.  And that meant the raven was free to plunder the ruin for shinies.

The best and rarest shinies - metals and sparkle-stones - didn’t burn in even the hottest of flames.  Every chick of Corvin’s brood knew that.  And where did all the best shinies come from?  Big-wingless nests.  The raven chortled to himself, a clattering sound, with anticipation.  His name might have been rendered as Chaan.

He hopped from charred wood to broken stone, probing the rubble for anything interesting - or edible.  There were several hunks of metal to be found, but they were all dull and too large to carry off anyway.  The sensitive tip of Chaan’s beak then met something hard, flat, and curved, and his beard-feathers fluffed with excitement.  This shape of object sometimes had brilliantly colored sparkle-stones embedded within it.  But when he pulled it out from between two broken stone slabs, he was disappointed - there was only dull, rough, gray stone.  Chaan scratched frustratedly at the ground and dropped the thing.  He opened his wings to take off-

…And was grabbed by a withered paw reaching out of the rubble.

Chaan called out with all the breath in his air-sac lungs, a desperate cry for help that any chick of Corvin would understand.  He had no mate or fledglings of his own to respond to his flock call, but any of his kind would heed it - after all, a danger to one raven was a danger to any raven.  He would even welcome those chatty, squabbling, gregarious miniatures, the crows.

But no aid came.  Not even one of Corvin’s own tricks could have saved him.  Chaan glimpsed leathery burned flesh and a single glaring, slitted red eye.  Then claws pierced his flesh- things burrowed into it like maggots- his air sacs were pierced- he was choking, he couldn’t breathe-

The last thing he heard before everything went dark was a low, rasping “ uryyyy… ”

Chapter Text

Three sunsets had passed since that terrible fire.   Axle was once again searching the Outer Twolegplace for a certain kittypet.   Had it really not even been a quarter moon since he had first followed Jojo back from Ogre Street?  That night felt as though it had happened in another lifetime.  This time, Axle padded resolutely down the alleys on three legs, his left foreleg drawn up to his chest and set in a crude splint of sticks and cobwebs.  A clawful of his underlings guarded him from all sides and assisted him when he stumbled.  The one who took the lead was their best tracker, who thus called himself Hound.

It was this cat who led the rogue pack to a building of sandy-colored stone, surrounded by lilac bushes yet to bloom.  A multitude of dog scents, some tinged with bitter fear, dotted and tracked through the surrounding grass.  “You’re sure this is the right place?” Axle mewed.  “They all look alike from the outside…”

“I tracked the cage-truck along this very route when it took my sister,” Hound insisted. “They let her go, but not before Cutting her…” For a heartbeat, regret showed on his broad face.  “So if we’re gonna do anything here, we should act quick so we can get all of him back.”

“Should we try to break him out, boss?” asked Raccoon, eyeing the windows.

“He won’t be in any condition for that yet.  I just have to know if he’s alive.  He was on the border between life and death when I saw him last-”

“Are you sure you can make it up there?” she interjected.  “You’ve come all this way while pretty badly injured yourself-”

“They’re but flesh wounds!” Axle insisted.  He crouched, leapt up, and landed clumsily.  Pain sparked under his pelt; he winced and hissed.

Raccoon shook her shaggy head.  “Whatever you say, boss…  We’ll stand guard down here.”

Everything in the room was white flat-stone and silver metal.  For a place supposedly for healing the most grievous of wounds, it all seemed terribly cold and lifeless.  But across from the window, there stood a wall separated into four metal cages.  And in the upper right cage, on a white soft-pelt, there lay a large mass of dark blue fur.  Axle’s heart leapt into his throat.  They really had found Jojo!  But was he alive? Had he made it through these nights?

Slowly and evenly, the kittypet’s side rose and fell.  Axle breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as though a heap of stones had been lifted from his shoulders.  But there was nothing more he could do for Jojo right now.  He was no healer, but it didn’t take a scrap of herb-knowledge to tell that rest would do his friend good.  Resigned, Axle turned away from the window and began working out a way to jump back down without agitating his own injuries too much.  But a flicker of movement caught his eye from inside the cage.

Jojo wasn’t alone.  Another cat crouched beside him, barely enough room for the two of them.  It was the grey-and-white tabby from the nest next to his; the very molly whose Twoleg, she’d said, healed cats!  That Twoleg must have been who brought him here after she and Axle had dragged him to its doorstep.

And the tabby had noticed him.  Her glare was icy, her lip curled, her tail began to lash.  The message was clear.  Visitors were not welcome.

“I’m his friend!” Axle meowed at her, hoping his voice could travel through the clear-stone.  “I need to see him!”

The tabby gave no response, only keeping those cold eyes fixed on him.  Quite pretty, she was, with soft well-groomed fur and prim white paws, but that glare alone could frighten off a fox.  She stepped forward, over the sleeping Jojo.  Axle dropped back to the ground on three paws.  He couldn’t afford to make a scene when Twolegs were still around.  Not unless he wanted to get himself and his comrades captured, Cut, and sent to the cageplace.  

So he returned that night.  The cage-room looked even colder in the moonlight streaming in from the window.  Axle was shocked to see the grey-patched tabby - What was her name?   Erin?  - still in there with Jojo.  He was sure that her Twoleg would have taken her back home.  It didn’t seem like the kind of Twoleg to mistreat cats at all, with how attentively it had responded to her and Jojo that night.  So did she want to stay in that cramped cage?

He soon found his answer.  She remained bent over Jojo, assiduously grooming any scraps of fur that weren’t wrapped in white swathes.  And she had been at this, Axle realized, for quite a while; her tongue was dry, cracked, even bleeding.  Yet even so, she was doing everything she could to keep him comfortable.  Her spirit was certainly more than the typical soft kittypet’s, just as much as Jojo’s.

Axle gasped.  Jojo was stirring.  The motion was slight, his groan faint, but his head shifted slightly on the soft-pelt.  He’s pulling through!

Everything that had happened to Jojo since the fire was a blur, hazy with pain.  Bright lights.  Gleaming metal.  Then, a deep darkness pulling him under.  His only moments of reprieve from this, no mere exhausted sleep, were murky impressions of fire, blood, splintering bones.  He thought, at some points, that he heard a voice.  It called out to him, but it was too far away for him to understand.  He wanted to run to it.  He had to know.  Above him, a star fell, the bright streak pointing him the way, and he ran to follow it, and he was the star shooting across a water surface, ripples expanding ever-outward from his path-

His eyes opened.

The first thing he heard was a soft trill just over his head.  “It’s been a long time… Jojo.”

