Dewpaw slept fitfully that night, warring between his desire to stay alive and his desire to stay away from the only home he had ever known. He woke multiple times, eyes wild and paws scratching at the air. When dawn finally came he thought of it as a blessing of sorts.

But no one came to get him at dawn. Not that dawn, or the next, or the one after. A quarter moon passed and Dewpaw saw only Penny, who came once every two days to feed him the scraps the Junkyard Gang had left behind. He devoured every last bit, never knowing when his next meal would arrive. Part of him missed hunting; the other deformed and limp part thought this imprisonment, too, might be a blessing.

On the ninth sunrise, just as Dewpaw had become used to the arrangement, he was rudely prodded awake by a black and white paw. Startled, he jumped away to see Gannet looming over him.

"Time to go home," the tom said with a smirk. The grey tom had no choice but to follow.

The Junkyard Gang milled about the centre of their camp, eyes flashing in the darkness. Dewpaw found it odd that they were leaving now but knew better than to share his observation. Perhaps it was a long walk to the alley cat camp and Jet wanted to make sure their deal was over at dawn.

"Follow," was the only word uttered in the stillness and the pitch black form of Jet, nearly as black as the inky night, took up the lead. The silver she-cat took his side, as did the grey tom that had wanted to kill Dewpaw the day he was taken prisoner. The others formed a column. Gannet shoved Dewpaw somewhere into the middle, alongside Penny and another small, black she-cat. Her shoulders seemed tense and she cast Dewpaw a sidelong glance.

"I'm Flea," she said and, though it was dark, the tom knew why she carried the name.

"Dewpaw," he replied quietly, focusing his attention on moving. Jet had set a brisk pace that made it difficult for him to keep up, especially as the snow grew thicker.

They crossed the bridge purposefully, then turned into the maze of white fences beyond. Dewpaw scrambled up onto the fence with some difficulty but refused to accept help from the others. From their stifled purrs of amusement, he knew he should not have expected help anyway.

The trainee himself did not know where the alley cat camp lay after his mad dash away from it nearly a half moon earlier, but Jet seemed to know exactly where they were going. His gang travelled along the fence tops like shadows, hardly making a sound and blending into the night. As they neared the Tumble Down Den, which Dewpaw could sense in the rising excitement in the air, he began to feel a growing disquiet.

There was hardly a sliver of light in the sky when the alley cat camp appeared. Dewpaw followed along cautiously, the feeling in the pit of his stomach growing the closer they came.

Then, they were on the fences adjacent to Tumble Down Den and Dewpaw suddenly became aware of the flash of claws. By the time he opened his mouth to yell a warning someone had pushed him off the fence to the ground below.

"Attack!" The air filled with growls and screeches as the Junkyard Gang hit the ground. Dewpaw twisted to keep from being trampled under their paws. Hearing the alley cats' yowls of surprise, he felt sick to his stomach. This was his fault. He had let this happen.

Unthinking, he raced into the fray, moving as quickly as he could. He caught sight of Lily and Mothpelt, backs to each other, fighting off two of the gang she-cats as best as they could. They were healers and so had little battle training but, by the time Dewpaw was even halfway to them, Bramblefire had dropped down from above to take on their attackers.

Olive and Robin were backed against a fence but holding their own; Webpaw and Leo fought side-by-side, a whirlwind of claws and fur. Jaystrike and Beaver fought in their own corners of the camp, each snarling things at their opponents that Dewpaw was sure he should never repeat. Above it all, Bronco balanced on a tree branch, swiping at the jet black figure of the gang leader.

Dewpaw swerved, taking a new path to the crumbling walls of the den. He passed Finch and Hazel, Crowpaw and Soren, Roxanne and her flashing fangs. His heart pounded, though not with as much fear and guilt now that he saw how well the alley cats were holding up against the Junkyard Gang. That all fell away when he came upon the Tumble Down Den.

Killian was not a small cat by any means but in that moment, curled up in pain before the looming figure of Gannet, the tom looked as small as Dewpaw imagined he himself looked to others. Behind the wounded tabby stood another smaller cat, grey fur nearly blending into the shadows and, with trepidation, Dewpaw realized that Gannet meant to kill her.

The tom raced forwards, breath coming out in short gasps and leg dragging uselessly behind him. The black and white junkyard cat advanced, slowly but purposefully. The grey she-cat hissed, a single paw flashing out to catch her attacker across the nose. Her claws must have found their mark because Gannet hissed in pain and prepared to pounce.

"No!" Dewpaw screeched, launching himself off the ground just as Gannet leaped towards the she-cat. He was hardly big enough to hurt the junkyard cat, but the force of his flight caused the tom to hit the wall behind Cinderblossom. He recovered quickly, turning to face Dewpaw, who now stood between Gannet and his mother.

"Move, kit," Gannet growled, eyes ablaze. It took all of Dewpaw's courage to not turn and run.

"No." Despite his limp back leg Dewpaw stood his ground.

"This battle does not concern you," the tom hissed back, taking a step forward.

"This is my home, of course it concerns me," he replied fiercely, pulling himself up taller.

"Dewpaw," Gannet said and the trainee suddenly realized that he had never heard any of the junkyard cats use his name. The tom repeated it, as if mulling it over. "That doesn't seem like an alley cat name to me. That's a Clan name."

Dewpaw's heart skipped a beat. Then, a shred of confidence returned.

