come, stop your crying--it'll be all right (c)

Perchstar had gotten used to dying. It was strange--the first two or three times, it had been world-shattering. The loss of life hurt. Whether it was bleeding from the jaws of a fox, collapsing under the weight of her own exhaustion, or being struck full-force by the attack of a monster, the ways in which dying hurt were near endless. For some reason, though, it became easier the more she did it. The last time she'd died, illness creeping in for moons before it released her, she'd welcomed the momentary reprieve of the darkness fading in. But... something kept her tethered. Presence. Company. Ever since the first time she'd died, the pain it inflicted on her had been second to the agony she saw in the eyes of others forced to watch. Poppyshine, most often, to her chagrin. And now most recently... Rookflight. Her former apprentice. The young cat so like her former self, like a half-distorted reflection in an alternate universe of receiving care and acceptance from Clan and friends. And she cared for him, too. She did. With a panic that had tugged at her heart when all her apprentices had been in danger at the riverside so long ago. If she'd realized it was truly him, when the delusions took her and the illness finally claimed her life, would she have felt the need to hang on? Would she have suffered longer to ease his suffering? She would have. Without a second thought. And the knowledge of that troubled her.

Such thoughts plagued her during the few seconds it took her to walk up to the fresh-kill pile, where she saw Rookflight sitting already. Their eyes met--odd staring yellow, neutral ice-blue. A gaze that did not communicate through emotion so much as through their mutual lack of its outward expression. It was always calming, oddly enough, to speak with someone who did not instinctually put so much of themselves into the world through physical gestures. So when she walked slowly over and took a seat near him, she knew he would not think her impolite for not offering a smile or a wave of her tail. It simply was not a thing that came naturally, or even with effort, to her. She was glad that her children did not believe she was cold or unfeeling since she expressed her emotions differently, and...

...and since when had she thought of Rookflight in the same breath as her kits?

It floored her, momentarily, but visually she remained unaltered. Calm blue eyes swept over the fresh-kill pile, which was thankfully beginning to fill with fish compared to its previously dismal state. This new revelation ought to be something that she ran off to her den to contemplate alone, but she'd already begun this interaction, and knew just enough to understand that leaving it would be impolite. Besides... she did want to speak with Rookflight. She enjoyed their company. "You're looking well," Perchstar said quietly by way of greeting. It was true. He looked far less sick than the last time they'd really spoken alone together... and thankfully, the same was true for her. She would not collapse and die in front of him this time. "I trust that the herbs have been working properly. You've been taking them, haven't you? I hope you have not been attempting to stave them off since others might need them more, like Cindersky did." Cindersky... Another apprentice of hers. The thought was sobering. She'd failed entirely to save the poor she-cat in time--her tail was lost for good, Littlepaw had said. Only a slight flick of her ear betrayed the enormous pit of guilt that gnawed at her from the inside. It had many sources... another added to it would not break her. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to bring that up. I know that you two are friends." Perhaps if she had been faster, she could have rescued Littlepaw before Cindersky did. Maybe then Rowansong wouldn't be crippled, either. Maybe Egretswoop would still be alive. Such what-ifs were pointless, she knew, but it did not stop her mind from going down the silent spiral of blame. It was for the thousandth time she felt a bitter sense of gratefulness for her lack of ability to express herself outwardly, knowing that the inner turmoil would not manifest in a tortured frown. Rookflight did not need for her to dampen their mood, she was sure.

Sitting here, like this, was comfortable. Perchstar could not recall the last time she had truly felt comfort rather than just a momentary reprieve from suffering. Instead of lingering in the feeling, though, she decided not to ruin it by overcontemplation. Instead, her ears inclined gently forward, indicating through the simple movement that all of her attention was fixed on their words and conversation. Rookflight's simple joke, chased with a huff that must have been laughter, caused Perchstar to snort gently as well. Finding humor in the little things, like the image of ever-angry Larkspring stuffing herbs into his sibling's mouth like a makeshift medicine cat. Though few cats had ever found it, the stoic leader did have a sense of humor. Thinking about it led her to remember a day at the river with a cat she'd once thought was her friend, though, and the recollection was so bitter that she nearly bit her own tongue off in an effort to will it away. She would not let that hypocrite ruin a single second of the only relaxation that she could find. "I am glad. You know, that conversation we had long ago about my apparent hatred for Larkspring seems to have borne fruit. I believe that your brother and I now have an... understanding." She did not know whether she could call it a mutual respect, since the enigmatic tom had always been hard to read, but she had noticed (when she had been conscious recently) the changes that Larkspring was making. Cindersky had changed him for the better, it seemed--and perhaps the knowledge that she did not loathe him like he had assumed. Though she would not credit herself in the slightest for the new positive tilt to his behaviors. All she could hope was that he felt seen, and understood. It was the bare minimum that every cat deserved.

