//Un//marked

// chapter 17 //

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.