"Then you have no business attacking her either." He waved his tail at his mother, who continued to stand in shocked silence behind him. "Cinderblossom isn't an alley cat name."

Gannet's eyes narrowed and Dewpaw braced himself for the next blow.

A commotion on the other side of camp distracted both parties and, before Dewpaw could say anything, Gannet was off in a blur of white and black fur. The sounds of battle rose and the trainee, curious, headed for the exit.

A soft but firm grip on his scruff pulled him back. "It's not safe out there. Stay here." Cinderblossom pushed Dewpaw into Killian, who huffed in surprise. The tabby was still curled up on the ground, his sides and face bloodied.

"But Cinderblossom!" Dewpaw started indignantly. Had he not just saved her life?

The pleading in her hazel eyes stopped him in his tracks. "I've lost too much. I can't lose you too."

After a moment, the stunned trainee nodded. Still, when Cinderblossom moved for the exit, he followed, keeping to its edge to avoid being seen.

From the shelter of the ruined den he watched the fight unfold: Sprucetail and Condor a flurry of sharp edges and soft fur, twisting and turning in ways Dewpaw had never seen a cat move. The two alley cats were outnumbered five to two but the fighting skills of the Junkyard Gang were nothing compared to theirs. Another black blur passed on the edges of Dewpaw's vision as it joined the fray, white-rimmed eyes flashing in time with his swipes. In the trees above, the leaders of the two groups exchanged blows and curses.

A shriek cut through the night suddenly and, for a moment, everyone halted. All eyes turned to the fence top where a cream-coloured tom hung onto the wood with all his might. Above him stood a silver shape, silver claws flashing in the waning moonlight. Her teeth flashed in a wicked grin as she bore down on the tom. Below him circled two junkyard cats, ready to strike.

All around Dewpaw the fighting had resumed but he could not tear his eyes away from Oats, who scrabbled at the wood with his back paws. Dewpaw raced forward; even a distraction would let Oats fall to the ground without being mercilessly attacked.

"Not my littermate, you mangy junkyard cat!" The silver she-cat let out a yowl as someone hit her side. The two cats tumbled off of the fence, a ball of silver and cream. The junkyard cats below scattered.

Crisp and Queenie broke apart, a frightened Oats dropping down after them. The two cream trainees faced the junkyard she-cat with bared fangs. She backed away, obviously rattled.

The smallest sliver of light was now visible on the horizon and the sounds of battle had died down. Looking around, Dewpaw saw each junkyard cat flanked by at least two alley cats, the lust gone from their eyes. Into the stillness jumped Bronco, Jet's scruff in his jaws.

"Jet, what a pleasant surprise," Bronco snarled, throwing the junkyard leader down at Nightchaser's paws. Dewpaw, even from his position near the den, could see the hurt pride in the set of Jet's shoulders.

"You should train your young ones better," Jet hissed back, getting to his paws. "I will not have my territory being trespassed upon." His tail flicked at Dewpaw and the little tom shrank into the shadows.

"Dewpaw is not one of mine," Bronco replied, voice steely. "He is one of Nightchaser's rebels."

Jet turned, sizing Nightchaser up. The junkyard cat was larger and more muscular but something about Nightchaser's stance made the rebel seem more important – almost imperial.

"Thank you for returning him safely to us," Nightchaser said slowly. "But now it is your turn to pay for trespassing upon alley cat territory."

The black tom paused, lazily circling Jet. The entire camp held its breath.

"The alley cats have been gracious in taking us in," Nightchaser began. "We understand that sharing territory, food, and water can be tough on a group of cats. Having two groups – three, if we separate alley cats and rebels – puts a strain on resources." He trailed off, fixing Jet with an unblinking stare.

"Therefore, we must eliminate one of those groups." Nightchaser raised his head, now speaking to everyone. "The rebels need numbers in order to overtake DarkClan. I offer you, the Junkyard Gang, a chance to join us. Our territories will be united, our resources available to all. When we take DarkClan by force that territory, too, will be split between all of us."

The camp remained silent. Out of the corner of his eye, Dewpaw saw some of the Junkyard Gang take a tentative step forward but one look from Jet made them falter.

"And the alternative?" Jet growled low in his throat.

Nightchaser narrowed his eyes. "You are forcibly removed. Perhaps from the territory, but more likely from the world of the living."

A couple of gasps filled the camp and, Dewpaw was surprised to see, one of them came from Cinderblossom. Her eyes were filled with hurt and something almost like hatred. He looked away quickly, eyes sliding to Nightchaser's imposing figure. Behind him, Bronco looked both triumphant and appalled.

"You have until sundown," Nightchaser let the Junkyard Gang know. "The quicker you make your decision the more likely it is we will one day trust you. Choose carefully."

Under his watchful gaze, a few of the junkyard cats stepped forward. Among them, Dewpaw saw Flea, Penny, and the tom who saved him from Chrome that first day in the junkyard. Gannet held his ground.

Nightchaser nodded to Bronco. "Let's treat our wounded. By tonight we'll know who values their lives."

Dewpaw felt fatigue hit him as the events of the night came to a close. His shoulders and back ached, the deformed leg suddenly too heavy. When Cinderblossom came to him, licking at his face and chest, he let her, glad to be somewhere that felt like home.

// Hope everyone's having a good week! Currently trying to raise my weekly word count to see if I can update twice a week so we can see more of both of our main characters... We'll see how it goes!