Jojo’s pounding head strove to make sense of the world currently around him.  Everything was strange, hard, lifeless… and then he saw her, framed by moonlight that caught in her silvery fur.  For a heartbeat he thought that a spirit, like the ones he had called out to, had come down from the stars… or that he had died and joined them.  But her scent was soft, sweet, familiar.  “You… I know you…” he realized.  “How could you be here?  Have you been taking care of me this entire time?”

“My owner let me do what I can to help.  I couldn’t stand to leave you here all alone,” Erina purred.  “And he can never stand to say no to me.”

“I’d come to think that your owner had sent you away!” gasped Jojo.  Energy began to beat through him once again.  “I… I have so much to tell you.  About that night, about what happened-”

“Whenever you’re ready,” said Erina.  Her nose gently brushed against Jojo’s shoulder.  “It really has been too long.” 

But then, Jojo felt her whole body waver.  Her legs shook and gave way beneath her.  Erina’s eyes fell shut from exhaustion and her body pitched forward.  Reacting instinctively, Jojo pushed his broad head under her chest and nudged her back onto her paws.  She returned to her senses and shook her head.  “Even with your injuries…!” Erina gasped.

Their pains had flared up with Jojo’s sudden movement.  But what else could he have done?  “I’ll support you whenever you need it,” he said with a slow blink.

I see, Axle thought.  So they did know each other.  Not only that, but it seemed the two had been quite close since they were young, until their Twolegs forced them apart.  That would explain why she’d been so protective of Jojo; she wasn’t completely cold-hearted after all.  Any kittypet who would give up the luxuries of a Twoleg nest just to stay with her friend was devoted indeed.

Or was she just his friend?  Axle saw what her presence had done for Jojo’s spirit.  Such kindness and beauty… any tom would be lucky to have her by his side.  And any molly would be lucky to have Jojo by hers.  As much as he tried to suppress it, knowing it would do him no good, a thorn of envy lodged itself in Axle’s heart.

Axle had never had any interest in taking a long-term mate.  Not many street cats did.  Even for the brief rendezvous that were the norm, mollies had never beguiled him the way they did so many of his comrades.  He had been drawn to other toms before, but never had he felt about any cat the way he felt toward Jojo.  And none of those had certainly cared as much about him .  But it was clear now that Jojo’s heart lay elsewhere.

Even if Axle could slip into the Cutterplace and squeeze into that cage, it would seem that he wasn’t needed here after all.  Jojo had enough of his spirit back already.  So the rogue allowed himself a rueful smile and then coolly withdrew.  He leapt back down to the ground, vanished into the hedge, and set off back home to the dark twisting alleys.

When the strange Twolegs bustling around him had judged Jojo’s wounds as sufficiently healed, they coaxed him out of his cage and into a carrier.  It was painfully familiar yet strange to be in such a box without the blanket and toy that Mr. George had always kept in his carrier.  He’d had them since he was a tiny kit leaving his birth mother… He felt just as lost and confused as he had then, with no clue where Erina’s owner was taking him.  The home and the human that had welcomed that tiny furball of a kit were gone now.  Destroyed.  Jojo curled in on himself, futilely kneading the thin, sharp-smelling blanket with one forepaw.  The other was trapped among a strappy black thing that held his injured leg straight.

The car stopped.  Its doors opened.  Jojo raised his head.  The scents wafting into the carrier on the late leaf-fall breeze were… familiar.  He would taste these very scents in the air whenever he would sit on his garden fence.  The human lifted up the carrier and brought it towards… Erina’s house?!

He couldn’t bear to look to its left.  The odors of ashes, smoke, and now strange humans still drifted over from there.  Jojo kept his head tucked down by his paws as he was brought into a place that he had always seen from nearby, but never entered.  Sharp smells of human stuff washed over him, but they were at least house- scents, nothing of the vet.  And Erina’s scent threaded through it all like a bright, clear stream.

“He’s done this before, for cats and dogs who lose their housefolk and fall ill or injured,” Erina explained.  “Even strays that humans bring to him.  They stay here until they’re well enough for him to take back to the vet, and then to new homes… Oh, dear,” she interjected.  Worry clouded her face.

“What?” Jojo mewed.  He had been so happy, almost in awe, that Erina had been showing him around where she lived: a food bowl that filled itself at sunrise, sunhigh, and sunset; a water bowl that bubbled like a spring; a soft white bed with a faded, light blue toy mouse nestled among the fluff.  He felt honored and yet shy; he had never been so close to her for so long.  He wished that he could show her his house.  But now something was wrong here, too?

“I think I know why they go back to the vet first.  What happens to most house cats over the age of six moons after they go to the vet?” Erina asked pointedly.

“Oh dear, indeed…” Jonathan realized what she was hinting at, and tucked his tail between his legs.  “Would he really do that to me ?”

Erina shook her head.  “You and Br- you two over there were the odd ones out for not having it done.  I don’t think my owner approved of that.”

A chill zipped from Jojo’s ears to the tip of his tail.  “How long do I have?”  The other cats they knew had lost all their sense of adventure, all their curiosity about the world beyond their food bowls and favorite sunning spots.  If Jojo were to lose all that, what would he have left of himself?  Would he lose his connection with the dream-forest, too?

“I’m not sure.  But the others rarely stayed more than a moon.  And frankly… oh, this sounds awful, but… I was always happy to see them leave.”  Erina shook her head.  “They were strangers.  They felt like intruders in my home, getting their scents all over everything, especially the dogs,” she added with a grimace.  But then her tone softened.  “It’s different with you.  I know you.  I trust you, more than I’ve ever trusted any other cat.  I-  Oh, do you hear that?”  Her ears perked.  Her tail relaxed with relief out of its anxious lashing.  “It’s time for lunch.”  Erina dashed off toward the rattle of food in her bowl, leaving Jojo with anxiety battling fluttering warmth in his chest.

“Erina, your house is lovely and your owner is very kind to take me in, but I’m feeling a bit… confined,” Jojo confessed a few mornings later.  “I would love to get out and explore.  Like we used to.”

“Are you sure, with your leg?” Erina sniffed at the limb.

“I can manage.  And it will never get stronger unless I exercise it, right?” Jojo added with a grin.

They slipped out the cat flap and made their way to the street.  “Jojo, where are you going?” Erina mewed.  “The park is that way!”

Jojo was limping away from her, toward the sight they both avoided acknowledging.  “I just have to check something first.”  

He took a deep breath and delved with unsteady steps into the ruins that had once been his home.  He recognized very little among the debris and rubble; privately he was relieved, as the sight would have been even more painful otherwise.  Jojo sniffed, sifted through ash and probed crevices with his good paw, all to ensure that he would not find one specific object: the artifact that had caused all of this.  When he had searched all that he could, he returned to Erina.  “There’s no sign of that thing,” he assessed.  “It must have burned up in the fire.  Good,” he added firmly.