A fish landed at her paws suddenly, nudged forward. She had not seen it. Perchstar blinked, then acknowledged it with a rare twitch of her whiskers. Not anything close to a smile--it was not an expression she was capable of making--but perhaps her version of one. When was the last time she had eaten? She always forgot when she was stressed. Rookflight had noticed, perhaps, or was just being polite. The leader bent down to take a small bite of the trout. For the first time in a while, she actually noticed its taste, rather than consuming it quickly for the purpose of nutrition. There was no after-tang of poison; the rivers were well and truly clean. It tasted fresh and light and salty. Quietly she used a single white paw to roll the fish back over to her companion, indicating that he should eat as well. Sharing prey was something that friends and family did, wasn't it? How odd that she could not quite remember.

Her attention was drawn back up from the prey and the strange lack of worries she felt when Rookflight spoke again. Reminding her of the many things that she had to feel guilty of, the many horrors and sorrows pushed away slumbering within her mind. She did her best not to acknowledge the awaiting agony. "Important." It was an interesting word, one that carried all the information of her feelings for her Clanmates but none of the connotation. "Yes, she is important to me. As are you." And as always, Cindersky's view on life reflected onto those she met and befriended. Everywhere the she-cat stepped, she improved life. Greenleaf comes again... Perchstar had seen several greenleafs, now. Each came with their own problems and their own issues, like the sudden influx of predators during her leadership, or the moon she had spent uselessly wandering in Twolegplace. However, it had also come with plentiful prey, beautiful scenery, new kits and apprentices... Metaphorically, it was a time of warmth and relaxation. Leaf-bare was nearly over, now. And if the war finished soon, then perhaps their troubles would reach a similar point of rest. The leader nodded, taking in the words. "I believe she is right. It would be hard to keep her down for long. She is a different kind of strong than I, but very strong nonetheless."

"I hope you are not shouldering much of an onus for the incident."

Perchstar flicked an ear at the words, moving her eyes to the side just as Rookflight removed their gaze to the fish. As a leader, it was her sovereign duty to protect cats, so she ought to have shouldered anything necessary. The weight of the Clan was, all but literally, borne in a heavy sharpness around her shoulders and neck. Was it odd to feel guilty for... feeling guilty? She tried not to let other cats know how much she blamed herself, because it often made them feel worse, which negated the entire point of her taking on as many burdens as possible. Cats like Poppyshine told her not to, told her platitudes about it not being her fault, but the fact remained that someone always held more blame than others. And as the most powerful cat in the Clan, both literally and metaphorically, it was her prerogative to help as much as she could. If she did nothing, it was her fault. If she did not do enough, she should have done more and it was her fault. And even though she always, always did nothing but her best--nothing but the most that it was possible for her to give of herself--it was never enough. Logically it made sense to her, and no amount of loving reprimand would change her mind. But it did not stop the way that her long gray and white tail now curled around her own paws, unconsciously mirroring Rookflight's self-comforting stance. "I know," she murmured. "I know it is not my decisions that led her there... nor Egretswoop, nor Rowansong. Nor the dozens of cats who I have seen die and falter. But it is impossible not to construct the scenario in my mind in which I was moments faster, or earlier, or smarter." There was a lump in her throat. She swallowed it down and pried her eyes away from their nervous search of the nearby warrior's den entrance, instead keeping the turmoil-hiding light blue on her former apprentice. "And yet, as always, you are right. The important thing is that she remains. We have all been through much in the past few moons... but for each and every life that is still in this camp, I could not be more grateful."

As always happened when she told others about her thoughts, Perchstar regretted it immediately afterward. No amount of pity or commiseration had ever helped before--ever more than briefly. All it did was made other cats feel worse, and that was not something she wished on any of her Clanmates... but especially not on Rookflight. They'd had to deal with enough, recently. She should be a helpful thing, lifting him up, rather than continuing to drag him down. Though Rookflight did not seem upset with her, and they spoke with a thoughtful logic that reminded her painfully of her younger self, she had to force herself to listen. Now instead of the otherwise pleasant conversation they'd been having, she'd led them to think of their lost father. The words she'd told them on their first patrol... that they could not go looking for him, not alone. But they'd never taken her up on her offer. Had that been her doing, as well? Could they have found their parents, without her interference? Or would they simply have been lost to the Clan forever just like them? It wasn't helpful to think of such things. She tried not to. But the way that Rookflight curled in on himself, experiencing even in miniature the agony she knew so well, made her heart rebelliously tear itself open in recompense.

