you say that i'm better, why don't i feel better? (c)

Confronting someone with death was a good way to know who they truly were. Would they stand and fight stronger, knowing what they were fighting against? Would they turn tail and run like a coward? The difference between worthy warriors and failures. Perchstar had no clue, however, how to interpret her own emotions. Her reactions to her own deaths had grown increasingly nonchalant, even casual--standing up after being mauled by an enormous wolf like it was no big deal. But the deaths of other cats reduced her to a wreck. So much so that after Mottlestar had been brutally murdered in front of her, most of what Perchstar recalled was her vision fading from gray to red... and the taste of blood bursting over her tongue. A taste she would never be able to forget. An image that lingered in front of her, just out of her reach, no matter how hard she willed it away. If she hadn't stood there afterward, looking down at the bodies of her two former allies, it would have seemed like nothing but a nightmare. Did she fight, or did she run? The real question was... which was worse? Or was it worse to do neither? To sit and wallow in your own pain, lock the internal battle in your mind forever, and simply act as if nothing was wrong?

She didn't know anymore. She was tired of thinking about it.

Her old coping mechanisms of working constantly, being up and about and on her paws so she didn't have to think, returned. Perchstar put herself on as many patrols as possible, headed out when anyone needed a substitute, walked alone through the territory in any unfortunate bouts of free time. But this time, it wasn't working. Not like it used to. Had she simply grown out of it? Or had she finally experienced too much to be able to push the emotions away for good? If that was the case... how was she supposed to go forward? Everything cascaded inward the moment she finally arrived back in camp for the evening, as if the dam holding back everything she hated, everything she feared, had simply splintered beneath the pressure. It was all that she could do to sit without letting her legs give out as her memories regurgitated themselves through her exhausted mind.

Cream fur floating down the river. Decaying shadows coalescing in camp. A thundering roar, terrifyingly bright lights, an impact that made everything fade away. Slavering wolves. A gray tom hanging from the jaws of a fox. Poisoned water scorching her throat. Claustrophobic and strange-smelling confines; lost forever in paths she had never seen, home nothing but a distant memory. Bleeding, vision darkening, on the forest floor while her best friend screamed for her help. And now... a tortoiseshell she-cat, drenched in scarlet, lying at her paws. A gray and white she-cat with empty dead eyes. Dead at her paws. All her fault. All, all her fault. How much longer was she supposed to deal with it? How many more days, how many more moons, must she stumble around with these horrors on her conscience? With these nightmares in her waking hours? How much more should she have to suffer? Hadn't it all been punishment enough?

How much longer must I live?

That was certainly enough of that. Pathetic. Pull yourself together. Breathe in... breathe out. Bring yourself back to reality. Claw your way back, if you have to. Focus on your surroundings. Perchstar closed her eyes, willing the horrific images to dissipate. Then she forced them open, forced herself to look around at RiverClan camp. Her home. Where she ought to have felt safe. Sandy ground beneath her paws, the gentle sound of the river lapping at the banks, the quiet murmurs of Clanmates beginning to rest for the night. A familiar pelt in the corner of her vision. She blinked again--yes, she was not seeing things. She knew few enough silver tabbies of that light a shade. Had her daughter witnessed her... episode? It's not as if you collapsed, or really panicked, like that time with Poppyshine. You simply sat and closed your eyes for a moment. I'm sure she didn't notice. The last thing she wanted was for her family to worry. But now that they'd made eye contact.... The RiverClan leader approached Willowwisp, offering a dip of the head in greeting. "It's... a nice evening. How are you?" At least the neutral cast of her voice did not fail her. Hopefully her appearance looked normal enough as well. "I know things have been... chaotic, recently. I hope it has not affected you too adversely."

