please don't go away, can i lie here forever? (c)

Darkness. Out of the sunlight, darkness encroached every time that Perchstar blinked. The emotions were lingering on the outside, just at the very edge of her vision, and they converged on her every time she was alone. With the images, too. Living nightmares. The cream-furred, silt-soaked corpse had been joined by a small tortoiseshell form mangled beyond recognition, sticky red blood pooling out from the wounds coating her form. A puddle that dripped and dripped and grew until it lapped all over the leader's paws. A neverending sensation. Along with the guilt, the hatred, the fear, the sorrow... and the rage. The wrath that never left. The memory of how it felt to sink her fangs into a throat and taste the coppery fluid that burst onto her tongue. Visceral. Unrelenting. So she couldn't be alone anymore. She just couldn't, or the sounds, the images, the feelings would assault her once more. And so finally, at every moment that she was not busy with the duties of being a leader, Perchstar was forced to finally do what she should have been doing this whole time... talking to those that she cared about. The sickness, the journey, the war preparation; she no longer had an excuse. And so... the first place that her eyes turned was the elders' den. Mistwalker. Her daughter's final ceremony... one that she hadn't been in a state of mind or body to attend. Her daughter was so young, still. How had she been relegated to this? Forced to retire? It was a painful thought, one that inspired nothing but guilt and madness. But it was better than the terrifying visions that awaited her when she closed her eyes. And so finally, finally, she made her way to the elders' den.

Cautiously, she peeked her head into the unfamiliar confines of the den. It had been a while since she had come in here... But perhaps she ought to do it more often, from now on. There, in the corner--a silver pelt. Her blood felt thick in her own veins, her paws sluggish. How to start? She should have brought a gift. "How are you?" What a stupid question to start with. Why did she always start like this? What good would it do to ask? There could be no satisfying answer? Perchstar sighed at herself and shook her head. If she couldn't truly be herself around her daughters, then... who? As horrible of a mother as she was, she ought to at least try. "I'm sorry, it's... it's been a while. I should have come to see you earlier. I regret not doing so."

Eldership. It was a title that was meant to be bestowed upon the mightiest of warriors whose light had been spent, but not quite spent to the point of death. It was to resemble a retirement that meant they had given all they could to their Clan, and now deserved nothing but a time of pampering and rest until their inevitable deaths. What it did not account for, however, were the cases in which it was a warrior whose life-clock still had much too many moons to it but could not complete the normal duties of a warrior. In lieu of that situation, it was a particularly depressing scenario, and with all of the other events that had circulated the forest and beyond, she had taken to being in the background. After all, when war was on the precipice, it was not the elders that were prepared. They were tucked away into the safety of their den, given fresh bedding, and told that they would not need to worry.

Truth be told, it bothered her more than she wanted to let on.

Curled in her own corner of the elder's den, one that would be her for longer than some cats held their nests in the warrior den, her head popped up as the unmistakable scent of her mother came to her nose. Blinking, she took a moment to look to ensure she was not being fooled before twisting the rest of her body to finally face her leader. "Do not apologize, mother, for there is nothing to say sorry for." It was true. Every event that had transpired was not at the fault of her mother. It was out of her control-out of both of their controls, forced by the powers that they all continued to try and comprehend. "Would you like to rest your paws? The rest will be out for awhile longer, I am sure." There was reason that she mentioned it. Flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood... mind of her mind. It was like looking in a mirror, one that had only been marred in other places. The hollowness to her mother's eyes... something troubled her. It wasn't her place to pry, but she could absolutely give her the space to speak. "Whispers have told me of what came of the war. For what it is worth, I... Mother, I am sorry to hear the loss of your ally." Even when she had been a warrior, she could perceive just how close her mother was to the small tortoiseshell of Thunderclan. It was not like her to feel, but it was certainly understandable how such a prominent figure's loss would ripple beyond her borders.

