Dewpaw woke cold and shaking, the pungent warmth around him doing little in the cold morning breeze that had slipped into the tunnel. Cracking his eyes open he found frost clinging to his whiskers. Outside, the sky remained dark and cloudy.

The little tom curled himself up tighter, seeking to save any last vestige of warmth. But the wind only blew more forcefully, as if trying to drag him out of the tunnel. He ignored it; where would he go even if he did leave?

An image of the alley cat camp sprang into his head, the warmth of the abandoned nest and the safety of the greenery, a tiny personal forest just for their use.

It's so hard being a mother to a kit I never wanted. The memory jolted Dewpaw upwards and his paws moved to the entrance of the tunnel of their own accord, leaving behind the ghostly words.

His nose was met with wetness, his whiskers with cold. Below him, the river had ceased to move, ripples and waves frozen in place. It was no longer snowing, but the drifts surrounding the tunnel entrance told Dewpaw that it had snowed all night. Shivering growing worse, he pawed at the snow, part of him gleefully watching it crumble beneath his claws. The other part of him just wanted to sleep.

Finally, he battled his way out of the drifts and found himself at the end of the bridge. It was narrow but tall, probably not meant for many Twoleg monsters. On the other end he could just make out the silhouette of what appeared to be an abandoned Twoleg den. Glancing about, Dewpaw made sure the coast was clear before setting out across it. His paws burned, the bridge's ice-slicked surface shooting tendrils of cold through his body. He sneezed, shaking his head vehemently to clear out the sudden dizziness. Paranoid that a Twoleg monster might creep up on him, he stuck to the edges of the walkway, even though it meant fighting his way through more snow.

The closer he got to the end of the bridge, the more his sense of unease grew. Eyes fixed on the Twoleg den he soon realized it was not that at all. Instead, a pervasive scent slowly filled the air, a mixture of bitter and sour that made Dewpaw want to gag. When he reached the end of the bridge he saw that the Twoleg den was nothing more than a pile of rag-tag Twoleg items, stacked so high he couldn't make out the items at the top. Beyond, a mountain range of rubbish stretched as far as he could see.

The sound of whirring suddenly hit him, then the piercing screech of a horn, and Dewpaw turned just in time to see a giant monster heading straight for him. Yowling in fright, he threw himself to the side, limp leg just skimming the side of the monster's giant paw. He landed in a nasty-smelling pile of crowfood.

Too scared to move, he crouched, watching as the monster tipped its back, the contents spilling out to form another mountain. It then retraced its steps to the bridge and disappeared down its length, growling the whole while. The tom stared after it in disbelief.

Despite the pungent scents hitting him, his stomach growled, and he realized he had not eaten since the day before. Looking about he thought that surely there had to be something in one of these piles that wouldn't make him sick; one whiff of the air made him think otherwise.

Still, Dewpaw's hunger drove him to approach the newly created mountain. He sniffed tentatively, recoiling as the rottenness hit him. Yet, somewhere beneath the penetrating scent lay the promise of something more fresh and meaty. Taking a deep breath, Dewpaw plunged into the mountain.

He brushed past slimy peels and rotting greenery, wet wood and scraping wires. Now and then he saw something frightful out of the corner of his eye, but he never let himself look too closely. Nuzzling into the pile of crowfood, the smell of freshkill grew.

Before he could find its source a terrible pain spread through his tail and back. Digging his claws into the refuse, Dewpaw attempted to keep himself grounded but whoever was pulling on him was stronger. The tom found himself back out in the light, surrounded.

He did not even need to look to know he was outnumbered. Three cats surrounded him, two large and grey and one small and russet. Even the small one, fur sleek like ice and eyes blazing, could take him in three moves: pounce, trap, kill.

Dewpaw gulped. He had nowhere to go.

"Let's take a look at what we have here," a dark grey tabby said, his voice deep and rumbling. They circled him, glancing over his body. Dewpaw tried his best not to cower under their piercing gazes.

"A deformed leg," the grey and black mottled tom observed.

"And crumpled ears," the russet she-cat added, her voice tart.

"What are you doing in our junkyard?" the first one asked.

No sound came out of Dewpaw's mouth.

"I believe my brother asked you a question," the mottled tom growled.

Dewpaw's eyes widened as the tom's long fangs came closer to him. "I'm lost," he managed to choke out, his voice cracking.

"Where are you from, kit?" the she-cat asked. If not for his abject terror, Dewpaw may have taken offence to being called a kit.

"The abandoned Twoleg nest," he said quietly.

The three exchanged a meaningful look.

"Looks like you're out of luck then," hissed the tabby, claws sliding out of their sheathes. Dewpaw backed away only to find the mountain of crowfood at his back.

"Chrome, hold on," the mottled tom said. "We should take him to Jet."

The small she-cat tensed. "Surely you wouldn't put a kit through that kind of torture."

The one called Chrome took offense to this, swinging his claws. Dewpaw shut his eyes tight, expecting to feel them slicing through his fur. A hiss of pain hit the air instead and he opened them to see the she-cat lying on the ground, a long scar down her face.

