Softer than a sigh, a solemn wind fluttered through the trees, carrying the sudden and ripe aroma of chamomile in on its wings.
It should have warned them. More precisely it should've alerted her, but Minnowpaw's attention lay divided into pieces scattered elsewhere while the rather mild tempered day proceeded fairly innocuously for the rest of the patrol. And why wouldn't it? Nothing's wrong, she decisively determined.
Cool, fresh light fell across the forest, caressing their coats and brushing the blade tips of grass with a gentle stroke. Hints of Leaf-fall poked their head in, making its presence known by the subtle yellowing outlining of the surrounding shrubbery. The oaks were reluctant to succumb just yet, and their leaves remained a resolute popping, verdant green. Everything considered, what could possibly be wrong?
Her last four days were spent eating alone. Nothing's wrong. She went to her nest to rest earlier each day, coiling into herself tauter than a primed serpent ready to spring, silent. Nothing's wrong. Avoiding the grimness lurking behind red eyes. Nothing's wrong.
Meaningless, fleeting snippets of a vague, indiscriminate exchange? A hollow, aching sensation in the pit of her stomach? None of it amounted to anything. Nothing's wrong.
Their patrol spent their time readjusting the scent markers along border lines when a startled shout sent their collective heads turning southward. It drew her and the rest of the patrol in in the way moths would flock to a flame, bees attracted to honey, or ruin descended down upon unsuspecting peace.
Nothing's wrong.
Other cats were present on the scene, another patrol perhaps, hovering near the edge of a smattering of trees, but something appeared off with them. Rigid and breathless, no one would move. A tight bubble of apprehension encircled the space in a cloying cloud of fear scent, barring anyone from taking a single step further.
Something else lie mixed in with the chamomile, sickly bitter and hot, enough to disrupt and unsettle even the strongest of stomachs.
Minnowpaw slowly came up from the back, padding pass them unable to consciously control her limbs or feel a thing. A dark, ever expanding sense of dread tugged her forward–desperately eager for her to see the cause for the commotion up close. The dread insisted urgently how imperative it specifically be her who saw it. No one else could or would do. She must be the one.
Nothing's wrong.
A insurmountably massive oak suddenly bloomed into focus. Something bright and colorful lie at its roots. The trees encompassing the space loomed in closer, sagging sullenly over her and making the chance for backing out now impossible. Arid air made her mouth taste stale and breath start to shallow and catch.
Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong.
She inched forward, pace equivalent to a snail, bit by bit. Someone might've called out to her then. A fruitless final warning perhaps. Minnowpaw didn't recall.
Blood on the leaves and blood at the roots. Strands of glittering fur sifting listlessly in the Greenleaf breeze. Bulging eyes and twisted mouth, sweet scent of chamomile and exposed entrails to attract crows to greedily pluck. For the wind to disperse and suck. For the sun to rot and blood eventually clot.
Calling it a nightmare come true didn't do it just justice. Nothing could ever do her feelings justice. The words quite literally did not exist. Her mind went blank.
A voice, quiet and intrigued, summoned itself to whisper something in her ears. "Who knew oak trees bore such strange fruit?"
Distorted laughter rebounded throughout the air above her head. Minnowpaw stumbled backwards and bumped into something solid. Slowly turning around her eyes could only bolt open in terror. The group of RiverClan cats were gone. In their place, mangled and broken, lay grotesque renditions of the sight at the base of oak, dripping blood and reeking vilely of crowfood.
Minnowpaw turned and fled, the mocking laughter trailing after her horrified retreat in cascading echoes. She didn't want to remember. Why couldn't it just let her forget! Why, why, why!
Nothing's wr–!
She woke haunted and in excruciating pain. Her burned left side prickled and flared uncontrollably underneath the dressing of cobwebs, nearly unsettling her more than the remnants of the nightmare. The fear and shame she felt burned just the same.
Her heart raced at the pace of an entire patrols worth of cats, body physically shaking in response, and a sudden wave of sickening panic overcame her. How many times now, she wondered forlornly. How many more moments of this kind would she have to endure, how many more times the reality of the tragedy would bludgeon her to the ground, so stark and cruel and pitiless.