“Indeed…” Erina said, her voice small.  Now the two started on the route to the park that they had walked when they were mere kittens.  “You still haven’t told me,” she said as they walked.  “What exactly was ‘that thing’?  What happened that night?”

Jojo’s neck fur bristled.  “You don’t want to know.  Not when it would only darken a lovely day like today.”

“I see how much it weighs on you.  You’re carrying more than you’d like to let on, aren’t you?”

He nodded silently.  Then, he took a deep breath.  “Alright.  I’ll tell you.  But it’s a sad, bloody story.”  As they walked, Jojo recounted the chain of events that had led to him landing unconscious in the yard, from Mr. George’s illness to the fight with the rogues to Brando taking the full power of the Stone Collar.  Erina’s eyes grew wider with each twist and turn.  “The last thing I remember before the vet was… hearing that fang-stick pierce through his body.  I was sure that I was going to die, but I was at peace with that.  Because he’d already destroyed every reason I had to live.”  But even as those last words left his mouth, he realized they weren’t true.  One more reason to live, one more creature he loved, padded faithfully at his side.

Erina was silent for a long moment.  Jojo couldn’t blame her.  When she finally did speak, all she said was, “I wish I could have been there for you.”

“What?  No.  These were no places for you.  I couldn’t bear to see you hurt too.”

“I would have done anything I possibly could to help,” Erina insisted.

“You wouldn’t have to put yourself in danger.  It’s enough just having you here with me now,” Jojo purred.

A few frogs still croaked in the stream by the park.  In warmer moons, they were often clumsily chased by human kits.  Jojo would have liked to try a paw at that as well, but he knew he should keep the thing on his foreleg - a splint , Erina had called it - from getting wet.  And he had something else to search for.  A strange cat-scent had followed the two of them since they left their neighborhood.   Whenever he caught it, it was too fresh to have come from some stray who’d happened to be passing along the same route.  And it was definitely from an older tomcat.

Jojo was sure, too, that he had seen the flicker of a long tail disappear behind a fence here, a lithe shadow leap into a tree there.  His guard was up, but he was intrigued.  This mysterious cat’s scent was unlike any Jojo had ever known before - it lacked the residual human scents of house cats, nor was it anything like that of Axle and his Ogres.  It was a clean, sharp scent that told of cool stone, rushing streams, and clear wind.  It told of the wild.

Jojo scanned the area and found no sign of the stranger.  He wondered if this cat was even real, and whether his forest dreams weren’t escaping into his waking reality.  He relaxed and was ready to continue into the park proper, where his and Erina’s favorite tree stood.  They could mark it again, now that they were reunited.  But a mew from Erina stopped him in his tracks.  She pointed with her tail.  “Jojo, that must be him.”

A short stone fence separated the walking path from the stream, no doubt to keep dogs and young humans from blundering in.  It was here that the stranger sat perched, fastidiously grooming his black-patched white fur.  But he must have felt their eyes on him, for he put his paw down and addressed them. “So you are the kittypet called Jojo.  And the molly must be Erina.  You’ve done well to face the power of the Stone Collar and survive. ”

They started.  How did he know their names, or what had happened to them?!  But the strange tom gave them no time to respond.  “Unfortunately,” he growled, “that Collar and the cat who wears it are still out there!”  He leapt from the fence with his forepaw outstretched.

He leapt directly at Jojo.

At first, the stranger’s attack seemed to fall short of his target.  He landed at the house cat’s paws.  But he twisted his body around as he hit the ground and jabbed Jojo in his soft underbelly, right below his ribs.  Jojo staggered as every last gasp of air was forced from his lungs with the force of that one strike.  He fell to his side, choking for breath.  

Erina’s fur rose.  “How could you attack an injured cat like that?!  Don’t you see his foreleg?” she hissed.

“Worry not.  My claws are sheathed.”  The stranger turned away and resumed his grooming, swiping his paw over his tall ears.  “He should regain his breath soon.”  

Erina growled.  She might have leapt at the tom and torn those ears right off if Jojo didn’t recover his breath then with a loud gasp.  He stared in shock at his broken foreleg.  The fur on it waved, pulsed, like tall grass beneath gusts of wind.  “What’s happening?” The muscles twitched before snapping out to their full length in a sudden spasm, sending the splint flying.  Jojo heard a sharp crack, but felt no pain, only a dull, warm tingling.  “It’s gone!  The pain in my broken leg, it’s completely gone!” he cried.  “What did you do?”

“ Your pain is gone?  What did I do?” the stranger echoed in his reedy meow.  “No.  It was your own breathing that healed you.  Your strength and courage are already admirable for a cat of your upbringing, but these alone are not enough to overcome the power of the Collar.

“My name is Sparkwhisker.  I’ve come from a Clan half a moon’s journey from here.  To find and train you. ”

Jojo reflexively got to his paws - all four of them, his foreleg good as new.  “That answers nothing!  Why did you do this to me!  How do you know our names?”

“One question at a time, Jojo.  Follow me.”  Sparkwhisker looked over his shoulder at Erina.  “Your friend may come along too, if she promises not to tell another kittypet soul what she sees.  For if you see this and get to know me,” he added, conspiratorially, “your fate will never be the same.”  He leapt over the stream pushed through the bushes at its far edge.  Jojo leapt onto the fence to follow him, burning up with curiosity.

Erina swatted at his tail.  “Jojo, do you really think that you can just go off with this crazy-”

He looked back at her with eyes steely with determination.  “Where else can I go, Erina?  If I don’t, what else would I have?”

“You have me.  You’ll always have me.”

Jojo nodded.  “Then let’s go together.”  He echoed Sparkwhisker’s leap over the stream.  But he was heavier and less agile than the so-called warrior, and so took quite a different trajectory: he landed facedown in the bushes.  He got to his paws, shook bits of twig and dried leaf from his pelt, and gave Erina a sheepish smile.  “I’m sure you’ll do a better job than that, at least.”

“Jojo!  Time is of the essence!  A warrior does not dawdle!” came Sparkwhisker’s yowl.

“O- of course not!  I’m coming!”  Jojo trotted ahead, making it a point to hold his head and tail high.

Erina huffed a sigh.  Toms.  Her friend really was more like a dog than a cat, for better or for worse.  But she had to admit that she was also curious what this stranger with the strange name was meowing about, what would supposedly change their lives.  And if this was all a trap and he turned out to be dangerous, well… there were two of them and one of him.  Erina leapt across the stream - it was no farther than from her housefolk’s dresser to his bed - and followed Jojo’s familiar scent into the weeds.

