paper crown (c)

The sunset was a quiet one; instead of blazing orange light, the sky's hues remained rosy even as the light faded. Pale blue, washed-out pink, and wispy gray clouds. Perchstar missed every moment of it holed up inside her den, unaware of the passage of time. Despite everything that had happened, with the only exception being times she was physically unable, she had never missed this many hours' worth of her duties before. Not since she was exhausted and recovering from kitbirth; not since the awful sickness at the lake. The only times she allowed herself to collapse were during the night or the evening, and on the off chance she needed to take a brief moment in the middle of the day, she always returned to responsibility as quickly as she could. But the conversation with Cindersky--if it could even be called a conversation--had thrown her off completely. Dazed, she'd stumbled back into the leader's den and pressed herself against the reed wall for minutes... hours... the entire rest of the afternoon. Not because she'd wanted to but because she'd had no other choice. Her inner wounds bled too heavily to even attempt moving for the foreseeable future. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. It even hurt just to lay here, eyes emptily staring at nothing, silently panting and trying to catch her breath and waiting for the implacable agony to cease. It's all your fault. They know it now. All this time, they've hated you and said nothing. They wait for you to make your next mistake. They wait eagerly for your death. Why not give it to them? Why not, when it is what you want as well? It's not worth it. You're not worth the effort. They'll be happier when you're gone... and so will you. As always, the only coherent thoughts rising above the spiral of inwardly wailing pain berated her constantly... and now they began to take on Cindersky's voice. All she could do was bear it. All she could do was swallow back her whimpers and wait with trembling paws for the moment she could breathe again.

It took hours. The sun passed its zenith and set, its light retreating and leaving the world all the colder for its vanished presence. Perchstar only knew by the way that shadows crept through the sheltered mouth of her den. Her eyes could not fix on their dark shapes, but she sensed their presence in her peripheral vision. The passage of time did not ease the ache... she simply became accustomed to its heavy, stifling weight. Another load added. How many more could she take before she collapsed for good? If only she could give up. If only she were capable of lying down, never moving, simply letting the passage of time take away the pain. But it wouldn't. The pain wouldn't leave; it would follow her into the stars, and then its terrible burden would creep onto the shoulders of those who did not deserve it. Willowwisp, Mistwalker, Wrenpaw, Rookflight... Cindersky... Poppyshine. Even if they hated her. Even if they all hated her, they did not deserve it. She would take as much pain as she could. But stars... stars, she was tired. Take it away from me. Please... please. Take it away. But her begging was futile. And so eventually, once the rays of the sun had completely faded, Perchstar forced her weight onto her aching paws. Sit up from the collapsed position. Then stand. Then tear the grimace from her face and set her shoulders back. Then take a step forward. It was all terribly, torturously familiar. She had to eat something, as much as the idea of keeping down food seemed impossible. She had not eaten all day. If she did not eat now, she would be unable to perform her duties tomorrow. And so, with all the energy she could claw back from her endless exhaustion, she made her way out of the den.

At least none had come to check on her. Perhaps they were getting used to her periods of uselessness by now; perhaps she had simply done well in getting everything necessary out of the way in the morning. Perhaps none of them cared. But when Perchstar finally emerged, most of her Clanmates were on their way to bed. The night guards were setting up their posts by the camp entrance. A few groups of friends or littermates shared tongues. Cindersky must have gone to sleep as she was nowhere to be found. Nauseatingly, she could not even feel glad; nothing rose above the emptiness. But she welcomed it. If she did not feel empty, then she would be feeling pain, and her nerves were raw already from how long her indisposition had lasted. She should take the hollowness while it remained... it was the best she would get. The fresh-kill pile had been mostly depleted, but thankfully a few fish remained. One step, one step at a time, the leader kept her stoic face and made her way forward. She had not had the time nor energy nor desire to groom herself; her fur was unkempt on one side from slumping pathetically against the reed wall of the den. The shadows beneath her eyes would hopefully be harder to notice in the dim evening light. She could not bear to look at any of her Clanmates; with what shred of self-control that was not actively engaged in behaving like a functional cat instead of a walking mess, she hoped that they would spare her for just a few minutes. Just long enough to eat something and retreat once more for a night of staving off the nightmares waiting in the corners of her mind to pounce predator-like upon her restless form. Her eyes were fixed entirely on a small perch fish in the corner of the pile. As little as she wanted to eat, her body needed the nutrition. She would eat as much of it as she could and then leave. Maybe she'd be able to avoid talking to anyone else altogether. Maybe they had that much mercy left for her within their hatred. Wordlessly, mindlessly, Perchstar arrived and bent down to take a bite.

