Kittypet With a Bad Temper; Never W[o]uld've Thought It

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    Nebula let out a low growl, leaping out of the way and kicking out her back legs at Burnout as he lunged at her, aiming to land a strong enough blow to his jaw. I may be a kittypet, but I wasn't always! She thought as she landed back on her paws, hissing and glaring at Brunout.

    Burnout ducked sideways, using her own motion to grant him an attacking spot - as her hind legs lifted up, the battle scarred tom aimed to claw her underside using momentum and gravity as his extended force. Hopefully she would be disemboweled but battles were rarely decided to soon.

    Nebula winced slightly as his claws connected with her stomach, but she quickly wrenched herself free of his grip before it could get any more gruesome. She let out a low, angry growl as blood dripped heavily from her stomach but she wasn't about to back down from the fight. That was something her mother told her to never do; it made you seem weak. "I've never done anything to any of you, yet all you want to do is fight." She growled, her voice strained by pain and anger.

    "This is Bloodclan. You intruded on our territory. We're a rogue clan. Common sense," the Deputy snapped, prowling closer now, his rawboned shoulders flexing as he drew near.


    "I'm sick of morons waltzing onto our land like they own it. All the warning signs are there - the borders are clearly marked."


    Burnout tensed now, prepared to jump.


    "Now make this interesting and run."

    "My mother taught me to never run." Nebula growled as she stood her ground. "Running is a sign of weakness. And besides, I didn't smell in scent marks."

    Shard felt half embarrassed and half full of glee. She was still a kit, but she hated being useless. She sneered as she watched the inturder and the clan's deputy fight. That pesky loner will die!

    Nebula growled, waiting on his next move.

    "Then your softpaw life has taken from you of your sense of smell. All the more reason to end your misery," Burnout stated coldly, smoothly sailing to Nebula's side and attempting to bite the taut skin of her lower back. His claws slashed for her haunches, aiming to flay flesh from her leg.


    The Deputy was well practiced in all forms of battle - frays, one on one, one of three. As the lone patrolman he'd been educated in what it meant to fight odds. It seemed their company would be introduced to the same unlikely chance of survival that had made him so intolerant and iron-fashioned.