A sudden severe itch clawed at her throat, causing Minnowpaw to violently cough for a extended bout till she nearly retched. The rattling force battered her chest and body, the covered wound on her side seizing up in pain. She buried her muzzle into the floor and tried swallowing the coughs back down in an effort to mute them. It proved only partially successful.
By some point Minnowpaw lay prone on her side, gasping for air and absolutely drained. A sick, breathless ache prodded at her chest. She weakly began to close her eyes before darting them back open in a jolt.
Nothing good awaited her in the dark. Since the initial injury and previous parting with the bird, dreams of the past plagued her fitful and sleepless rests. She'd lost count along with the amount of days it'd been since then.
A soft pad of pawsteps made her ears perk. Laboriously, she lifted up to see a tom with glossy gray fur enter the den. Mistpaw again.
His presence was more commonplace than Leafwing's at this point. He always somehow managed to be stationed nearby whenever she awoke. Did he really wait there all day or just happen to be lucky with his visits?
She warily watched his approached. He slowly crossed the length of the room before depositing a bundle of dark seeds at the foot of her nest and then casually retreating with three deliberate steps back.
She leaned over and instantly lapped up the poppy seeds. Even if brief, it'd be refreshing to have a respite from the physical pain. She drew in a breath to sigh when a hitch caught in her throat sending Minnowpaw into another coughing fit.
Mistpaw vanished only to return immediately carrying a mossball lodged in-between his teeth. Similar to before, he plopped it down at the foot of her nest and moved back. With zero hesitation or sense of decorum, Minnowpaw greedily lapped at it. The instant, cool relief immediately set to soothing her inflamed throat and at once the itchiness started to recede.
"Thank you," she managed to murmur out, once having drained the mossball for all it was worth.
Mistpaw glanced at her. A span of time padded by before eventually his head gradually bobbed in some manner approximate to a nod. Apparently finished, he turned then to leave.
"Wait!" Minnowpaw cried out. Mistpaw paused and partially turned, his left eye watching her expectantly. The words caught in her throat. She didn't want to admit it, at least not out loud, but she was scared. Rampant fear kept her from drifting back off to sleep and she didn't want to be alone right now. "Can we talk?" She settled for something less embarrassing instead.
He fully turned to stare at her through half lidded eyes. His expression exuded a noticeable air of neutrality, giving the odd sense of interacting with a rock. If something managed to surprise or interest him it wouldn't be readily apparent.
Minnowpaw inwardly prepared herself for rejection. They hardly knew each other, and besides that Mistpaw had no obligation to humor her, even if he had agreed to assist Leafwing in helping to aid in her recovery.
"I guess so." He spoke in a lax, almost drowsy sort of manner–words partially mumbled sounded stuck to the roof of his mouth. She couldn't quite determine if his tone implied boredom or exhaustion.
With next to no dawdling, Mistpaw padded back across the den and situated himself about a solid eight or so pawlengths away from her nest. The silent gesture surprised her. Minnowpaw wasn't too comfortable with having unfamiliar cats so close to her and he seemed acutely aware of the fact.
What now, she wondered pitifully, having Mistpaw now sat and staring at her. She called out for the sole sake of not wanting to be alone, but now that she wasn't it slowly began to dawn on her how long it'd been since she'd actively interacted with another cat her own age. A living one that is.
"I heard from Leafwing you were the one who originally found me, right?" she began lamely. There was a pause wherein a realization dawned on her. "Thanks for that and sorry," she added sheepishly, lowering her gaze. "I probably should've said it to you much earlier."
How fishbrained could she be? For who knows how long he'd been here day after day, helping to provide her with herbs and water as Leafwing directed, and not once had she ever remembered to say a thing about him essentially saving her life. Mistpaw never mentioned it either, but since having him around as a second surrogate medicine cat she'd quickly come to learn that the gray tom didn't generally have much to say on average.
"It's fine," he replied flatly, almost flippantly.