But there was no mercy. There was no respite.

No sooner had Perchstar bent down and opened her jaws to eat the first thing she had all day than a cat stepped up beside her... with small calico paws and a familiar scent that could not be mistaken anywhere. Poppyshine had come to torment her, too. Slowly, against her will, the leader turned her head to meet her deputy's eyes. The worry, the pity she saw there sickened her. There was no way to hide herself from Poppyshine. The she-cat was skilled, if nothing else, at tearing away her secrets until she sobbed them out and there was nothing left. But Perchstar was tired, so tired of feeling things today. She did not want to talk about her emotions. She wanted to bury them far beneath the ground and leave them there and never feel anything again. She wanted to turn and scream and beg her former apprentice to leave her alone, to have mercy, to not ask the questions brimming from her gaze--but there was no use. She would be forced to reveal everything whether she wanted to or not. And then Poppyshine would finally reveal that she hated her, too.

Exhaustion rolled off of Perchstar's pelt in thick, heavy waves. She did not have the energy to scream, let alone even to murmur a protest. All she could do was pick up the fish in her mouth--ignoring how its salty taste made her want to vomit--and follow with horribly slow, plodding footsteps as Poppyshine led her to her own den. Their shared den. How she wished now, in her heart of hearts, that she had not had that moment of weakness and loneliness. How she wished that she had not invited Poppyshine to share her den. If she hadn't, then she could have broken down in peace. She had been lucky the deputy was busy enough today that this had been postponed, at least. But among the rawness of her nerves from being torn apart from the inside all afternoon, all that rose to the surface at this moment was a dull resignation.

They arrived momentarily back at the small reed-walled hollow of the den. Perchstar's nest lay untouched since the previous night; after the conversation she had not had the energy to use it, but rather she had remained slumped on the floor against the wall. Her eyes glanced towards it briefly before she picked a different place to sit, releasing the fish in her jaws onto the ground. Emptily she stared at it for a moment. All that effort to retrieve it, and she could not muster the desire to take a single bite. Especially not with the looming horror of vulnerability that she could not fight off with her pathetic weakness. But she had to eat. She had to eat, or she would collapse in the middle of camp and die again, and... and would that really be so bad? It was what they all wanted, wasn't it? All but her daughters, and maybe Poppyshine did not want it, not truly, but that was just because she did not want the position of leader. No one did. It was a living Dark Forest, to be forced to live again and again and have the demons consume you until nothing more remained but the bleeding sores of grief and rage. Perchstar's vision fuzzed and swam beneath her. Had Poppyshine said something? Hazily she blinked, still looking at the fish rather than the calico she-cat. The words reached her a few moments later, after swimming through the sludge of her thoughts. "...Not all day," she murmured, hating how the words half-slurred together in her efforts to keep them neutral rather than breaking the dam on her emotions that she had just rebuilt. "Only since the afternoon." Had something happened, she asked.

"You are funny."

