i am not my mothers daughter (c)

Perchstar lay in her makeshift den, just as she had for most of their time at the lake. But no longer was she doing so in a delirious, fevered, half-dreaming state. Littlepaw had worked wonders, and the worst of her illness had begun to abate. However, now she was left only with her thoughts. For example--the thought that most of her Clan probably thought that she had barely been spared the loss of a life. When, in fact, she had died... just days before the cure had finally been shared with RiverClan. She'd lost a life to this awful sickness, in front of Rookflight, and thus one of her few chances to save a Clanmate or work even longer had been wasted. The reminder caused a brief huff of frustration to shake her shoulders, since she did not think anyone was nearby. She didn't like how callously she was beginning to view her own deaths. The first time she'd died, it had been an ordeal. The second time had been a tragedy. Now, on her fifth time passing to the stars and returning, she'd begun to see herself as an expendable resource--not just her time and her energy, but her very life itself. It ought to have worried her. It didn't, and that was the problem. She could see no issue with her own logic. If she had more lives, then should she not use them up in order to save the lives of her Clanmates who could only die once? Would it not be best for her to take any and every blow, just as she had to save Poppyshine the first time she'd been taken by the jaws of a fox? How could it not be the objective answer? And yet she knew that if Poppyshine heard her say so, she would be appalled. It confused her because she recognized yet another shortcoming of her ability to understand. She'd never been able to glean the rules of socialization instinctively, as most cats did, leading to her life as a young cat being secluded and miserable. And now, even as a leader with experience taking care of her Clan, she still would never truly be like them. She would never truly be one of them. So she laid alone on the floor, staring out at a distant snowdrift and wishing she could either be truly emotionless or feel properly as her friends did. This in-between had always been agonizing.

A voice startled her from her reverie. Blinking, Perchstar raised her head to see the familiar face of Cindersky. Her face regulated quickly and automatically to a calm blankness rather than a dull stare. "Hello." Her own voice echoed the hoarseness from disuse, and she coughed once into her own ruff of fur to try and clear it out. The kind she-cat's comments confused her, if anything, but she accepted them as best she could with a single flick of her torn, scarred ear. "I am feeling better than I was. I hope to resume my duties soon. I am sorry I have been unhelpful during this difficult time." The leader rolled her shoulders back, hoping that her position half-splayed on the floor did not make her look too undignified--but she did not really have the energy to get up, as the herbs could only do so much of the recovery work. "Yes... I am very grateful for Littlepaw. He has done very well. His gifts have saved RiverClan practically single-pawed." It was a lot of weight to put on a young apprentice... weight that she wished she could have shouldered. She hated that she'd been forced to push so much authority and burden onto him at such a tender age. It wouldn't do to dwell on it, though, not now. "How are you, Cindersky? You haven't been... refusing herbs, have you?"