The three cats emerged at a spot where the stream grew wide and shallow.  Reed beds gathered at its edges, sheltering minnows in their shadows.  The last frogs of the season sat on stepping-stones, basking in the sunny weather.  Sparkwhisker stood in front of one of these, up to his underbelly in water but unfazed.  His muzzle was raised to the sky, and he was breathing sharp, regular breaths, loudly enough that Jojo was surprised that the frog seated right before him wasn’t scared off.  Then he inhaled deeply in a strange, rasping manner that Jojo had never heard from any cat before.  Sparkwhisker’s pelt began to ripple and wave just like the fur on Jojo’s foreleg had when he had healed it.  Motes of light began to rise from his coat like fireflies.  Water splashed at his legs like it was trying to climb up them, then settled into ripples… but the pattern of ripples was strange and complex, reminding Jojo of the petals of a flower.  They were beautiful, in a way, but he had never seen water do this - except.  Yet the bizarre sight stirred something in Jojo’s recent memory.  That dream! he realized.  The dream I had while I was unconscious after the fire!   He’d run across the surface of a body of water in that dream, and the ripples made by his pawsteps were exactly the shape that he now saw surround Sparkwhisker.

The stranger addressed him.  “I altered your breathing when I thrust my paw into your lungs.  You are now breathing in a special way, like I am now.”

“But-” Jojo stared blankly at him, still hopelessly lost.

“To explain it simply, it is your breath that imbues your blood with life energy.  And your blood carries that life energy to the whole of your body.  This energy in you creates ripples that a trained warrior can channel!” Sparkwhisker proclaimed.  “I will demonstrate this with the same energy that I used to heal your leg!”  He gave a peculiar high growl and raised a forepaw out of the water… right over the sitting frog.

“Don’t hurt it!” Jojo cried.  Behind him, he heard Erina wail.  Sparkwhisker’s paw struck the frog like a lightning bolt, complete with golden sparks.  The rock beneath it cracked and split cleanly in two.  The frog fell into the stream… and swam away, nary a mark on its thin skin.

“Not only could you break a rock in half, but you hit the frog and it was completely unharmed?!” Erina gasped.

“Indeed.”  Sparkwhisker held his head high.  “That was the power of the Ripple. Every warrior in my Clan is trained to channel it from the time they’re six moons old, just as we learn to hunt and to fight.  So it gives us our name: RippleClan.”  He dipped his head to Jojo.  “I have come to train you in this art and in the ways of the warrior Clans.”

“That’s all… amazing… but why?”

“The Ripple and the Stone Collar are natural opposites, like fire and ice.  The Collar wasn’t destroyed.  It’s still fully functional, and the cat who goes by Lion now has it.”

“Lion?!  Do you mean…” Jojo remembered exactly who had been born to that name.  “Brando is alive?!”

“I ventured into Twolegplace the day after the fire.  I overheard the crows chattering about a withered cat-like creature lurking in the darkness, accompanied by a raven who carried the Collar for him.  I would have investigated the situation further, but good luck trying to get a straight answer out of a crow…” Sparkwhisker sneezed with rueful amusement.  “The warriors of RippleClan have been looking for that Collar for moons, seasons, in order to destroy it and defeat any creature who wields it.”  He gestured to Jojo with the black tip of his tail.  “ You are already destined to fight against its darkness.  It was foretold by the stars themselves.  So you must become a warrior and learn the Ripple, or you will meet a bloody and untimely end,” Sparkwhisker proclaimed, grave.  “You, and the rest of the world.”

“And me?” Erina hesitantly spoke up.  “Do I fit anywhere in all this?”

The warrior shook his head.  “The prophecy speaks only of your companion here.”

Jojo cut in.  “Hold on!  I can’t involve her in such danger!”  But if we’re going on a journey, I don’t want to leave her behind, either… he added, selfishly.

“I don’t care if you are a ‘warrior,’” Erina hissed, her neck fur rising.  “You have no right to just turn up here and take Jojo away.”

“...Your spirit is fierce as well, I see.  Very well,” Sparkwhisker acquiesced.  “You may undergo warrior training if you wish to come with us.  And if fighting proves not to be your strong suit, there are other ways a cat may serve their Clan.  The light of RippleClan is fading.  Our numbers are few.  New blood may prove to be just what we need to save it.”

“I accept if Jojo does.”  Erina kept her voice and body language carefully neutral.  She turned to her friend.  “What do you think?  I wouldn’t believe any of this if I hadn’t seen him do it right in front of me…”

“Of course I’ll come with you.  Please, make me a warrior,” said Jojo, lowering his head.  “It’s my fault that Br- er, Lion and the Stone Collar were unleashed on the world in the first place.  No cat knows him better than I do.  I must defeat him.”

“Your conviction is admirable.”  Sparkwhisker nodded.  “But it takes more than that to survive in the wild.  Even in times of relative peace, the life of a warrior is not easy.  It demands great loyalty and hard work.  We must provide for ourselves and our Clanmates, every day of even the cruelest season.  But that builds strength and fellowship that will always be with you, even when you hunt alone.  You will know what it is to truly be a cat.” he purred.  

Jojo shivered, not with the cool leaf-fall breeze off the water but with the vastness of the universe that seemed to open up before him.  This was what all of his dreams had been leading him toward.  He was sure of it.  But was Erina?  He looked to his left.  She didn’t look nearly as certain.  Her blue eyes were distant.

“I know that this is not a choice to be made lightly,” Sparkwhisker continued.  “It must not be easy to give up your warm and comfortable lives.”

“I’ll go,” Jojo blurted.  He looked down at the ground and shuffled his forepaws, embarrassed by his own kittish enthusiasm.  Though his home and owner were gone, there was still one friend he’d be leaving behind.  “There’s just… something I’d like to do first.  Back there.”  He gestured with his tail back at the direction from which the house cats had come.

“I… I need more time to think about this,” Erina added.

“I understand.  Return here at sunhigh tomorrow with your final decisions.  Then, we shall return to RippleClan.”  Sparkwhisker padded away without another word and crouched by the reeds on the other side of the shallows.  His forepaw flashed into the water and came up with a wriggling fish hooked on his claws.  He took the catch into his mouth and hopped up on another length of low stone fence.  He took a few bites, but then loudly sneezed, and then fell backward off of the fence with an undignified yowl.  But he leapt back up and resumed eating the fish as though nothing had happened.

Jojo and Erina exchanged an uncertain glance.  Was this really the cat they were staking their futures on?

Their walk back to Erina’s house was a quiet one.  It was late into the night before her owner returned.  He gave his cat a cursory head-ruffle before disappearing into his den.  Erina watched him close the door behind him.

“He seemed exhausted,” Jojo mewed.  “I’m sure your company would help him feel better.”

Erina shook her head.  “He gets enough of animals during the day.  At night, he just wants to be alone.”