It had been so long since Perchstar had spoken with her daughters, she had forgotten how similar to her they were... both in good and bad ways. A discussion with them was easy; they said exactly what they meant. And yet the feelings they spoke of were always too far gone, always too deep to fathom or heal with a few words. Just like her own. Just like her. The leader dipped her head in acknowledgement, knowing that Mistwalker's eldership was not technically her fault, though she also knew she would never shake the sensation of guilt, that she could have stopped the events in motion. Slowly she lowered herself into a resting position across from her daughter. It felt odd to be in the elder's den, but she could not deny it was fairly comfortable, sheltered from the cold winds outside. To be here with her daughter, to clear the air for a moment... it was not uncomfortable. Almost nice, if not for the fact that she had never truly felt calm or content for moons now.

But it was not just a moment of mutual rest. It was a conversation. Perchstar blinked at the sound of her daughter's voice again... and at the words that they offered. Condolences for a loss. Her ally... had that been all that Mottlestar was? To an outside observer, certainly. It had been the initial intent in their relationship, as well. Leaders simply did not get close to one another. And yet, the true kinship that had been forged by fire in their relationship could not simply be defined as an alliance. It was an agreement of heart and mind. It was unpayable debts towards each other; it was shelter on the Great Rock, it was the gentle grooming of a cold, rainswept corpse in the storm. It was a simple acknowledgment of quiet pride in one's voice, leading to realization that they were both mothers. They had both lost early, both loved long and suffered for it. In truth... there had been no one else who simply understood her in the same way. Poppyshine loved, and nurtured, and accepted, but did not truly understand. Mottlestar had, somehow, understood. And that understanding was now gone entirely. Forever. Like so many other faces she would never see again.

And there reawakened the grief that Perchstar had been doing her best to swallow down. Irrepressibly it rose up, tightening her throat and clawing at her chest. Her ears tilted back slightly--the equivalent of a full pinning-back from any other cat. Ice-blue eyes fell for a moment to the floor before she struggled to raise them up, meeting Mistwalker's gaze again. There was no point in trying to hide the feeling from her daughter. They knew each other too well, too painfully well. What was she supposed to say? "Thank you," she murmured inadequately. "It was... not a loss that I was expecting. Nor did I anticipate it would hurt so much. As much as I care for you and your sisters, and for Poppyshine, there is a certain... difficulty in being a leader. The weight you carry, the pain you bear. Mottlestar understood." Perchstar let out a quiet breath, trying not to drown in the flood of sorrow that bubbled up endlessly from its source inside. She could not deny it entirely... but she could not allow herself to wallow. That would destroy her beyond even StarClan's ability to recover. "But it is not as if I have not lost cats dear to me before. I have before, and I will again. It is my fate." The word tasted bitter, but there was no other way to phrase it. Leaders lived long enough to form and break more bonds than most cats could dream of. To list all of their names would be to hurl herself off of a cliff. "But in that moment, I felt it. And in that moment, I did something irreversible." Blood bursting across her tongue. So similar, and yet so different, from the clean kill of Beechfang. "Even though she deserved it... it is not something that I relished doing."

The molly listened. It was all she ever did, all she had ever done. Always, always listening. It was what she was best at. Becoming one with the mist that enshrouded her very being to become so undetectable, she picked up on words that could condemn the fate of a cat forever. The result of such had been seen first-paw, now currently attributing itself to the grief that clearly eddied the leader in front of her. Mistwalker's ear almost flicked at her mother's condemnation of herself and her actions, and it was not all that she had in response. "Justice. You enacted justice." She simply stated. "How were you to know Mottlestar would fall to that blow? Or that Birdstar would fall to yours? Loss follows all in this forest like a lost kit. There is no fault in allowing the space to feel it and accept it." The stars knew that Mistwalker had felt it as she watched patrols leave. Watched her siblings, day after day, get to complete warrior duties as she was stuck hiding away in the elder's den due to her paws. "The mewling kit of loss only screams louder until it steals your attention, mother. And it did. And will again." The words felt harsh, even for such a molly who knew that dull blades were not the way either of them traded sentiments.

Pushing herself closer to her like-pelted leader, the molly stretched onto her hind paws to brush her nose against Perchstar's shoulder. A brief gesture, but it was both respectful and caring all at once. "It hurts to lose a piece of you. Especially one you did not expect losing. You are always safe, mother, to hide and feel here. The torrent--it pelts. It hurts. But you must let it happen, at some point. Or it will sweep you away. It has almost swept me away. It was not easy to learn." Having a lot of time to oneself meant she had no option but to simply feel some days. "...I do miss being a warrior. But fate meant I was to walk another path. ... Before you say it: It was nothing you could fix. You are not omnipotent. Not even Starclan could fix all our ailments." Her gaze had turned hard, almost piercing, as she had added on to parry the undoubted blame that her mother would shoulder. Like called to like. A twin flame that burned perhaps a bit too closely at times.