Despite the circumstances of their birth, despite the difficulties that had attempted to get between them, Perchstar loved her kits with almost more passion than anything else. Though she could not quite show it in the way that others did, she felt a fierce protectiveness that never quite left her. Looking at Willowwisp now only strengthened the feeling. Her daughter, so like herself, and yet having dealt with her struggles with everlastingly more strength and grace. Somehow remaining unscathed after the sickness and the journey and the war... something for which Perchstar would be forever grateful. The pain of Cindersky and Poppyshine had been bad enough. If her own kits had been injured--she discarded the thought. It was unhelpful to imagine. But if SkyClan thought her bloodthirsty now, they were lucky that Willowwisp and Mistwalker and Wrenpaw had not been attacked.

"You are doing well," Perchstar said, settling down into a sitting position to show that she intended on having a full conversation. It was just like Willowwisp to think she was in some way inadequate when it could not be further from the truth. "Your steady presence strengthens me, and the Clan. There is no need to overwork yourself." The next thing that her daughter said, though, was a little bit harder to respond to. An observance that none but her closest friends or family could make. Piercing blue eyes, an identical match of their mother's, saw straight through her outward façade of strength and noticed something wrong. Of course they did. And what point was there in lying, in feigning contentment? Perchstar's torn ear flicked, but she could not dismiss the concerns. Nor ought she to. Just as she wanted to be of help to her daughters, they would want to assist her. It was a familial closeness that she had never been good at receiving. But perhaps, now would be a time to work on it.

Instead of breaking eye contact like she would with most others, Perchstar continued to look at her daughter, even as her shoulders slumped slightly. "I am not sure what could be done to help," she confessed quietly. "But... it helps somewhat to know that you would, if you could. I appreciate it. It is just... Even I cannot wish my emotions away. My worries are not exactly solvable." The very tip of her tail twitched back and forth. No one else in camp was nearby, right? No one else would hear her speak of this. "I have lost cats I cared about before. I am no stranger to grief. But to have someone that I care about cast themselves into the jaws of death for me... that is not something I am accustomed to. I have always been the one to sacrifice myself when it becomes necessary. I am not... comfortable... with being on the receiving end." It was simplifying her largest source of anguish, to say the least, but... since Willowwisp asked, she ought at least to try and explain some of it. "And it was not a quiet death. Her throat was mangled. Torn to shreds. And if I had been faster, or if I had paid better attention, it would not have happened. There were many things I could have done to prevent it." Always, always too slow. Too inadequate. It was a problem she had never been able to solve. She was never fast enough when it mattered the most.

The aching in her chest did not cease by stating its cause out loud. Most would offer kind words, or pity--and Perchstar could stand neither. Her daughter did not have to say anything; even standing nearby, even silent support would gently ease the worst edge of the sharpness momentarily. But what would Willowwisp say? What could one say to issues like this? Perchstar closed her mouth, unable and unwilling to elaborate further. To mention her turning at Poppyshine's voice, or her own fangs seeking retaliation, or even the word "beloved" that snuck into her dreams and reopened old wounds. She simply fell silent, unable to talk further without releasing completely the tangled mess that threatened to devour her whole.

“That is a foolish line of thinking.”

I know.

Willowwisp meant well; everything she said was correct. And yet--this was why Perchstar did not often confide in others, or unload her mental burdens onto her children. Because they could not tell her anything she did not know. Because neither pitying platitudes nor logical advice would help. Neither would stop the pain that accompanied her every waking moment and followed her even into her dreams. Perchstar loved her daughter; even now, looking at the light blue eyes that wanted so desperately to assist, she felt the warm fierceness of it squeezing tightly in her chest. But that was why she could not tell the truth. She could not explain how little she feared dying, these days... could not confess that she'd lost another life herself on the battlefield. Could not admit that some days she wished she could simply cease to exist. Not even go to StarClan, to continue worrying about those she loved and caring for her Clan, but to be entirely free of the aching that otherwise beset her. To disappear. But it was impossible, and so she would not indulge the wishes--and would not worry Willowwisp with them.