“But he leaves so early and gets home so late that he hardly sees you, then”

“Indeed,” she said, resigned.  She paused and gave her chest fur a thoughtful lick.  “I don’t think I would miss him.  He might even be glad to have me out of the way.”

Jojo understood what she meant.  “So you’ve decided, then?”

“I would rather face the wild with you than remain in comfort alone.”

Early the next morning, Jojo slipped out into the yard and hopped onto the fence.  He saw the corner where two strays had trapped Erina and stolen her toy mouse when she was just a kitten.  On the other side lay what was left of his own home.  Strange human things marked out spots, and the site was surrounded by strings like flat wasp-yellow ivy.  He looked to the garden.  The shrubs and flowers he had playfully tracked so many scents under were scorched and dead.  But a marked stone remained.  Jojo padded through the smoke-fouled grass and touched his nose to it.  “I’m sorry, Danny, but I have to leave this place.  Erina and I will be starting a new life,” he murmured.  “Mr. George is with you now.  He’ll keep you company.”

He crossed back over the fence in two hops.  Erina was waiting for him back on her side.  “He’s gone,” she mewed, and raised her head.  Jojo followed her gaze toward the direction of the park and felt a thrill of excitement.  To him, the cool leaf-fall breeze carried the scent of opportunity.  He wiped the past from his paws and leapt over one last fence.

Patches of blue sky showed through clouds like spots on a pelt.  The sparkling surface of the stream seemed dull in the muted light, even at sunhigh.  “I see you’ve remembered my instructions.  A fine start,” Sparkwhisker mewed.  “Have you come to your decision?  Finished any remaining business here?”

“My answer has not changed,” Jojo proclaimed.  “I will go with you to join RippleClan and train as a warrior.”

“As will I,” said Erina.  “I can face whatever challenges lie ahead as long as Jojo is with me.”

Sparkwhisker hummed.  He cast his eyes up to the sky.  Jojo followed his gaze, unsure what the warrior was looking for.  No birds passed overhead, and there was no scent of coming rain in these clouds…

The clouds parted.  The sun at its highest showed its brightest, fiercest face.  Its light bathed the spot beside the stream and caught in Jojo’s fur, illuminating him as though he himself were a sunlit cloud.

“ To the fate of starlit blood, the sun will light the way, ” Sparkwhisker said under his breath, in awe.  Then to his charges, he yowled, “StarClan has spoken!  They approve of the path you have taken toward your own destinies.”

Erina tilted her head.  “StarClan?” she mewed.

Sparkwhisker sneezed with amusement again.  “You two have much to learn before we can even begin battle training.  First things first!” he then exclaimed.  “If you are to train as apprentices of the Clan, you must be given names befitting such.  Jojo, come forth.”  He beckoned him with his spotted tail.  Jojo obligingly followed.

“Ordinarily, the leader holds this ceremony for kits of six moons.  But these are special circumstances, a time of urgent need for RippleClan, and I am second only to the leader.  It is time for you to be apprenticed.”  Sparkwhisker nodded to his charge.  “From this day, until you earn your warrior name, you shall be known as Sunpaw, for the sun has confirmed you as the one to drive out the darkness, and for the path that your paws are now on.  I shall mentor you myself and pass on all that I know to you.”  He gave his new apprentice a respectful nose touch.

Jojo - Sunpaw - felt a thrill of pride course through him at the weight and promise that his new name held.  He purred with gratitude and sat down beside Sparkwhisker.

“Erina, now you come forth,” said the warrior, gesturing his tail now toward her.  Erina padded forward, her own tail flicking.  “Oh, but this will not do,” Sparkwhisker interjected, and took her collar in his teeth.  He tugged, and she gasped and twisted.  It was putting pressure on her soft throat.  In an instinctive panic, she clawed at it.  There was a crackling sound and a flash of light.  Sparkwhisker jumped back.  Her collar fell to the ground with a jingle, torn roughly open.

Erina recovered her breath and stared in shock at her own paw.  Its white fur waved and shimmered before falling still once more.  “Y- you didn’t do that,” she said hollowly.  “I did.  It came from me.”

“So you do have the gift!” Sparkwhisker purred.  “Ah, this mission has gone better than any could have expected!  RippleClan will be honored to have such fine young cats as you as a part of it.  Now, come forth.”  Still a bit shocked, she stepped forward and sat before Sparkwhisker as Sunpaw had done.  “Erina, from this day until you have earned your warrior name, you shall be known as Frostpaw.  Until we have returned to camp, I shall fulfill mentor duties for the both of you, until a suitable warrior to take you on and fully immerse you in our ways can be found.

“Normally, the gathered cats of the Clan welcome the new apprentices by cheering their names,” the warrior added, sheepishly.  “One old fuzzball like me yowling at you by myself wouldn’t be the same.”  But then he straightened again, fixing them with a gaze like green fire.  “Sunpaw!  Frostpaw!  Let us depart!  To our Clan!  To our destinies!”

Chapter Text

The three cats set out northward, toward the mountains that shadowed the horizon and disappeared entirely on cloudy days.  As they began their journey, passing sparser Twoleg dens and crossing narrower roads than those they’d encountered on their way to the park, Sparkwhisker told his new apprentices about his home of RippleClan and its surroundings.  “I expect you to have these, at the very least, memorized by the time we arrive,” he added.  “Not all Clan cats will be as welcoming to newcomers; it would be best if you demonstrated that you are not totally naive.”  To the south of their territory was the forested GroveClan, kind in spirit if not a little eccentric, and to their east was BeachClan, who grew plump and sleek-pelted on the sea’s gifts.  Even this very city, or Twolegplace as he called it, was home to a Clan, the result of their cultures and traditions commingling with the most powerful of the rogue gangs.  HeartClan, they were called, and though their ways of life differed, they were united with the other three under the warrior code and under their ancestors, who watched over them all from StarClan.  “There are ways for StarClan to speak with the living,” Sparkwhisker said, his green eyes twinkling, “but they are not yet for you to know.”

The warrior came to a stop and sharply flicked his tail upward to urge his apprentices to be still.  They shrunk back and exchanged worried, wide-eyed glances.  Had he sensed danger they lacked the experience to notice?  The trio stood before a patch of trees.  The grass and weeds between them grew taller, thicker, and more varied than the plain fields they had been padding across.  Sparkwhisker crouched low, cocked his head, then beckoned the new apprentices to come closer with another tail-flick, toward the trees this time.  “Small prey often gather here for cover,” he meowed quietly.  “It will be the perfect site for your first hunting lesson.”

Jojo - no, Sunpaw now - leapt back to his paws, all his apprehension evaporating.  Here was a forest!  And he was going to hunt in it!  All those dreams were about to become a reality!  He did his best to mimic Sparkwhisker’s graceful stalk, creeping toward the wonderful, tantalizing scents.

