"What are you doing here?" A deep voice came from the surrounding darkness. "You don't belong here you stupid kit!" A echo ran through Spotkit's mind. He wailed. His head was ringing. Everything was drifting from sight. Fog was covering his vision. All he could see was the surprised face of the cream tabby tom. The fog lifted him into the sky. He yowled. He yelled. He screamed. He screeched. The fog let him go, but on a cloud. He ran across the sky, through endless clouds, his state of panic lifting. Prancing in the sky, he elegantly landed and jumped again and again.

He fell off a cloud, and with a thump, hit the bottom of the cliff that marked the start of BarkClan territory. The scent of rogue flooded his senses, just as he growled "Mouse Dung!"
A shaggy and tough looking dark brown tabby tom burst out of the bushes, sneering as he saw the helpless kit. It was when he stood up he realized his leg had broken in the fall. "Well well well," sneered the tom "A helpless HollowClan kit with a broken leg! I've struck gold, have I not?"
"No."
"Excuse me?" Snarled the tabby tom.
"No, you haven't." Spotkit repeated, snarling back. "I'm not weak and useless!"
"Where do you think you're going?" The tabby called after Spotkit as the young tom trotted away. "Hey!" He heard pawsteps thundering closer. Pick up the pace, he told himself, lure him closer, just a little more...
"You'll never outrun us, little kit!" The thundering pawsteps grew louder.
More where coming.
Spotkit raced into the camp. "Rogue invasion!" He screeched, now limping. "Rogues! Help!" He yelled. His mother, a reddish-ginger queen named Hollybranch, raced from the nursery. Warriors seemed to burst from everywhere, deputy among them. HollowClan's leader, Woodstar, padded from his high tree den. The rogues froze, and HollowClan's medicine cat, Birchmuzzle, grabbed him and took him into her den as the fighting started.

Birchmuzzle murmured things like "Bindweed," and "Rush," while she mended Spotkit's leg. "Does it hurt?" She asked him after a while. "Yes." He replied. Birchmuzzle gave him some Poppy Seeds and told him to go to sleep. All was quiet but birds twittering and the occasional snap of a twig or rustle of the wind. His eyes were closed. A soft snore nearby told him a fellow patient was asleep. He couldn't sleep. The dream and the attack swam through his mind like a fish in a endless stream. It disturbed him how easily he could put it all together.
The cream tom was the leader of the rogues. They were after something.
Him. They wanted him.
The thought made him shiver. Who would want him? A small kit. He wasn't even a apprentice yet! He had no enemys! He sighed and sleep drifted over him like the fog that carried him into the sky and taught him to dance on the clouds.