Sitting in the elders' den with a daughter less than half her age, being comforted by the one who should be on the receiving end of comfort--all of this felt wrong, strange, as if in the sudden onset of twilight all roles had been reversed. Perchstar could not deny the tangled feelings that lay dormant in her chest, nor could she head off the loving care of her daughter--but she wished once again, no matter how futile, that she would learn how to be strong. How to not need this kind of comfort from cats who should not have to give it. Too long she had relied on Poppyshine's selfless care, or her daughters' presence, when she ought to have had her own coping mechanisms. Too little, too late. Any world in which she somehow could have turned out well-adjusted was long gone and irretrievable. She ought to just let well enough alone and accept what little she was given.

"Justice."

"Justice."

Eerily, Mistwalker's voice was a near-perfect echo of Shellwater's, before it diverted into other paths. But it still struck heavily in Perchstar's mind. Justice. That was why she'd done it; she knew that. She knew that even when all of her Clanmates seemed to resent her for it. It was what had driven her forward. It was the only thing she'd had left, the single guiding star remaining, that could dig her out of the pit of grief-fueled loss and the consequences of betrayal. But everyone had gotten in her path, at every step of the way, and now they all blamed her. They all did. She knew it. So what did it matter that she also blamed herself? Not for the cause of the war--but for bringing her Clanmates. For allowing Birdstar to force it into a war rather than a one-on-one confrontation. The fight between her and Beechfang should have been the only one. Birdchaser would not have it. You tried, and you tried, and you tried, and the options were to let SkyClan walk over you again or to stand up for your Clan. You made the only choice you could have. Mottlestar made the only choice she could have. And yet, and yet, and yet. It ached.

The comparison of loss to a kit was correct, more correct than her daughter knew. It was what little remained of her love-starved kitself that got attached to cats in this way, that could not let them go after death--that constantly, always, knew that the deaths were her fault. Perchstar met her daughter's implacable eyes, ice-blue seeking their counterparts. Gestures of comfort, coming from Mistwalker instead of given to her. Allowing herself to feel--to hide. But what was the point of feeling? What was it worth, if all it did was hurt? If all it did was make her second-guess a decision that she knew, with all the logical faculties she possessed, to be the objectively correct one? This had always been what she did. Hide, and shove down her emotions until they could be hidden no longer--then let them bubble up until they overwhelmed her completely. Relish in the agony. Allow it to take over every single one of her senses and crumble her down to dust. Then, let it subside. Pick up the pieces. Do it all over again. For her, there was no other way. But here--here, of all places--she could not. Not in the den of the elders, who rested from their responsibilities when she could never allow herself to do so. Not in front of her daughter, even though she would willingly take on the massive burden. Not in front of a she-cat whose life had been swept out from below her feet and even though Perchstar could not have prevented it, she still had not helped, and even now had only visited Mistwalker when she herself needed comfort. She was sick of herself.

"I know," was all Perchstar could say. Two words, but steeped heavily in the sorrow and empathy and the deeply abiding, lingering love that she had for her daughter. It was a response to the depiction of loss, to the invitation to break down, to Mistwalker's admission of her own trials. "I know." There was nothing else to say. She had complained enough; being told that her thought process was illogical or her feelings were "valid" would not make them go away. The pain lingered, a deep ache that was her constant companion--that would never leave her bones. So the leader of RiverClan instead moved slowly across the floor, taking up space at Mistwalker's side rather than across from her. Gently she rested against her daughter, allowing them both to lean into each other's gray-white fur. Her head lay on her own white paws, but she simply closed her eyes for a moment and allowed the sense of closeness. It was not familiar to either of them, as unfamiliar with physical tough as they generally were, but... it was something they both needed right now. Perchstar could not bear to speak anymore, to give any more strength or credence to the endless internal suffering. It had not helped. It would not help. Instead... if she could just lay here for a moment, perhaps that would soothe the rawness of her invisible wounds.