Perchstar blinked the memory away. She did not want to remember, not again, not right now. She had spent hours upon hours replaying every word of that torturous conversation and she did not want to think about it, let alone talk about it. But she had to say something to ward off the implacable question. Why was she being interrogated? Why could she not just rest? Why could they not just hate her silently and leave her to her misery? She stared emptily at the fish, wishing that it would go away--that Poppyshine would go away--that she would go away, never to return. "Nothing important."

It did not work, unsurprisingly. Poppyshine was not stupid. And she was unfailingly, unceasingly, unacceptably kind. But the kindness would fail eventually, wouldn't it? Cindersky's had. Cindersky, who had recovered from having her tail torn off by wolves by simply spouting some nonsense to her friends about greenleaf. It all had an end. And apparently, Perchstar was the final straw. She was the limit. She was what pushed them to their breaking point and past it, what finally earned the ire and hatred of the most irrepressibly happy cats. Her one skill, perhaps. Emptily, she raised her eyes to meet Poppyshine's gaze--to see the patience oozing from every word she spoke. How? How were they all so good at putting up these facades? How, when her own mask fell apart at every opportunity, was every one of her Clanmates so skilled at pretending they did not loathe every fiber of her being? She managed, barely, not to flinch back from the soft touch of the she-cat's paw upon hers. She couldn't bear it. Couldn't bear the affectionate gesture, couldn't bear the way those green eyes saw past her every effort and into her deepest flaws, couldn't bear the lies.

Leave me alone, she pleaded silently, with words that stuck in her throat and remained unsaid. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Saying that would only make it worse. But... wouldn't that be better? Then they could finally do away with pretending. Then the hating wouldn't be hidden anymore. Then it would be the last straw for her friend, too.

Her friend... her friend. What did the word even mean? Birdstar had been her friend, and then had turned from awkward kindness to hissing in the blink of an eye--then even further. Wild eyes, demon eyes, sharp red teeth ripping and tearing open the throat of Mottlestar. Mottlestar... who had used the word "beloved." Who had leapt in to save her though that was the last thing Perchstar had wanted. Who had then died for it, limp and mangled on the forest floor, covered so thoroughly in crimson that she looked more like a piece of prey than a cat. And now, Poppyshine. The only one who had been with her through nearly everything. The Dark Forest, the Twolegs, the starvation, the journey. Yet she'd been against the war, firmly. She'd said things... things Perchstar couldn't remember, things lost in the fog of sickness, and yet her mind could construct all too well how she must have berated her for her foolishness. Yet, stubbornly, with the mindset of a leader drunk on justice, she'd pushed forward in the only way she'd known how. And it had ended in the scars all over her. Blue eyes traced the newly torn ear, the deep scratches, the reopened wounds on Poppyshine's pelt. All her fault. All. As she watched, the patient mouth moved. Poppyshine was saying... something, again. But Perchstar could not hear. There was no room in her ears for gentle platitudes over the heightened sound of Cindersky's voice, near-screaming in her memory.

"Who was it that you killed on that battlefield, Perchstar?"

One ear flicked, uselessly, attempting to will away the thought. But it was no use. The dam she'd hastily constructed was beginning to break once more. She would collapse in front of Poppyshine again and that would be the end of it. Stars, how did she keep finding new ways to look pathetic? How had this vicious cycle of agony not ended yet? What was even the point in continuing? She should've pushed the deputy away preemptively. But now there was nothing to do. Far after they'd been spoken, a few of Poppyshine's words floated past Cindersky's echoing hisses. Her torn ear flicked again. "I know you'll listen," she said faintly, pointlessly. "But I... have talked too much, today. Too much already. I cannot bear..." What was she saying? That she couldn't bear it? But she had. She had already. And she would continue to. There was no choice.

"I want you to look at Littlesplash. I want you to look at him, see him, and justify it."