"Chrome," growled the other tom warningly. The tabby, whose paw was once again in the air, gave the mottled cat a murderous look but did not strike the she-cat again.

"We take him to Jet," Chrome muttered, now turning to Dewpaw. The little tom felt himself begin to quake as the two toms approached him, the she-cat watching from behind, and then felt and saw nothing more.

//

When Dewpaw awoke this time he found his shaking was not because of the cold. Some of his earlier fear still remained and, no matter how hard he tried to push it down, the intensity of it remained in his chest.

"Oh good, you're awake." The voice was slow, drawling; uncaring of his fate. Yet, when its owner picked him up, it was gently by the scruff. Dewpaw saw the gleam of silver fur before the light hit of the outside world hit him. He closed his eyes against the unexpected brightness.

The yowls and jeers of multiple cats startled them open again and he found himself curling up, making himself as small as possible. The she-cat carrying him grimaced but did not drop him until she had reached her destination.

The ground was cold. Dewpaw looked up at the she-cat and, to his surprise, found a pretty silver tabby. She sat primly, paws folded over her very round stomach; she was pregnant. Her hazel eyes held little warmth, though, and she nodded to something behind him. The tom turned slowly, dread filling him.

On either side of him stood scrawny underfed cats. He saw the mottled tom and rust-coloured she-cat from earlier as well as a collection of grey and black pelts. Behind them, the mountains of crowfood rose up higher than anywhere else. The mountains met in the middle, at a pinnacle, where a big, soft-looking nest sat. On top of it lay a pitch black cat.

"I am Jet," the tom said, not moving from his perch. "Leader of the Junkyard Gang. You were caught trespassing on our territory. Care to explain yourself?"

Dewpaw gulped as all eyes turned to him. Even without returning their gazes he could feel their eyes travelling over his crumpled ears, down his short spine to the limp leg that he held against the ground.

"I was lost," he squeaked. "Just trying to find food and a way out."

Jet snorted. "There is no way out of the Junkyard. Only the bridge. As for the food – did you really think you could steal from us? Look at my gang. They are tired and hungry. Some of them haven't seen food in a quarter moon."

Dewpaw chanced a look up and saw just how frail some of the surrounding cats looked. He could see the ribs sticking out on a small lilac tabby; the hollow look in some of the larger cats' eyes.

"You were caught trespassing, and there is no excuse for it," Jet continued. "And trespassing has consequences." He said the last word slowly, causing Dewpaw to shiver.

"We should throw him in the river," boomed a deep voice. The blue-grey tom it belonged to had bloodlust-crazed eyes.

"The river is frozen," a darker blue-grey tom replied, sounding slightly exasperated. "Perhaps we should keep him and have him work for us."

"And have another mouth to feed? We're starving as it is." The black she-cat was tiny but her words reached everyone.

"It's either kill him or keep him," Jet cut in. "So what's the verdict?"

The cats looked around at each other, each weighing their options.

"All for kill?" The voice of the silver she-cat startled Dewpaw. He had forgotten she was sitting behind him.

To his dismay, more than half of the cats raised their tails.

A streak of black landed before the little tom and he jumped back, right onto the paws of the silver queen. Jet's eyes weren't on him, but on the pretty she-cat.

"Queenie, would you like to do the honours?" he asked her.

The she-cat did not move.

The look on Jet's face was almost disapproving. "Guess it'll be my job again." His gleaming hazel eyes shifted to Dewpaw, who cowered despite himself.

"Wait!" cried a voice from the crowd just as Jet bared his fangs. The leader pricked up his ears, but his eyes never left Dewpaw. A black and white tom approached them, nose sniffing the air.

"He may smell of crowfood," he said, "but underneath that is alley cat scent."

Jet bristled. "All the more reason to dispose of him."

The other tom laid a white-tipped tail across his leader's shoulders. "We've been trying to infiltrate alley cat territory for moons. There is not enough prey here for us to live off of. Use the kit to barter for it."

Dewpaw looked fearfully up at Jet. The tom appeared to be mulling the information over.

Finally, "Gannet's right. I will lead a group of us down to the alley cat camp next sunrise. We'll see how much they are willing to give us for this little scrap."

A soft cheer rose up from the surrounding cats before they dispersed. Jet set off with a flick of his tail, the silver queen following him. Dewpaw found himself alone with Gannet, the tom who had saved him.

"Thank you," he managed to say, though his throat was still constricted with fear.

Gannet looked over him once. "I didn't do it for you." He, too, disappeared.

Left alone, Dewpaw wondered what the events of the next day would bring. He thought of Bronco, who would undoubtedly be displeased by the turn of events. Nightchaser's anger already had him cringing. Cinderblossom would be disappointed too.

A pang went through him. He was glad Jet hadn't killed him, but the question remained: did he even want to go home?

// It's a day late but it's here! Forcing yourself to finish a chapter first thing after getting up can really work miracles.