Bleeding Hearts [Wolfstar]

Smokefeather stretched, wearily shaking out her pelt and padding from the elder's den. Having denmates again for the first time in moons felt... strange, and even more because of the circumstances surrounding them. Truthfully, Smokefeather was a bit grateful that the den was no longer suffocatingly silent... But the bickering, stars, the bickering and complaining. Beechface's complaining was endless. What had possessed Wolfstar to force her to deal with them?

Limping her way to a spot near the edge of camp, about as far from the elder's den as she could get, Smokefeather sat, gray-green eyes watching as the dawn patrol made their way out of camp. It was almost quiet, almost... peaceful, in the early morning. She was beginning to appreciate that more, these days.

Dawn found Wolfstar awake in his den, his ears trained on the sounds of the clan's first patrol heading out of camp. He caught only bits and pieces, but it was enough to give him something to concentrate on other than the constant spiraling of his own thoughts. When they quieted, though, and he was alone again, Wolfstar forced himself to his paws. There was no sense in lounging around in his own misery... he had his plan, and now all it took was time.

He slipped down from his den and wandered over to the fresh-kill pile. It was low, and that made up his mind to hunt, later. His appetite was nearly nonexistent these days - it was evident by his gaunt, almost skeletal frame and patchy fur - but he picked up a sparrow, anyway. It didn't hurt to try. Ears flicking around, he glanced towards the shape of a single cat. Smokefeather. Wolfstar tilted his head slightly, deliberating, and then picked his way across the clearing and sat down a tail-length or so away from her with the sparrow between his paws. "I take it you're not thrilled with your new denmates," he commented dryly. "Sorry to put them in your fur, I just... didn't have too many other options."

Smokefeather glanced up at approaching pawsteps to see Wolfstar with a sparrow in his jaws. He looked, quite frankly, terrible, and Smokefeather felt a pang of sympathy for the leader. They'd all lost a lot recently, and it was clear to see that it weighed on him. "Hey, Wolfstar." She offered him a weary smile of her own in greeting.

"I can't say I'm thrilled to have the arguing in my den, but at least it's not dead silence." She mewed. With Wrenspring gone and Foxfire in the medicine den still, the den had been eerily quiet. It was lonely. As much as the two were frustrating to listen to, their presence was oddly comforting to Smokefeather. "You're doing what you have to, Wolfstar. They'll get over themselves, eventually. They've... Started agreeing with each other rather than trying to tear each other's pelts off, at least?" Behind the humor, Smokefeather worried for them. For Beechface, who had only seemed angrier by the day.

From what he could gather, Smokefeather was one of the few cats who had never really held any of his decisions against him, and Wolfstar felt suddenly guilty that he hadn't gone out of his way to speak to her until now. She was, after all, sort of family... or had been, until Bloodstrike...well... screwed it up. That was one thing he'd never understood, never could rationalize with... no matter what he'd lost, no matter what he'd gone through, betraying Blossomstep in such a way as Bloodstrike had Smokefeather was something that'd never crossed his mind. Even now, with his own mate in StarClan, the thought of being with another cat was borderline repulsive.

"It... is complicated," he sighed, curling one paw underneath his chest and stretching the other before him. His gaze fell on to the bird before him, but his appetite was gone, and so he sighed and looked at Smokefeather once more. "No matter what I do, someone gets hurt. Hopefully, they'll take the time to cool down and not do something stupid." He was particularly worried about Newtspring... the young warrior was rash, and headstrong. At least Beechface had a good head on her shoulders.

Smokefeather snorted at Wolfstar's reply. "Expecting someone to not make a stupid decision in this clan? Come now, we all know better." She sighed then, eyeing Wolfstar's ragged form. "You can't cater to everyone, Wolfstar. Some will be upset no matter what you do."

"I think Newtspring will be fine, though. Beechface... I worry about her. She's so full of anger, I get... some of it. But the way she clings to it, it's not healthy." Smokefeather was at a loss for how to approach it. "Someone has to get through to her, eventually. Or try to. Stars know she won't listen to me." Or Bloodstrike. Smokefeather wasn't even sure she'd listen to Wolfstar himself at this point.

The dark leader's ear flicked, amusement flashing across his gaze. "Don't I know it," he mumbled under his breath. He sighed quietly, resting his chin on his paws and staring at her. He watched Smokefeather, the silence stretching between them for a long moment before, finally, he could muster a response. "I... I'm going to try," he told her. "To get through to her, I mean... I... I don't know what I can say to make her see reason, but... I'm going to try."