“Patience, young Sunpaw,” Sparkwhisker reprimanded him.  The next tail-flick lightly swatted his nose.  “One does not simply leap into the brush and emerge with a kill.  There is much to consider when beginning any and every hunt.”  The grass rustled at the duskward edge of the patch.  “That rabbit heard us and fled, which alerted other prey to hide.” Sparkwhisker explained.  Sunpaw nodded.  “A rabbit will hear and smell you coming.  A bird will see you.  A mouse will feel your pawsteps approaching through the ground before it sees, hears, or smells you.  Every prey-creature is different, but there is one universal strategy that is always a boon to the hunter’s initial approach.  Frostpaw, can you tell me which way the wind is blowing?”

“Hm?  Oh.”  Frostpaw blinked, evidently not yet accustomed to her new name.  She lifted her nose.  “It’s coming from the south.”  The breeze was gentle, and warm for the time of year.

“Correct.  So it will blow your scent right to any prey north of you.  Once you’ve located your prey, circle around until you’re upwind of it.”  Sparkwhisker crept around the thick jagged end of a fallen branch, his eyes and ears trained on something on the other side.  “Shift your weight to your haunches so that you approach lightly.”  Sunpaw followed his gaze and pricked his ears.  He could hear a rustling in the underbrush, and a tiny rapid heartbeat.  Instinctively, he settled back into his own crouch.  He watched his mentor slink past the leafy end of the branch and tense his haunches.  He wasn’t using Ripple, but Sunpaw could see energy and strength coiling beneath his fur.  Then Sparkwhisker exploded into motion.  One black paw flashed out and hooked a tiny body.  A tang of blood rose into the air.  Sparkwhisker raised his head.  A limp mouse dangled by its tail from his jaws.  “And when the time is right, you strike.”

Sunpaw’s stomach growled at the warm scent of the fresh prey.  His paws took a step before he caught himself.  He closed his watering mouth and tried to hide that he’d almost trotted right up to his mentor like he was Mr. George holding out a treat.  Those hard little things hadn’t tasted even a whisker as good as that mouse smelled, and neither he nor Frostpaw had eaten since before sunhigh.

Sparkwhisker dropped the mouse beside a tall plant.  With one paw, he brushed earth and leaf litter over it.  “The code states that elders, queens, and kits must be fed before warriors may eat.  But since no such cats are with us - I’m not that old,” he added with a jocular sneeze, “the first prey that you catch will be all yours.  Sunpaw, you circle around to the north side of the patch and practice what I’ve just taught you.  Frostpaw, you come here and hunt in the southern end.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sparkwhisker is fine…”

Sunpaw took off and followed the border between the thicket and the empty field that surrounded it until he reached its far end.  It was on the north side, his mentor had said.  Ever so slightly closer to RippleClan.  He lifted his head to the breeze and imagined that he could catch the scents of his future Clanmates.  What would his new home be like?  Who would he meet as he embraced his destiny?  

He would never find out unless he first embraced the task at paw.  Sunpaw stepped back into the thicket and tasted the air for any promising scents.  He detected something that was a bit like the mouse, but not as earthy - tinged more with bark.  His ears swiveled toward the direction of the prey-scent, where he made out the scrabbling of small claws in the soil.  He crouched low and began to stalk, just as he did in his dreams.  It was as if his legs knew what to do, even as his heart was pounding so much that he feared it would scare off the prey - the squirrel , he realized, as it came into view.  Sunpaw crept closer… closer… did he dare risk taking one more paw step?  The squirrel lifted its head from its digging and twitched its ears.  It was now or never.  Sunpaw pounced.

He was a heartbeat too late.  The squirrel darted away, and his forepaws came down a whisker from the tip of its tail.  It scrambled to the nearest tree.  Sunpaw chased after it, all his senses trained on his prey.  He took a deep breath as he pursued, focusing all his energy and letting it course through his body as Sparkwhisker had shown him.  A plan began to form.  The squirrel reached the tree before he could swipe at it and quickly climbed just out of the reach of swatting claws.  Sunpaw was unfazed.  He focused all of his energy into his haunches and, instead of his next stride, leapt straight up off the ground.

Sunpaw could feel the Ripple energy explode from his hindpaws into the earth, launching him higher than he’d ever jumped before, and hear its ringing crackle.  His foreclaws reached out and sank into the squirrel’s flanks.  He pulled his prey down with him, and turned as they fell so he landed on his paws.  He kept the writhing squirrel pinned under them and sank his teeth into the back of its neck, as Sparkwhisker had done with the mouse.  With a sharp crack, the animal fell still.  Sunpaw stood over it, stunned, his only motion his flanks heaving.  So much had happened so quickly, and now he’d just made his first kill.

He picked up the squirrel.  His mouth watered as its rich meaty scent flooded his senses, but he resisted the urge to tear right into it until he could show his mentor.  So back around the edge of the thicket he went, head proudly held high.  But as he drew closer to where he knew Sparkwhisker waited, something else rustled his ear fur: a whistling of wind in wings.  A bird bolted out from cover, followed a heartbeat later by a silver blur.  The two made contact and in the next instant crashed together into Sunpaw.

Sunpaw rolled to push the intruder off of him.  His blood still beat with the rush of the hunt, and he unsheathed his claws.  But the other cat’s scent and the feel of her soft fur were all too familiar.  “Frostpaw?” he mewed, now that his squirrel had been knocked from his mouth.

“Jo- Sunpaw?!” Frostpaw leapt off of him and shook the dust from her pelt.  She glanced quickly around for something.  Her eyes widened.  “Yes!” she gasped.  A few pawsteps away, the bird, of a kind Sunpaw had never seen in his garden, lay, bedraggled but very much still.  “I am so sorry!” she meowed, then dipped her head to pick it up.  “I was so focused on this,” she continued through a mouthful of feathers, “it was like nothing else in the world existed!  I didn’t hear you coming!”

“I… I felt the same way,” Sunpaw replied.  Frostpaw had put into words how he’d felt when he’d locked into pursuing his prey.  “It was better than any forest dream.”  The tips of his ears felt warm again.  He picked his squirrel back up and followed her back to where Sparkwhisker sat waiting, once again delicately grooming his sleek fur.

The warrior’s eyes widened when he saw his apprentices slink out of the brush.  “Very impressive, both of you!  Not bad, not bad at all!” He nodded approvingly at the sight of the two kills.   “Make sure to give thanks to your prey, and to StarClan, for its life.”  Sparkwhisker bowed his head and closed his eyes for a few heartbeats.  Sunpaw and Frostpaw followed his motions.  Thank you for providing me with this food, Sunpaw thought haltingly.  StarClan… If you can hear me… did you intervene in my battle with Brando?  Will I still be able to speak with you someday if I have no warrior ancestors?

