"You don't belong here."

The words echoed inside of his head, growing louder and louder until they were all he could hear. It made hunting difficult, but he had to try. There was no home to go back to, no one to share their kill with him - though that in itself had never been a common occurrence. He was so tired of eating spiders and flies.

The brown tabby padded on, shoulders hunched forward against the cold of the salty air around him. A dull roar in the distance competed with the one within his own head, and the combination threatened to overwhelm him. The shrill cry of a gull sounded overhead, causing him to shiver. What was this strange place?

Glancing down, he saw dark grey rock, similar to the asphalt he was used to having beneath his paws, but foreign at the same time. Here and there, small tufts of grass grew, vastly different from the brick and concrete world he knew. The air here smelled of salt and water; there, it had been all smoke.

Absorbed in the strange sights and smells, the tom did not notice the grey and white shapes moving towards him until it was too late. He fell to the ground, sides heaving from the impact of a body on his own. This, at least, was familiar.

A new scent entered his nose and, despite the terror he felt, the tom found himself wrinkling his snout in disgust. The smell was unpleasant, a mixture of fish and salt that tickled his nostrils on its way up and left a revolting taste in his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" spat a voice in his ear, and he lifted his green eyes to its source. Above him stood a little white she-cat, beautiful amber eyes glowing fiercely. He parted his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Closing it again, he imagined that he looked very much like the fish this cat smelled of.

Her claws dug into his shoulders and he gave a small yelp, trembling beneath her weight. Words were failing him and he knew he would lose a battle if it came to it; after all, he'd never won a single battle in his life. It was all he could do to keep from crying out in terror, like the scaredy-cat he was.

"What have you got there, Swanpaw?" The new voice was low, mocking.

"A loner, I think," the white she-cat standing over him replied, a questioning look in her eyes.

"A loner? From the way he's shaking, I'd say he was a kittypet. What should we do with him? Shred him to little bits?" The low voice belonged to a muscular black and white tom, who came into view over the she-cat's shoulder soon after, sharp claws already unsheathed. This time, the pinned tom did cry out, a high-pitched sound that sounded very much like the shrieks of the gulls circling overhead.

"You will do no such thing," said another voice. Two more cats appeared and the tabby stopped struggling against Swanpaw's claws.

"What is your name?" asked the new she-cat, this one a pale gold in colour.

Swallowing back the bile that rose into his throat, he replied, "Frog."

This earned snickers from Swanpaw and the muscular tom, but they were silenced with one glare from the pale gold she-cat. Frog could not blame them for laughing at the name and, in all truth, was used to being snickered at. He had been named Frog because of his penchant for eating bugs as a kit. Even now, his meals consisted of beetles and ants, due to his terrible hunting skills.

"Gannetfur, head back to camp and let Sleetstar know we've caught a loner on our territory," the she-cat said. "Snowflower, scout the area for signs or scents of others. Swanpaw, lead the way back to camp." To Frog's astonishment, each cat gave a nod and, with one last look at him, went about their assignments.

"H-h-how?" he stuttered, gazing at the she-cat in awe.

"'How' what?" she replied, pushing him ahead of her. She nodded towards Swanpaw's small form, indicating that he should follow.

Frog swallowed again. "How did you do that?"

The she-cat continued in an exasperated tone. "What do you mean? I'm the leader of this patrol, they listen to my orders." From the way she walked, back straight and head held high, Frog thought her more important than that.

He stayed silent, following Swanpaw - what a peculiar name - over the grey rock and towards the sound of crashing water. Every so often, she would glance back at him with narrowed eyes before continuing forward at a more brisk pace than before, tail held high. Ahead of her, the black and white form of Gannetfur - also a strange name, Frog thought - disappeared suddenly, as if falling off the edge of the cliff. Though the tabby did not like the tom one bit, he gave a start.

"Don't worry, Gannetfur is fine," the she-cat behind him purred. Frog nodded, unconvinced.

As they drew near to the place where the tom disappeared, Frog understood the sudden drop. Swanpaw, who had been walking steadily so far, suddenly jumped downwards, landing with a soft thud on a ledge below.

One glance and the tom wondered if he would make it out of this ordeal alive.

Far below, the white of frothing waves crashed up against the rock of the cliff. The water was dark and dangerous, coming up suddenly and receding just as quickly, sucking at the rock as if trying to break it apart. The rock stood firm, providing Swanpaw with ledges to leap down onto. She was already halfway down the cliff.

Frog felt the she-cat behind him nudge his shoulder with her nose and he gulped. Reaching out his paw tentatively, he shivered as the cool sea air brushed against it. Heart in his mouth, he stepped off of the cliff into thin air, closing his eyes tight.

Moments later, he found himself on a ledge, firm rock beneath his paws again. Exhaling a sigh of relief, Frog moved onto the next one, keeping his eyes open this time. As he descended the cliff, one small jump at a time, his breathing became more relaxed and his fur lay flat.

He finally reached the spot where Swanpaw waited, the other two she-cats right behind him. The pale gold one took the lead, stepping through an opening in the cliff wall. Frog followed, finding himself in a cold tunnel.

It seemed as if they were walking for hours before the tunnel finally opened up onto another ledge. This one was more open, jutting out from the cliff and creating a clearing of sorts amongst the tall rock walls. One side fell away, revealing a rocky beach below, the sea slapping against the stones in a rhythmic pattern.

Frog stared out at the water, the setting sun making the waves look like the moving pelt of a black and orange beast. He would have liked to stay and watch the sunset, as he had so often done from the rooftops of his Twolegplace, but the two white cats bringing up the rear were already pushing him along. Crossing the clearing, they disappeared into another tunnel on the opposite wall.

