...the more i say i owe my mother an apology (c)

As it often did, the pain ebbed with time. It had its resurgences--often in the dark of the night, or triggered by a sudden image or circumstance that brought a memory to mind--but aside from those, life continued in as normal of a way as it could. And for Perchstar, that meant losing herself in her duties. At this point it was the only thing she knew. How long had she been in a position of authority now? Ever since Jaystar put a young warrior he'd never met before in charge, she had put herself aside to serve the Clan, and today was no different. She'd just gotten back from a border patrol and walked into camp, head full of things to keep herself busy and keep the fiery, stinging bite of introspection at bay, when a form that had been avoiding her for so long suddenly reappeared. One she'd thought herself now destined only to see in her relapses when the dam broke and all measures to protect herself failed. A small, tailless gray she-cat blinked up with fearful blue eyes in a manner that sent Perchstar inwardly spiraling through a dark tunnel of deja vu. A ceremony, a goose, snowy mountains, the enormous jaws of a wolf breaking through her fragile body, coppery blood flooding across her tongue. And yet... it was so easy to remember those eyes blank with trembling rage instead.

"I hate you."

No--she would not break down again. She would not. Not in front of her, and not in camp. Perchstar almost could not make eye contact for fear of being unable to protect herself from what she saw. But she willed her veins to be stone and her face unmoving, then glanced down at one of her few apprentices still living, one of the many Clanmates she'd died for... one of the many she'd loved. Cindersky. Her words, in sharp contrast to the hissing voices that chased the leader through her sleepless nights, were quiet and hesitant. A far cry from their former wailing state, and a harsh reversion to their usual tone. Surely, Cindersky had not forgotten their falling-out. Perhaps she thought that it had been long enough they'd avoided each other, and they ought to go back to at least having a working relationship as Clanmates. Perhaps the deep hatred still simmering within her just wanted to invite her out on pretense of a hunting trip to watch her squirm. But whatever the reason, Perchstar did not have a habit of refusing requests for her to serve the Clan... even if they were from cats whose mere presence felt like someone sinking their fangs into her throat and then twisting them to produce the desired effect. All of this ran through her head in an instant. None of it showed on her face. No more vulnerability; no more weakness. It would be tiring to repeat the same thing twice, after all.

Perchstar spoke with her voice the same as her face: emotionless. "All right." Then without another word or outward gesture, she spun towards the exit of camp and began to walk away. If Cindersky truly wanted to spend time with her--for whatever ulterior motive she may possess--then she would follow.

How odd, fate's repetitions. How mocking. How it enjoyed throwing her previous efforts in her face. Perchstar did her best to keep her steps from stiffening uncomfortably as she walked, retracing the usual path to the river. A path she'd walked with the cat behind her so many times... a path that now felt as if it had changed after the long leaf-bare. Though every turn in the territory remained the same, the scenery that usually calmed her carried a bitter, burnt aftertaste. Soothing scents of damp earth and the rustling sounds of reeds turned into thick, choking mud and the harsh laughter of the wind whistling through grass. She walked here now, a murderer. And behind her followed Cindersky, who had once trailed her shadow like a trusting ghost and who now affected those same steps, without the same honesty as before. A charade. A farce. Ridiculous, all of it, and ridiculous that Perchstar went along with it instead of turning around and using her time for more productive things. What foolish part of her clung to that earlier time, to memories of a small apprentice in larger pawsteps? Or even further back, to a calico of the same size and profession, looking up with wide green eyes full of naive admiration? Foolish. Ridiculous. But she could not turn around and retreat--not on any of the paths she walked. Such was the burden of a leader.

The river drew closer. The lifeblood of the Clan, clean and pure with snowfall, ought to have been reassuring. But she was far past reassurance. Nothing could clear her mind, not with the quiet pawsteps and sharp scent of fear emanating from behind her. White paws stained invisibly red met the cool mud of the riverbank without even feeling the chill. Out of habit, Perchstar sat downstream, without even realizing what she was doing. The hardened instinct to protect--nurtured by Poppyshine, further strengthened by her kits and her apprentices--had become a part of her now. She could not step back from the riverbank any more than she could step back from the decision to dive headfirst into murky waters after a vanishing pair of ears. Light blue eyes scanned the current for a moment almost automatically, more for something to do than anything else. They could not shift sideways. Not with the threat of feeling any more than she already had. Not when a single move could cause her senses to cascade in an avalanche of aching and desperation. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

"Perchstar."