Sparkwhisker’s reedy voice brought him back down to earth.  “Now… you may eat.”  Sunpaw opened his eyes to see Frostpaw already eating her bird.  She took quick, delicate bites, but her relish was evident in the brightness of her eyes and the waving of her tail.  Sunpaw let out an excited purr.  At long last, he sunk his teeth into his squirrel.  The meat was warm, tender, juicy, and tasted like the very forest itself.  It was worth every breath, every tensed pawstep, every leap and swipe.  He’d thought that it had looked large compared to Sparkwhisker’s mouse and Frostpaw’s bird, but he was left with nothing but scraps before he knew it.  He raised his head and glanced around sheepishly at his two companions, even as he licked his muzzle clean.  “A warrior probably eats more neatly than that,” Sunpaw sheepishly admitted.  “And with more discipline…”

“It will come with time,” Sparkwhisker assured him.  “I can’t blame a strapping young tom like you, eating his first fresh-kill after a lifetime of knowing nothing but kittypet food, for being so… enthusiastic.  Now then!”  He addressed both of his apprentices.  “We’ve come a long way since sunhigh, and night is falling.  We won’t find a better place to rest before moonrise.  Let us make camp here for the night.”

The largest tree in the patch sheltered small hollows between exposed roots.  Following Sparkwhisker’s suggestions, Sunpaw and Frostpaw each selected one to cover with grass for a quick nest.  Frostpaw lined some of hers with feathers plucked from the bird she had caught.  Sunpaw wondered if she would be chasing more birds in her dreams all night; if he’d used the fur from his own prey, he would surely end up doing the same with squirrels.  As it was, he kneaded his own nest to flatten out as many of the prickles as he could and licked his tender pads.  Sparkwhisker assured him that nests in proper warrior and apprentice dens were more comfortable, though very different from kittypet soft-stuff.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sunpaw watched Frostpaw study her nest, then slip off into the brush.  He got to his paws, prepared to run to her side if she found herself in any trouble.  But she soon returned, carrying a mouthful of purple flowers with soft leaves.  Frostpaw set them down and started weaving the stems into her nest.  Something about their zesty scent alerted Sparkwhisker, who approached her small pile of plants.  “Frostpaw, do you know what this is?” he asked.

“No…” she admitted.  “Their scent caught my attention, and I thought they looked pretty.  Why do you ask?  Are they poisonous?” she trilled nervously.

“Far from it!” the warrior purred.  “You’ve found a patch of borage!  Gyrestorm could only teach me the very basics before I left, but even I know that borage is an essential herb for any healer.  No warrior would waste something so valuable on decorating a nest they’ll abandon after a night.”  Sparkwhisker took the flowers and set them aside.  “It’ll soothe fever or bellyache alike.  We’ll take it with us, just in case.”

“A- Alright,” Frostpaw replied.

“Their scent caught your attention, you say?  With proper training, that may develop into a fine nose for herbs,” the warrior remarked, and then settled into his own nest.

“What a strange day this has been,” Frostpaw sighed.
Sunpaw propped his chin on the root separating their nests.  “It has.  But it’s been an exciting one too, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed.”  Frostpaw giggled, remembering how she had pounced directly into her friend.  “But… my owner has surely noticed that I’m gone by now.  I hope he won’t be too distraught…”

“He may get another cat.  Or a dog.  We’ll never know.”  Sunpaw yawned.  “He has his life, and now we have ours.  And I can’t wait to see what ours will bring,” he purred.  

“When you put it that way, I may get too excited to sleep,” she purred back.

“I’d better stop talking, then.”  Sunpaw smiled, then touched his nose to hers.  “So… goodnight.”

“And goodnight to you… Sunpaw.”

Birdsong was louder in Jojo’s ears than he had ever heard it before.  Something was poking him in the flank.  And he was cold.  He’d never woken up feeling cold before in any house he had lived in.  He opened his eyes and was met with tall, frost-dusted grass beyond tree roots that crawled through the earth like great worms.  For a heartbeat, Jojo thought he was having another dream.  But then, a voice greeted him and brought all the previous day’s events rushing back to him in a torrent.  “Sunpaw!” Sparkwhisker meowed.  “Up with you.  We have a full day of traveling and training ahead of us.”

That’s right , he was Sunpaw now, not Jojo, and Sunpaw was in training to become a warrior of RippleClan!  Sunpaw shook his head, trying and not quite succeeding to clear the cobwebs of sleepiness, and got to his paws.  He turned to groom bits of leaf out of his fur and glimpsed Frostpaw, still asleep in her own nest.  She was curled into a neat ball, as was her habit, but her ears and tail-tip were twitching.  Her claws kneaded at the lining of her nest and her breathing quickened, until her clear blue eyes shot open and she woke with a yelp.

“Frostpaw?   Are you all right?” Sunpaw mewed, concerned.

“Yes.  I… I think so.  I just had a nightmare,” Frostpaw clarified.  “But it felt so real; I’ve never had one so vivid…”

“Hmm.”  Sparkwhisker looked pensive for a heartbeat.  But then he was back to his usual self.  “Well, now you’re awake and safe with us.  There’s no need to dwell on dreams when we could be hunting our own breakfast.  Try to eat up; we have a long day ahead of us.”

Sunpaw’s second hunt was not as successful as his first.  He zeroed in on a mouse and approached it with careful mimicry of Sparkwhisker’s graceful technique.  But he lacked the warrior’s long-practiced delicacy of balance, and his pawsteps alerted the little creature to flee.  Sunpaw huffed a sigh, disappointed and frustrated, especially when his stomach was growling, but he had to try again.  He wouldn’t return to Sparkwhisker without a catch.  And he found one soon after.  The next mouse wasn’t so alert, and paid the price for it.

A curious sight greeted Sunpaw when he returned to the tall tree.  Sparkwhisker was carefully weaving the borage flowers into Frostpaw’s fur.  “What are you doing?” he meowed, holding his mouse’s tail between his teeth.

“Sparkwhisker said that this is an easier way to carry herbs,” she replied.

“It keeps one’s mouth free.  And helps to disguise one’s scent,” the warrior added, and nodded to his apprentice’s fresh-kill.  “Good work, Sunpaw.  I see you’ve retained what you learned.”

“I think I got lucky,” Sunpaw admitted.  “This one seemed like an old mouse…”

“Prey is prey,” Sparkwhisker reassured him.