More words. They replayed endlessly on a loop. How many more times would she have to hear them? What would Poppyshine have to say? How many of those sentiments would echo if she truly spoke her mind? She was still there. Her friend. Her friend, still, for now... even momentarily. But it would all end eventually. They all hated her, deep down. Perchstar tried again. "I cannot bear to lose any more than I have already lost, today." But that was not what she would be saying. She couldn't deny that something had happened; Poppyshine was not stupid. And yet if she said what happened, then Poppyshine would want to talk--would want to know the details--would want to refute every point--would want to sympathize. Or, worse, would agree. And that would destroy Perchstar utterly. Yet she could not stay silent either. She felt like a trapped bird, wings broken, unable to flutter out of the trap it had wandered into. There was no way to end this interaction without pain. It would be so much easier to just rip off the broken wing entirely. But somehow, somehow, she could not.

"I don't even know the name of who you sent us to kill!"

The voices became louder. Focusing became more difficult. Perchstar's fish lay discarded at her paws, the idea of eating long forgotten. No longer possible. Instead, her mind spiraled, attempting to find some way out of this situation--but she could not see a light at any end. All roads led to the one friend she had left finally hating her, finally leaving her for good. Then her kits would follow, wouldn't they? They hadn't been hurt in the war, but it was only a matter of time. It had to be. And she would be stuck living again and again on this earth until she finally died, and even then they would hate her for dying. Though she kept a grimace from her face, her eyes likely looked wild as they darted towards the entrance, towards the wall, and then at her own white paws. No--they weren't white. Red. Stained red again. How many times would she have to wash them off? "I don't want to let it out. It only makes things worse. It hurts anyway. I let it out and it made things worse." Emotion. The purest, rawest emotion she'd ever felt, leaving her throat in a strangled scream that ended with fangs in Birdstar's neck. A friend murdered, leading to the murder of a friend. Murder. Murderer. And Littlesplash nearly dead, all her fault. And Cindersky hurt, all her fault. And Poppyshine, all her fault.

"I hate you."

They would all hate her, eventually, if they did not yet. Even Poppyshine. Perchstar could not bear to look up and see her eyes--either with love or with hatred, either would hurt. "I spoke with Cindersky." Was that even true? She'd tried to comfort Cindersky and made everything worse. She only made everything worse. And now her former apprentice hated her. Speaking felt like tearing thorns from her paws, but Poppyshine had wanted her to talk, and now she had to talk. Say something, say anything. Get her to leave. Get her to hate you. Get her to leave before she hates you. Her shoulders trembled once before she stilled them. If speaking would make this end faster--reach any end at all--then so be it. "She told me it was my fault. But... I knew that already. It shouldn't hurt so much." And yet she'd suffered a breakdown, the worst she had in moons, as a result. How much worse would it be if those same scathing accusations came in Poppyshine's voice?

"I hate you."

She shouldn't have killed Birdstar. She should have just let the fangs reach her. She should have taken Mottlestar's blow instead. The truth of it, the desire she could not express, tore her open. And still the voices battered her ears. Perchstar closed her eyes, but that only made the images worse, somehow. "I didn't want the war. I didn't." Was she even speaking aloud anymore? It was getting harder to tell. A breakdown so soon after her most recent one felt like scraping herself raw, like reopening a scarred wound--but her attempts to patch it up had been nullified. No herbs could soothe the sting of hatred. "But it's my fault." If only Cloverheart hadn't died--or if only Perchstar hadn't taken a walk that day. Maybe everything would've remained stable. Maybe SkyClan could have torn themselves to shreds before Birdstar was even born. It wouldn't have been her fault then. But it was. It was all her fault. Cloverheart's death, Beechfang's death, Birdstar's death, Mottlestar's death.

"I hate you."