Yes, every cat in RiverClan could do things differently. But that is just the point... as a leader, I am the one who has to think ahead. The others have no such duty, no such burden other than what they take on themselves. They stubbornly take as much pain from me as they can, but none of us could do anything. That is what hurts. That is what hurts the most... that no matter how much pain I experience, I cannot take it all away. But as always, her inner thoughts--once expressed--caused only more problems. Perchstar swallowed them back, along with the once-pleasant taste of the fish that had now soured in the back of her throat, and tried to listen.

Live with them. They are just... experiences.

Live with them. Whether she wanted to or not, it was what she had to do every day. She could not banish them if she tried. So she lived with them, every waking and even every sleeping hour, but... how much more living could she take? The thought, surprisingly bitter, was one that she had to banish to the furthest corners of her mind. Even with the looming war, it had no place. The sun was warm, today. She was sharing a meal with Rookflight. She ought to have been content, ought to have been happy. There was no reason for such aching thoughts. Rookflight said these things because they cared. Why couldn't she let that be enough? Why couldn't she leave well enough alone? The way they looked at her was almost sickening, with her inability to express its equal. The love expressed in the deepness of their eyes, past the calmness of their expression. I could have been like you, the expression seemed to be saying, but I have turned out well enough. You could be like this, too, if only you let yourself. That could not have been what they meant. She knew that. Perchstar closed her eyes for a moment in an echo of their previous gesture, and let out a quiet exhale of breath. What was wrong with her? Why, in such a tender moment, did she momentarily feel the sharp thorns of jealousy? Perhaps it was the consequence of shoving every emotion away as if they were equals. The pleasant and the unpleasant had to surface in tandem. Even in a moment that should have carried warmth, the chill of her past would never quite go away.

"You do not deserve such. Not for all that you are."

Deserve. A strange word. One that seemed to be the linchpin between mental stability and falling from the deepest reaches of her sanity. Who deserved any of what this life gave them? Eiher the sunlit mornings or the bloodstained nights? No one deserved anything. They all received it anyway, clawed what they could of it to keep close to themselves. No one deserved pain, but just the same, none deserved happiness. And certainly not her, the least of all. Despite all that she was... even she did not deserve misery. Even she did not deserve all the consequences of her actions, let alone the consequences of others'. Yet no matter how she tried, she could not keep away from it, all the same.

”No one deserves that. No one deserves to be left behind.”

The voice, faraway and unwanted, sidled echo-like into her consciousness, twinning with the similar words spoken by a much younger and much different counterpart. Golden eyes.

She had been hidden in her silence for far too long; she knew that much. It was a conversation. In a conversation, both partners ought to speak. Among the conflicting sources of information, though, and through the blinding combination of long-held sorrow and the small but insistent voice of care, Perchstar could hardly find a constant. She opened her eyes, allowing the ice blue of her gaze to meet Rookflight's yellow. Yellow, not golden. Two different cats that shared nothing in common but their use of a particular word. "I am sorry," she murmured. "Given our roles, I should not require comfort and advice. Yet somehow I do, anyway. And what you say remains correct. I do not deserve it, but it comes to me all the same." Her torn ear flicked, willing away the unreadable commotion that lay reawakened within her chest. Rookflight did not deserve the pain, either... and he certainly deserved better than her. And yet, she was what he had. As a mentor, as a leader, as--as a parental figure, if he deigned to think of her in that way. He deserved his own parents. But they were nowhere to be found, and she was a poor substitute. Perchstar's eyes did not carry the same naked openness as Rookflight's, having lost that ability long ago. And yet, as the moon reflected the light of the sun, her gaze could not help redirecting the loving care shown right back at its source. She cared for them, deeply. With a love that would have rivaled her love for her kits, if there had not been so much room for love inside her that they could coexist. It was the love that was the problem. Among all the other sources of pain, though... this was one that she could bear. "Thank you, Rook. It means much to me that you are willing to help. I may not be able to conquer my many fears, as weak as I am, but... with such strong cats as you in this Clan, I believe that there is a path forward. Through the darkness, into light... through leaf-bare, into greenleaf." She could not smile at him, not really. Her muscles had long-since forgotten the necessary movements. But the softness and gratitude with which she regarded him were approximate. "Life is difficult, but there is a path forward. We can walk it together. In a few moons, everything will be green again... and when that happens, we can watch the sun rise together. I've only made it this far because of cats like you, after all."