Jayfeather missed her, sometimes. He would be happy, or as happy as a sullen cat could be, but still, reasonably happy, but then it would hit him. Some small thing would remind him of her. Some small, insignificant thing, such as a rock, or something a kit said. That would be all it took, and he would miss her. It was like a huge gaping hole in his flank.
It really doesn't make sense, he would tell himself. He lived seasons and seasons after she died.
But that didn't fix the hole.
So he would pretend she was next to him, her soft white fur brushing his, as he healed a cat, helping him press down cobwebs, or sort herbs. Her crouching next to him, swiping her tongue around her jaws after they shared a sparrow.
But that only made the hole worse.
So he would shake it off and continue his work, and almost forget the hole. But he was always reminded, somehow, someway.
So he would just pretend.