Her ears pinned back against her head--a rare show of discomfort, of the inner turmoil that churned deep in the pit of her stomach. The voices only grew louder, and they took on voices that had never said those words... or she thought they hadn't. But she couldn't be sure. They sounded real. And everyone hated her, anyway, even if they never said it, so it had to be true. Mottlestar's death was her fault. Birdstar's fangs had been going for her throat. She should have taken the blow. The battle would have stopped, then. Mottlestar would have still been alive. Perchstar shook her head. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to exist anymore. "Mottlestar's death is my fault, your wounds are my fault... if Littlesplash had died that would also have been my fault. But I don't know why I have to say it. You already know." Poppyshine knew these things. She'd said them before. Maybe not out loud, but in her emptiness and grief after the war surely she'd thought them. Surely she would rather Perchstar died, and Birdstar lived. Surely that outcome would have been better for everyone.

"I hate you."

The words, even formed in her own mind, sent a fierce pang through her heart. In the sheer numbness and weight of the emotion, the pain making its way through at all was almost impressive. If only it was done. If only it was over. If it had just been said already they could be done with it all. But she hadn't said it yet. Maybe she would never say it. So... why? Why was Poppyshine still here? Waiting for her chance? Or sitting silently, watching Perchstar writhe in pain to pay for all that she'd done? But she couldn't pay. She couldn't pay enough, even with the death of a thousand lives. She should've died. Her eyes remained shut, unable to see the expression on Poppyshine's face--either the horror, or the agreement. She didn't know which was worse. Her voice came out quiet, half-choked with the tiredness of it all. "You hate me, too. So please, just--just leave. I can't bear it anymore. I'd rather die." And there--it was. She'd said it. The word ripped its way out. Her heart nearly stopped beating with the force of it. So now... now what? Perchstar sat trembling, panting, eyes shut against the face she loved so much she could not bear to look at it. It was over. It was the end--but somehow, it wouldn't be over. They would drag her from her grave again and again to suffer for her sins. But she'd rather die. She'd rather die.

It never stopped. None of it did. The shameful trembling of her limbs, the screaming cacophony in her head, the heavy crushing weight on her shoulders. Nothing stopped. Instead, another sensation added itself to the chaos, and it was one that Perchstar could not bear. Anguish in Poppyshine's voice; desperation in the press of the calico's drooping head into hers. The very things she had been trying so hard to avoid. Useless. All her efforts, why did she even bother? Why could she not command even enough respect to be left alone when she desired it? Desire... desire. She did not want to be alone. Deep beneath the hisses of hatred and the burning of her chest, something small wanted the company. Company for her misery, companionship for her loneliness. But she'd tried so hard to dissuade that desire because now she heard the pain in every word that Poppyshine spoke. Pain that Perchstar had caused. Again, and again, and again. She could not bear to open her eyes, but there was no use anyway. Poppyshine's entire form was pressing into hers now. In an attempt to... comfort, probably. Why? How could she still pretend after everything?

"I do not hate you. You are my best friend, Perch."

Despite herself, Perchstar felt her tail lashing behind her--some way, any way to react to the turmoil she couldn't control. She could hardly hear what Poppyshine was saying over the cacophony of hatred, but... she didn't hate her. She didn't hate her, yet. She did not appear to be just saying that to soothe her because she was a mess, an awful excuse for her normally composed self. Even if it was just to comfort her... that in and of itself would prove a lack of hatred. Poppyshine did not lie... or not to Perchstar, at least. Not like Birdstar had. But the strange idea of her only surviving friend truly being just that, truly not hating her, was too good to be true. Everything else had been. How could it be true, after all that she had done? After everyone else hated her? Cindersky had not always hated her, but she did now with a ferocity that consumed her former sweetness. Soon it would consume Poppyshine, too. The touch meant to be comforting--insistently so--but it was too much, too much. Too many sensations pressing in upon her from the outside and the inside. Yet Perchstar did not have the strength to pull away.

