know that you are seen [c]

Quillpaw was slowly beginning to return to training again, as his wounds began to heal. He was still avoiding Swiftheart to the best of his ability, not letting the concerned mother get more than a word in before he was gone for one reason or another. He could see that she cared about him, which only pained him more. Because the moment she found out the truth- Quillpaw closed his eyes and willed his breath to slow down. His thoughts were interrupted by a familair voice. He looked up, meeting pale yellow eyes, still unused to the fact that Pineblossom had a face. That was a strange development indeed. He swallowed, unsure of how to reply when his attention kept straying to the white that climbed up her paws like vines. "I'm fine," He managed to say, "I haven't eaten." Why was she here? Did she suspect something? Did Swiftheart ask her to talk to him? Or-- at this thought Quillpaw felt a shiver run down his spine-- Sablestrike had sent her, just like he had sent Crowspirit? Come to think of it, Sablestrike had been the one to choose Pineblossom as his mentor. Who's to say Pineblossom wasn't also plotting to kill him?

Quillpaw could feel his fur begin to bristle as Pineblossom regarded him, his heart stammering in an uneven dance as his mentor tilted her head. He could feel those amber eyes search his face in an attempt to find answers for his behavior. The slight twitch in her face as she drew her conclusions, and the pity that flashed briefly in her eyes afterwards, so understanding and caring, made his insides die. Why oh why had he even trekked all this way? He could have stayed in the forest, stayed in an old camp until he was old enough to move to greener lands.

He let her guide him, hating how he yearned for her touch like a kit yearned for its mother. How he longed to be cared for. But he knew that the more he let himself get closer to his clanmates, the harder it will be on the day they turned on him, rage burning in thier gazes like flames as he was blamed, sentenced to die by the claws of the very she-cat who had claimed to love him. Who had told him he could always rely on her. It was all but a bitter lie.

He picked up a random piece from the fresh-kill pile, and let him be guided away. It was as if all the spirit in him had left, leaving behind an empty shell. Just like Copper, his life had turned into a play on top of a stage. And just like Copper, he would run away from his problems, only to make the same mistakes over and over again in a never-ending cycle.

"Has it?" The half-formed question slipped out from the haze, slurring at the ends as if it were liquid. The apprentice's brows furrowed as he took a heartbeat to focus back on Pineblossom. It had made him wonder to himself, what it was that laced his mentor's words. Why she spoke to him like she was speaking to one of her kits. Did he look that pitiful that she thought to treat him like a kit? The thought made his blood boil and his tail twitch with annoyance. But you want to be treated like a kit. The voice was back, and furiously he pushed it back to the back of his mind. No I don't. You don't know me. He was taken out of his inner arguement by the scent of fresh-kill; he hadn't realized how hungry he was until now. He bent down, sinking his teeth in and expecting fresh meat, but the mouse fell apart in his jaws like crow-food. It tasted bitter, like ash, and the tortoiseshell spat it out quickly. Quillpaw shoved the half-eaten thing away from him hurriedly, lips curled in his first huge display of emotion that day: disgust.

She- she didn't know, did she? No, surely not. Quillpaw went still, not even his tail twitching as Pineblossom spoke. His blood was rushing in his ear, drowning out his mentor's words with terror, and he had to strain his ears to hear what she was saying. But- he could just leave? The apprentice realised that his paws were trembling. That thought was scary. Would he be able to walk out one day just like that? And how would he survive outside, all alone? What if he got sick? Or injured? He was still sick! Excuses, excuses, all of them. "Has anyone ever left before?" He asked meekly, eyes on his paws. It was no longer a question of how, but... why.