That voice. She drew in a sharp breath through her teeth at its hesitance, at the painful familiarity. At how it so easily resumed its former tone--the one that had asked her about the forest and fish and had stammered apologies. That had refused to leave her side when ordered. That had shrieked so horribly in the jaws of a wolf. That had delivered scathing words of hatred that stung so much worse than any she'd heard before, because they had come from one she'd truly given her heart to. Not a growing friendship like Birdstar, but... a nurturing relationship. One of leader to follower, of mentor to apprentice... no. More than that. Almost of mother to daughter. A bond she had not ever thought into existence but had unthinkingly obeyed from the moment of ceremony. The realization struck her with catastrophic force, tearing at her from inside--but she could not show it. She could not allow herself to make even the most minute change of expression. Her gaze locked onto the river, searching for any foundation on which to anchor herself--but to no avail. The waters shifted, tumbled, swirled in impossible patterns. She could not find any respite. And once again the voice came to offer that final push into oblivion.

An apology. Another apology. Something she'd once thought might have been the only thing that the small gray she-cat knew how to say. After their former conversation, though, it seemed almost laughable. Sorry? She was sorry for expressing her feelings? She was sorry for expressing the blame that fell so squarely onto Perchstar's shoulders? She was sorry for attacking in both of their most vulnerable moments? She was sorry. They were both sorry. That did not patch the wound. It would almost have been easier if Cindersky had acted as if the outburst had not happened; that would have been far more bearable than this stilted, stuttering apology. This was almost worse than the doubling-down of Birdstar leaping in, eyes crazy with bloodlust, fangs sharp as a demon's. Perchstar could not keep the tension from making her frame rigid. She wished she could jump into the river and melt into its waters like a pad of snow. But she could not run. She could never run away from a decision she had made.

Once Cindersky's half-completed sentences finally fell to a halt, Perchstar found the onus for conversation on her. This was where someone like Poppyshine would accept the apology. Someone like Poppyshine, someone good, would turn with teary eyes and proclaim how much the words had hurt and the gratitude for such dishonesty as to revoke them. But Perchstar was not good. Something tight had seized her heart long ago and the pressure squeezed almost every ounce of goodness, hardening it into an awful crust of ice that surrounded a tiny ember remaining. That ember blazed in emotion--in anger, in sorrow, in response to the pain of those she loved. Because she loved with so little and could not take the affection back once granted, it cankered like a sore. It blistered up, heat meeting cold with a ferocious reaction that now wrung further emotion from her exhaustion. She did not want to respond, did not want to feel, and yet it had already been over before it had begun.

When she spoke, her tone carried the same calmness as it had previously. Even though Cindersky had pressed on her weak points--had taken the love she gave and torn into it, before offering it once more as if it were nothing--she could not offer the same again. She could not reciprocate. No more harsh, low tones. No more rough and raspy voice. No more emotion. "It was not wrong. Everything you said was true." She could not look. She could not bear to look. Her eyes had to remain fixed on the river, though they no longer truly saw. Cindersky was a good cat. That must be why she attempted to apologize now, even though Perchstar could not understand those so different from her. But the attempt hurt worse than the alternative. It was all a lie. All done in fear. Fear of the leader who stood stone-faced even now in the face of unalterable pain. "This is your problem. You cannot stand up for yourself. Only for others, and even then you backtrack at the earliest possible moment." Except when she stood in front of Littlesplash's body and took a foolish blow. Except when she fought in a battle she had hated. For those she truly loved, she would do anything... and Perchstar was not such. Hatred so deep could only be born from a twisted former care. And so like everything else, it was her fault again. She had to force herself to breathe so that she could speak the words piercing her tongue. "If you hate me, tell me. Do not spare my feelings." And... for the first time she could remember, Perchstar lied to Cindersky. "There is nothing left to spare."