A roaming rouge

A long furred Tom cat stood in Carrionplace, sifting through the trash of the twoleg's. Drift found a dead rat and devoured the ugly creature, hungry and starved. The rouge had been abandoned by his twolegs near the Thunderpath, and made his way through Shadowclan's territory up into Carrionplace in search of food. Drift climbed on top of a wooden box and lay down, exhausted. He had spent the whole day roaming around, looking for a meal.

With his smokey pelt illuminated in the moonlight, a dark tabby tom ambled around Carrionplace with his long spinal-extension drooping, leaving behind a faint trail in the dust covering the floor behind him. Scorchclaw was thin, and his backbone was prominent under his even thinner fur, and his normally bright amber eyes had sunk deep into his skull and were dull with exhaustion and hunger. Leaf-bare had been tough, and the senior warrior was forced to scavenge for food in Carrionplace, as all the prey in the main territory had hidden in burrows or disappeared in the marshes.

A long sigh escaped his slightly-parted lips as he tilted his chin to the cloudy night sky, taking in a deep breath to allow the bitter scents of the two-leg wasteland flow over his scent glands. The scents that were obtainable arrived, and were the same as usual. However, there was one that caught his attention and pricked his ears- a rogue. A growl immediately sprang to life deep in Scorchclaw's throat, and he dropped into a crouch to follow the scent trail to its owner. Rounding a corner, the ShadowClan warrior halted in his tracks as a long furred mottled tom came into view. A look of disgust materialized upon his face, and he straightened his legs to spring onto the crate the stranger was perched on. "I hope you realize that you are on ShadowClan territory, flea-bag, and that I do not take kindly to intruders." Scorchclaw spat, his fangs glinting in the silver rays cast out by the silver orb in the sky and his claws emerged from their hiding-places. "I would advise you to leave, but I do enjoy a good spar in which I get to tear some rogue flesh." The tabby's harsh voice was filled with an irritated tone, and his narrow eyes were now alight with an orange flame.

Even though Drift had been a kittypet, he had learned the ways of a rouge and picked up some fighting moves from other cats. Drift didn't plan to use them right away though. First, he wanted to see how he could anger this cat. Drift didn't know who he was messing with, a clan cat. The shaggy rouge was scrawny and thin as he stood up in the gleam of the moonlight. "I don't think we need any of that, flea-bag," Said Drift calmly, mimicking the Shadowclan cat's voice when he said flea-bag.

As the rogue rose, as did Scorchclaw, and a monstrous shadow of his thin frame fell to the floor. The Clan cat lashed his tail, and a smirk appeared on his maw. "Well then, I suggest you scram." The growl was ever-lasting in his throat, and cut through the brief silence in the air like his claws, which were leaving deep scores in the rough wood under his black paws. "Unless, of course, you want half an ear and bald patches on your pelt!" Even if the rogue fled, the senior warrior would still give chase and leave a pawful of scratches on the mange-pelts hind, just to make sure he knew to never return.

Drift smirked. "Heh, me scram? Your gonna be the one running away with your tail between your legs once I'm done here!" The rouge laughed, and braced himself for any attack the other cat would try.