It was just as she had initially predicted. Every time, this was what happened. Poppyshine pried out the agony, reopened every wound, and then refuted every point of argument piece by piece with the calm logic of love. But stars, it hurt, and it never helped. Maybe it would ease the pain for a brief moment--but at its worst, all it did was to tell her that her pain was foolish and she should stop feeling it. She wanted to stop feeling it. She wanted to stop feeling. But Poppyshine's best efforts had never assisted as more than a temporary measure in the past, an aid to push her feelings far away and ignore them justifiably as long as she could. And here it was happening again. The sweet calico whose face pressed into hers spoke pained, seemingly endless words to fight back against what had been said. The accusations of blame and fault. Yet the words, as well-meaning as they were, could not change anything. If I had not acted in the way that I had, the war would not have happened--and therefore your injury, Littlesplash's injury, Cindersky's rage, Mottlestar's and Birdstar's deaths would not have happened. I knew this and yet I continued. I have no excuse. But she could no longer speak the words welling up in her throat. Not when her friend--her friend--got like this. Instead, a single, distressed sound choked its way out of her mouth. She cut it off as quickly as she could. I did not want to cause you pain. I did not want to cause any pain. I am causing you pain even now. No matter what she did, she could not escape the cycle.

The pressure beneath her skin, the agony of her heart, the aching of her bones, the screeching in her mind all came to a head. For a few brief moments, Perchstar did not exist--she simply became a sum of all the outward and inward forces pushing her, pulling her, breaking her apart. The sheer knowledge that her very existence rippled outwards, causing pain to those she loved, despite even her best efforts. If she left camp, she caused pain. If she exited her den, she caused pain. If she stayed in her den all day, she caused pain. If she spoke, she caused pain. If she stayed silent, she caused pain. And the pain she caused always rebounded, piercing her again with renewed strength and ferocity until it all became too much and she could no longer breathe. There was no way to end it. Not even death. No matter how desperately she wished for even momentary release, it was not a permanent solution. The stars would claim her spirit and force her to watch her decisions affect and cause pain to those she loved, again, and again, and again. The reality crashed in on her, along with everything else... but one of Poppyshine's many sentences finally penetrated the fog of wretchedness.

"Do not hate yourself because others love you.”

The words were not helpful, not really. They did not fix or change any of the many beasts that were consuming Perchstar alive. She shook her head--or, she would have, if she had been capable of motion. Telling her not to hate herself would not fix the problem. And that was... that was the heart of the problem. Mottlestar had spoken the word "beloved," and then died gruesomely as a result of it. Cindersky had cared enough to go to a battle she did not believe in, and then turned around to blame Perchstar rightfully for the trauma it had caused. And Poppyshine... Poppyshine, who spoke the word love more than any other cat she knew. Beaten, bruised, nearly killed, and for what? A battle she had spoken up against because she also cared for the traitor. The words did not help. The hatred was not because other cats loved her... was it? It couldn't be. She'd spent so long in denial about any positivity towards her that it ought to have withered away by the time she noticed. But she didn't, and so they sacrificed themselves for her despite her best efforts. It didn't help. It shouldn't help. She hated herself anyway. And yet, for some reason, as she fixated on the words, her breathing slowly began to steady itself. Some of the many words running rampant in their head found their way leaving her mouth.

Her voice remained hoarse, exhausted, but her throat had finally loosened enough to allow her to speak. "But... but they should not love me." She knew the words were futile, but she could not continue remaining silent in the face of Poppyshine's implacable attempts to fix her. "Mottlestar should not have loved me. She and her Clan would be far happier, I would be far less sad if she had not died in such a way. I could have taken the blow, and she..." The image of the smaller tortoiseshell being ripped violently apart like fresh-kill in Birdstar's slavering jaws caused an earth-shaking tremor to run through her. "She could not take it. She should not have taken it." She shook her head, now that it had been freed from the pressure of Poppyshine's; her friend's face was now buried in her ruff of fur, a familiar gesture that almost caused more pain than its absence had. "Cindersky should not have loved me, but she has rectified her mistake already. It is only natural that the others who still live, despite my mistakes, should follow. And you... you should not love me. Not after what I have done. Not after what it has cost you." Tentatively, sorrowfully, Perchstar lowered her head to the top of Poppyshine's--next to her cruelly torn ear. She should not be leaning into the kindness of her friend's touch. It was a bad habit, but it was one that she could not break, not when her strength had melted into such pathetic misery. "My efforts to save you do not justify that my paws were the ones who put you in danger. I made the decision, and I would make it again, but... I hate it. I try my best always, but... I hate that this is my best. I hate it and I hate myself. Cindersky hates me and she is right. You should hate me, too." She should. So why the continuous professions that she would not, could not, could never? It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?

