《《 /this is mostly backstory for my own reference, so feel free to skip to the last two paragraphs!!
Yowling and screaming, the sharp impact of jaws as they snapped in search of their prey; these were sounds that haunted the cat's young mind. The scarring image was still fresh, he saw the gruesome picture every time he closed his eyes. Blood. He remembered the dark liquid menacingly coating each and every blade of grass that sprouted in front of him, even as they gently and peacefully swayed in the cool evening breeze. It seemed the offending animal had pounced out of nowhere, taking the young kit and his mother by a horrifying, heart-wrenching surprise. Time had seemed to slow down, as he watched his protective -- yet unfortunately inadequate mother, -- ward off the dog. He felt the soft impact as he backed into a tree, sending every alarm in his body screaming as he turned tail to run, only to stumble over his own clumsy paws onto the ground. At this angle the scene before him seemed to grow more menacing, watching from below as the bloodied and crazed terrier growled and bit, barked and snapped at the defending feline. For a moment, there was hope, a small sliver in time when he thought his mother might have the upper hand, that she might do just enough damage to scare the dog off. But maybe that had just been his imagination. His young, hopeful mind playing tricks on him.
"Run,"
The last words his mother would ever speak to him were spoken in a hiss, a sharp whisper just barely loud enough for the young kitten to understand. He shot to his paws, the image of his mother's pale blue eyes, sharp and commanding, propelled his limbs forward. A moment later came the screeches of the she-cat, her battle cry quickly morphing and shaking into a pained yelp before being abruptly cut off. Too shocked to even glance over his shoulder, he pretended not to have heard the blood-curdling screech. Instead, he chose to hear the sound of his mother's voice telling him to run, her grave voice lingering in his ears and urging him to keep moving. He kept running, finding his way to his father's twoleg den before his tired, shocked body finally gave way and collapsed with a soft thud. It wasn't long before the two legs found the small, pitiful kitten splayed out and unconscious on their porch. Seeing how similar the small feline looked to their own house-cat, they had sympathy and took him in.
After only a few days, the young cat was, physically, fully recovered. He was now staying with his father in his den, learning the ways of a house-cat. Though the luxurious life of a kittypet was a dream for some, the young cat didn't quite understand the appeal of it. There was no freedom, no independence, no adventure. It was nice to be with his father, a comforting presence after the shocking events, but he hated living the new life he had been given. Despised it, even. He left after only a couple of moons of the monotonous life, after his father told him he'd be taken away soon to live with his own twolegs. Hah, yeah, right. Despite the concerned protests from his father, he was out of there as soon as he got the chance. He'd been raised by his mother to live independently, and he wasn't about to let some gross bipedal monstrosities take his last freedoms away from him. One last time, he purred nicely, he weaved between the house folk's legs, and once he had coaxed the door open, they never saw him again.
During his stay in the twolegplace, he'd heard countless stories of the ruthless group that lived on the old, abandoned train tracks in the forest. He had always found the stories immensely intriguing, asking about them every chance he got. The stories he'd heard were the first thing that came to mind as he stalked away from the house, emerald gaze shifting in the direction of the abandoned train station. If he lived among them, he'd have all the freedom he could ask for, plus the benefits of living with a group that took care of its own. It was apparently a no-brainer for him, as he found his paws were working on their own to lead him toward the forest.
Hearing the loud crunch of twigs and the rustling of bushes as he brushed past them, Rocco followed the scent of old metal and rust. What, with the group living with old monsters stinking up the place, he figured he was on the right track. It had been two moons since the incident with his mother, and the now-six moon old feline carried himself low to the ground, triangular ears angled forward as he remained on high alert. The ground was dry and crumbly, and with every paw step he heard a loud crunch of dead leaves being crushed beneath his paws. His smokey black pelt only served to trap the blistering heat emitting from the sun, giving him the impression someone might have wrapped a heated blanket around his now unpleasantly balmy body. A single tufted ear flicked back in an annoyed gesture, his dark nose scrunching in disdain. If he'd known it would be this hot in the forest, he would have stayed in the twolegplace a little longer; at least there he could sneak in some den and enjoy the cool air that always seemed to be flowing through the house. But there was no looking back now, as the scent was getting stronger and stronger. A rush of excitement served to energize the black tom, propelling him forward and ever closer toward the source of the smell.
Although the young cat was unfamiliar with the term "border", he'd lived around more than enough grumpy house-cats to know that once a scent gets really strong, you're entering someone else's territory. Usually he didn't give a flying hedgehog what other cats did and didn't want him to do, but with all the stories he had heard, he was a little bit reluctant to step on anyone's paws. He didn't want to have his pelt turned inside out by a possessive, blood-crazed, territory-obsessed lunatic. He'd seen the trope many a-time among kittypets, but somehow he felt these cats were a little less bark, and a little more bite. Nevertheless, he was a stupid, rowdy tom lacking very much in either areas of respect and self-preservation. So deciding he'd rather take his chances than sit and do nothing, he continued on his way, smokey paws carelessly carrying him through and across the scented border. He figured the closer he got to the station, the greater the chances he would find someone to speak to, and that meant less time sitting around, bored and just waiting. And, hey, while he was at it, may as well make some noise, right? "Hello-o-o-o! Anyone here?" he called out rather loudly, hoping to shorten even more the time it took to be discovered. It certainly wasn't the brightest idea to crash into another cat's territory hollering and yelling, but, well, it seemed like a pretty good plan to him.