"As always... you are right." She could not pretend that the words helped, but nor did they make anything worse. The intention, if nothing else, distracted her from wallowing too long in the grief. So she did appreciate the effort. Perchstar spoke slowly and clearly, but bit her words off as if she were fighting to get them out properly. No longer would she ramble about the agony; if it would not be helped then why bother? Instead she would speak the truth... but no more than was necessary. "I simply wish that these things would not go so quickly out of my paws. If I had my way in everything, then none would die in my service--but that is not a choice that I can make. Every cat has their agency to choose and to decide what they want to do. Beechfang chose to kill Cloverheart. Birdstar chose to shelter her. I chose to pursue her, even at the cost of life. Mottlestar chose to save me. We all made the only choice that seemed logical to us in our respective moments. If only... if only they did not all intersect so poorly." Perchstar could not help but lash her tail in the frustration of it all. Whichever stars made them--why were their worldviews all so incompatible? Would it not be so much easier if everyone could understand each others' point of view? If compromise were more easily achievable?

"I do not place blame upon myself. It settles upon my shoulders whether I like it or not, whether it belongs there or not. It is my place as leader. Every decision I make is like... casting a stone into a pool." In demonstration, she got up and padded closer to a puddle that had formed of melted snow in camp. It lay perfectly still, undisturbed by wind or tide or current. Nearby sat a small pebble. With one white paw, Perchstar flicked the stone into the water. Circular ripples flowed outward, disturbing the surface. "I make one decision, but its affects reach outward. And others cast in their stones as well, and then our ripples intersect. They mesh and soon the entire surface is a chaotic mess. As a leader, my stone is larger, and so it makes larger ripples--ones that reach ever farther and impact every cat I care about. I know this is the only way it can be... but how can I ignore the causes of my actions? If I turn a blind eye to them, would that not make me a poor figure of responsibility? If I ignored the pain of those around me simply because it was not my claws that dealt the blow to them?" She turned back to Willowwisp, seeking her gaze with ice-blue eyes. "And yet... it is correct, what you say. The only way to go is forward. It is the only way I have ever gone. The only way possible. Still, it is difficult not to look around me and see the ripples... how they affect those I care about. How Cindersky wanders with empty eyes, how Poppyshine's pelt is marred with scars. All caused by my actions."

And here... the very reason that Perchstar had dreaded the conversation. Sharing her worries always ended with the fact that they could not be alleviated; but instead of blaming her, those she loved always blamed themselves for not being able to help. It was a circle, a vicious cycle that led only to pain and tragedy. Did it have no end? Was there no light at the end of the tunnel--only a group of cats following each other blindly through the dark, throwing themselves in front of deadly blows out of some desire to escape it all? That couldn't be the case. Not when she knew that there was so much good to be had. And yet, her pain never ceased, and the presence of her agony only caused more of it to trickle down to those she loved, whether she wanted it or not. No matter how tightly she clung to the hurt, it fell from her grasp nonetheless.

But... it was selfish of her, terribly selfish, to keep it to herself. Selfish to swallow the pain instead of allowing others to assist where they could. Because, if her taking on the pain was an act of love to them... was not their reciprocating desire to take her pain away an act of love on their parts? How could she claim all the love for herself and disallow their response? Even now, looking at Willowwisp, she could see the steadiness and determination. The desire... Just as she desired to take their pain, they desired to take hers. Perhaps... perhaps, if only for her daughters who she loved more than anything else in the world, she could allow it. She could share with them, if only a small amount. And so Perchstar walked slowly forward and rested her muzzle on the top of her eldest daughter's head, allowing the gesture of respect and familial bond to ground her. Soft silver fur met white. "I appreciate it," she murmured. "Truly, I do. If nothing else... it is the wish that helps. I wish the same for you, as any mother would. I wish that each of us could live carefree and have nothing but warmth and greenleaf for our lives. But since we cannot... I will take what I can get. And since I have been blessed with you..." For a moment, her voice grew thick. She cleared her throat. But it was true--her family had been the greatest blessing she had never asked for. The depth of joy and pain she felt for them could not be matched. Peerless. "Since I have been blessed with you, I can bear it. You give me strength."