The wave of pain had faded by now, leaving her numb again... but she knew it would not last. After all, she had ridden out the first wave by herself, and the second one had come with equal torment. The third one might break her entirely, at this rate. Her head pounded, and the raw edge to her voice dulled somewhat, but it was not out of relief... simply resignation. "I deserve every bit of this pain," she whispered, "but even if I did not, what could I do? I cannot wash it away. Not the blood from my paws nor the ache from my bones. It remains no matter what I do. Despite your best attempts, you cannot clear it. It would be better to let me suffer in silence than for you to suffer as well. Better to leave me alone than to keep hurting yourself with the knowledge of my pain. Hurting you is the last thing I want... but it seems to be what I am best at." Perchstar shook her head again. She would feel frustrated if her emotions had not burnt out completely from the overload. Her paws trembled, instead. "I am supposed to take your pain, not the other way around. Please do not offer me that. I cannot take it. As a leader, it is my duty to bear the burdens... of all those I love. So do not... please do not. I will take as much as I can, while I am here." However long that was. A time she simultaneously wished was far longer, for the sake of those who she could protect, and far shorter for her own sake. Selfishness. If only she did not need so many things. She could be a true leader, then. "The infirmity of my body betrays the strength of my resolve. I wish every wound could be mine. And yet... the weakest part of me flinches at each strike, even as I bring it upon myself. It is only what I deserve but I cannot take it with the silence I desire to."

Perchstar regretted giving voice to her desire for death. It had been borne of pain and desperation, not any real logic, but now it had made Poppyshine cry. Dampness soaked into the thick ruff of her white fur. Again, pain she had needlessly caused. She knew her death, her final one, would cause even more such agony. But what was she to do? Perchstar wished she could give comfort in kind, wished she could assist, but... it had never been one of her strengths. Still, she spoke once more. "I... cannot promise years." The words came in a low tone. More reluctant, more hesitant. "Though I would love to assure what you want, it is... not possible. Not because I seek death. I only die to protect, not for any of my selfish needs, so it is not up to me, but... I have only two lives left. I do not believe that I have years in me. Perhaps a few moons, at most. With the many aches I bear, the many cats whose losses haunt me... I begin to be old. I feel it in the depths of my soul." She did not feel old, not in the same way that a grizzled cat like Beechfang had been, but... in her life, she had pushed herself hard. She had done several lifetimes' worth of work. That would not fade easily into rest. Her resolve remained, but the energy with which she carried out her duties had slowly been sapped by the shadows dogging her every step. It was inevitable... She could not lie to Poppyshine. Her only friend did not deserve it. "If... when I leave you... it will not be because I want to. I am simply tired. I did not mean to wish for death. There are things about life that... I will miss." Faces flashed into her mind. Willowwisp, Mistwalker, Wrenpaw, Rookflight. Rowansong, Sprucebark. Temporarily Cindersky's face appeared, but that only lowered her already-slumped shoulders. "Even if it will not miss me, back. I do not wish to pain you all with my departure, even though I also cause pain simply through my existence. But I will not prolong my life by forcing others to die for me. When I die, I will die, and no sooner nor later than it is meant to happen." It ought to have been a reassuring thought... but no reassurance was left for her. Not in the whole of the forest. Not even with the love that crushed its weight into her chest even now.