They ate and left the thicket of trees behind, continuing across the fields toward the shadows of the mountains.  The ground began to grow hilly beneath their paws.  Some time past sunhigh, the party came to a rest in a hollow nestled among these hills.  To its dawnward side was a lone tree standing tall beside a small pond.  Its duskward side was shadowed by overhanging hills and bushes much of the day, and little grass grew there.  Here the three cats found a quick meal of frogs, grown lethargic as the season cooled.  Frostpaw wrinkled her muzzle at their cold flesh and swampy flavor, and even Sunpaw had to admit he would have preferred even the fish guts he’d been offered in that alleyway, but both were grateful to get any meat into their bellies after the long day’s walk.  Especially because Sparkwhisker’s next order for them was to begin training for battle.

“We don’t call ourselves warriors for nothing.  Other Clans are always looking to expand their hunting grounds, or settle old grudges.  We must always be prepared for the possibility of a battle, but should the time come to fight, we do so with honor.  A warrior does not kill their enemy unless they’re sure their own life is in danger.

“There are as many ways to fight as there are warriors in the Clans.  Size and strength are not everything,” Sparkwhisker continued, gesturing his paw at Sunpaw.  “Some cats find their success through speed and agility.”  Now he nodded at Frostpaw.  “A clever warrior may use their opponent’s own energy against them, particularly once they master further use of the Ripple.  But you two are moons off from learning about positive and negative Ripple, or what it may flow through.  Let us start with the basics.  Sunpaw, show me how you would attack your enemy.”

Sunpaw didn’t have to imagine some great wild warrior from a rival Clan.  His first battle with an all-too-real enemy still burned brightly in his memory.  He situated himself among the flames and imagined that the warrior standing before him was his old friend and rival.  But since he had no metal to brandish, nothing to spread the fire that would devour the monster, he simply charged with claws and teeth bared, intending to wrestle his foe to the ground.  

Sparkwhisker dodged to the side and wove under him, locking his forelegs around Sunpaw’s shoulders and battering his underbelly with his hindpaws.  Sunpaw yowled with surprise, but realized in the next heartbeat that he should have expected some sort of counter-maneuver.  He rolled off of Sparkwhisker and twisted away.  Before he could strike at the warrior’s own exposed belly, Sparkwhisker rolled back onto his own paws and raised one, crackling with Ripple energy.  A flash of inspiration struck Sunpaw.  His mentor’s words from just a few moments ago echoed in his head, and mingled with memories of his fight against the rogues in the alleyway.  He caught Sparkwhisker’s foreleg in his jaws and jerked his head, throwing the warrior off balance and to the dusty ground.

Sparkwhisker swatted at Sunpaw’s head with his free forepaw.  The warrior’s claws were sheathed, but this strike was just enough to stun Sunpaw for a heartbeat and get him to release his grip.  Sunpaw shook his head and braced himself for his mentor’s next move, but Sparkwhisker merely got to his paws once again and shook the dust from his pelt.  “You learn quickly,” he purred.  “You turned my own movements against me.  It may not have been with Ripple, but you already understand the principle.”

Sunpaw gave his chest fur an embarrassed lick.  “I realized that my first attack was far too simple.  Of course a warrior was able to outsmart it and gain the advantage over me.”

“Now, now.  It was by no means stupid,” Sparkwhisker said.  “A straightforward, all-out attack like that will serve you well against an enemy with a similar fighting style.  Even a sneaky, slithery opponent may be unable to wriggle out of a grasp as strong as yours.  And this is your very first formal battle training!  You did very well for a ki- for a new apprentice,” he hastily corrected himself.

Sunpaw exchanged a look with Frostpaw, who was still sitting on the thin grass fringing the sandy training ground.  Neither one, each look told the other, wanted the specter of “for a kittypet” to hang over their progress.  But they knew it would, and were unsure if they would ever fully overcome it.

“Frostpaw!  Come forth,” Sparkwhisker meowed.  “Now you try to attack me.  But remove the borage first!  It will do us no good to shred perfectly good healing herbs.”

Frostpaw obliged, then stepped up before him.  She appeared unsure of what to do.  Sunpaw guessed that she was keeping his own performance against Sparkwhisker in mind and trying to think of a different approach.  Sparkwhisker merely stood there, alert yet calm.  “Pretend that I am your enemy,” the warrior interjected.  Though his words were goading, they were delivered as neutrally and matter-of-fact as if he were merely telling her to groom behind her ears.  But they were enough to spark a cold fire in his second apprentice’s eyes.  Frostpaw launched herself at Sparkwhisker with a furious screech.  Though she kept her claws sheathed as her mentor had, it wasn’t hard for Sunpaw to guess whose head she was imagining raining her blows down upon.  Sparkwhisker darted away to dodge them.  His body formed a graceful arc, but left one side of his neck turned toward her.  Frostpaw lunged for his exposed throat.

Sunpaw gasped.  Was she so consumed with hatred for Brando that she had forgotten this was mere training?  But he should have known she had more restraint than that.  Frostpaw pulled back a paw-length away from Sparkwhisker’s throat.  “I can’t do it,” she sighed.  “I’m too afraid I’ll actually hurt you.”

“Perhaps a different tactic would be better motivation for you,” Sparkwhisker replied.  “Although you demonstrated quick thinking, with going for my throat as I dodged… or had you anticipated that I would dodge?”

“I’m not actually sure…” Frostpaw admitted.

“A fine start, whichever the case!” Sparkwhisker purred.  “I have seen the fighting styles that come naturally to you two.  Now, allow me to show you the strategies of RippleClan warriors.”

So the day passed, and the next, and the next.  The apprentices were kept constantly busy on their paws as Sparkwhisker continued teaching them to hunt and fight like true RippleClan warriors.  They learned to stay on higher ground than their opponents whenever possible, and to attack at angles that would leave them dazzled with the sun in their eyes.  And they learned about the Ripple.  How to generate it through meditation, how to channel its flow through their bodies - into paws to strike with, or haunches to speed their running and strengthen their leaping - and how it could be transmitted through most living things, like it had with the frog in the stream.  Sparkwhisker stood upon the surface of the hollow’s pond and swiped his paw in an upward arc.  Ripple crackled between him and the tall stems, and then followed his movements as if he pulled them by a string.  They curved over his head like the roof of a cave.  “See how the world around you responds,” he proclaimed.  “Offense, defense - the possibilities are endless for those who can think outside the den.”

After their third evening of training, Sunpaw and Frostpaw were sleepily padding to their nests.  Sunpaw realized how grateful he was to see his circle of reed stems lined with leaves, and how much he was already looking forward to collapse into it.  Half a moon ago, he would have thought such a nest would be lined with the pelts of kittypets, such as he had been.  I’m really becoming wild, he thought.  But the flutter of excitement that rose in his chest dissipated just as quickly.  He didn’t want to forget where he came from.  Was he really so eager to leave the memories of his old life behind?

It didn’t matter whether he was or not.  No amount of honoring his past would bring it back.  Sunpaw curled up with a sigh and went to sleep.  For once, he did not dream.