This time, the tunnel was shorter, opening up into a cave. Somewhere, water dripped down from the ceiling, the sound echoing about the enclosed space. The damp, humid air stuck uncomfortably to Frog's tabby pelt. To add to his discomfort, he soon found himself the centre of attention, twenty pairs of eyes staring right at him.

"Where did you find him, Honeypool?" asked a deep voice and Frog turned his eyes to a large stone in the centre of the cave where a giant grey cat stood. If the pale gold she-cat - Honeypool - seemed important by the way she carried herself, she was no match for this muscular tom.

"Near the border closest to Twoleg Place," Honeypool answered, clear voice bouncing off of the cave walls. "Swanpaw leaped onto him and held him down. He didn't put up a fight."

"Screamed like a dying gull is what he did," Gannetfur pitched in, causing a mirthful murmur to rise up amongst the gathered cats. They were silenced by the tom, clearly the leader of the group, as he swept his amber gaze over them. Frog marvelled at the discipline of the group and the authority of the leader.

Then, the eyes fell upon him and Frog knew why the tom was clearly revered. Wisdom shone in those amber orbs, one that only came with experience and age, accompanied by a sort of steel that spoke of a harsh life. The eyes narrowed and Frog found himself trembling with fear.

"Didn't put up a fight, did he?" The grey tom leaped down from the rock, moving towards the tabby with a surprising grace for his size. He circled Frog once, looking him up and down before taking a seat before him.

"You will look at me when I speak to you." Frog did not dare disobey his order, though the mere idea of meeting the tom's eyes reduced him to a shivering mess. It took all of his courage to raise his head.

"What is your name?"

Once again, his words deceived him and he sat there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

"I will only ask you once more: what is your name?" The tom had unsheathed his claws, scraping them against the stone floor as he did so.

"Frog." The answer came immediately.

"Frog." The tom repeated the name in a bored voice, as if doubting the truth of the word. All Frog could do was nod, flicking his eyes to the rock that hung down like icicles from the cave ceiling.

"Alright, Frog. I am Sleetstar, leader of SeaClan, and from this day until I decide what to do with you, you are my prisoner." Following the matter-of-fact statement, Sleetstar turned away and leaped back onto his rock, now addressing the whole Clan. "There has been suspicious activity going on around all of our borders. The loners of Twoleg Place are lusting for blood; MoorClan is running low on prey; the sea is bringing in all manners of dangerous creatures. Keep your eyes open for more intruders. For now, we will have to deal with this one." His amber eyes were cold when he turned them back to Frog. With a flick of Sleetstar's tail, the Clan moved towards the tabby.

As they got closer, it seemed almost as if the walls were closing in on him. The whole of SeaClan, as Sleetstar called it, was made up of cats that blended into the rock around them - shades of white, grey, black and gold. And now, they drew near him, teeth bared and claws unsheathed, eyes flashing in the dim light of the cave. He wondered whether he'd even stopped shaking since stepping foot on their territory.

"Frog," said a gold she-cat off to his left. "Do you think that means we won't have to feed him our fresh kill?" She snickered.

"I think he'll be fine crunching on the spiders in his new home," replied another one.

"Think we can mark him up a little bit before locking him away?" asked a grey tom, eyes glinting with cruelty.

"He won't put up a fight, so why not?" sneered Gannetfur, claws flashing.

They were drawing nearer and all Frog could do was cower before them, knowing Gannetfur's words to be true. He was a coward, a failure of a cat.

"Stop it, you fish-brains!" cried a new voice. A tom pushed through the murderous crowd, the faintest hint of blue in his grey pelt. He smelled of leaves and earth, and Frog immediately felt more at ease.

"If you want what little herbs are in the medicine den going to heal the injuries you inflict upon our prisoner, then so be it," he told them. "Just know that leaf-bare always comes quickly, and death even more so. StarClan will judge you for breaking the warrior code."

This seemed to strike a chord with the gathered cats and they slowly began to melt away, some more hesitantly than others. Gannetfur lingered longest, casting one last glance at Frog before disappearing into one of the tunnels around the circumference of the cave.

The tabby let out the breath he had not realized he was holding in and turned to the cat who, quite possibly, saved his life.

"Come along, I'll take you to your den. I expect you won't be leaving it for a while." Frog's words of gratitude were cut off and, accepting his fate without hesitation, he followed the blue tom to a tunnel furthest from the cave entrance. Inside, the tunnel opened up into another cave, big enough for about two or three cats.

"I'll get Eggpaw and Loonfeather to take first guard duty," the tom said as Frog surveyed his 'new home'. "They will be least likely to bother you or cause you harm." The tom vanished before Frog could thank him or ask his name.

Circling the cave a couple of times, the tabby made himself as comfortable as he could on the hard rock floor. While his situation seemed dire, he consoled himself with the fact that at least he wouldn't have to sleep out in the open as he had ever since leaving his home. His stomach growled, reminding him of the fact that all he ate that morning were some ants, having been unable to catch the single mouse that crossed his path.

Outside of his den, he heard the scuffling of paws as his guards arrived and the murmuring of voices, too low to hear clearly. Raising his head off of his paws, Frog gazed at the entrance of the cave to find two amber eyes looking back. They became slits as he stared into them, before disappearing, along with the white tail of the she-cat they belonged to.

A/N: Hi there! I see you've made it through the first part of my short story/novella. There are five parts in total, which I'll be uploading gradually, but I hope you'll stick through to the end if you've come this far already. I'm thinking of entering this work in the WarriorsWattyAwards - what do you think? Let me know in the comments :)