Minnowpaw resisted a wince, partly from pain and partly from his tone. He was even harder to talk to than she thought. She scoured her frayed thoughts for something, a semblance of anything even slightly interesting enough to be a conversation starter. Her painful inexperience was already starting to show, she knew.
"Do you how long I've been in here?" There, that was a simple question and one she actually wanted an answer to.
She watched Mistpaw's eyes slowly roll to the roof of the den, seemingly in thought. "Maybe twelve sunrises?" he speculated aloud.
Twelve sunrises, she nearly blurted out before remembering her burn. "Really? That's nearly a half-moon." It certainly hadn't felt that long, but she'd also spent a large portion of it barely cognizant.
"You slept a lot," Mistpaw said simply. He said it in such a casual tone of voice, as though it surmised everything completely.
Slept. Minnowpaw averted her eyes so Mistpaw wouldn't notice the misery reflected in them. What he considered sleeping and what she'd been through were not exactly the same. No part of her felt rested in the slightest. She suffered the miserable certainty knowing how unavoidable it was.
"Mouse?" Minnowpaw's eyes blinked and swiveled over to Mistpaw, narrowing in confusion. "To eat," he clarified a moment later.
Reflexively, she opened her mouth to decline when, as if StarClan itself decreed it fate, Minnowpaw's stomach chose that exact moment to unceremoniously rumble. Her pelt instantly flushed and ruffled.
Mentally floundering about in an effort to keep her stammering embarrassment at bay, Minnowpaw was forced to simply mew a weak, "Sure," in reply.
Mistpaw stood and vanished out the mouth of the den, leaving her alone with her singed wits. She covered her face with a paw, wishing beyond anything else in the world she could just evaporate into thin air.
Of all times, why then? Why now? If not for her burn, Minnowpaw seriously considered trying to dig a hole and bury herself before Mistpaw returned. Exaggerated to an extent, but close enough in range to how she genuinely felt.
"Here."
She lifted her paw, eyes widening at the sight of Mistpaw back and already seated. When did he–how did he? Her gaze shifted from him to down at the crest of her nest where a curious sight awaited. There was no mouse, not a whole one. It lay in pieces, near unrecognizable to what it'd once been.
The mouse meat was cut and separated into miniature bites the size of pebbles. Minnowpaw took special notice of how raw and pink it was, barely any traces of blood or skin to be found, indicating deliberate care had been taken to ensure there wouldn't be.
She looked to Mistpaw, expression mystified. "Did you do this?"
"Earlier," he mewed, before an immediate pause and possible consideration. "Leafwing showed how," he slipped in at the end.
His admission left her at a loss for how to respond. Not wanting to make a further fishbrain out of herself, Minnowpaw quickly ducked her head and lapped up some of the pieces.
She chewed slowly, cautious of how her stomach would react. The pieces were soft and still warm. Chewing them to a adequate degree, she swallowed and then waited. Twenty heartbeats expired by. This was usually the moment when her stomach would revert in on itself and force her to retch, but...nothing.
Minnowpaw waited another twenty heartbeats, holding her breath. Still nothing. Her stomach remained even and settled. Just how long had it been?
An onslaught of frenzied emotions began relentlessly pounding against her walls of composure. She started blinking rapidly and slowly breathing in and out through her nose to keep it together and not shake. Just breathe, she recited. It's okay, you're okay, just breathe.
"How is it?" Mistpaw's voice could've been spoken from out in the forest for how faraway it sounded to her in that moment.
Avoiding direct eye contact, she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak without falling apart. Was this happiness? No, not quite. Things were in much too disarray to indulge in a lie like that. Relief then? That fit better. It didn't feel as outlandish.
Desperate for a distraction, she ate the rest of the meat in silence. She finished the meal and mewed a quiet and quick, "Thank you," to Mistpaw who nodded in return.
The fullness in her belly felt almost foreign, an indication of how it'd truly been. Minnowpaw shifted slightly in her nest, feeling a bit of drowsiness tug at the tips of her whiskers. Sleep was the absolute last thing Minnowpaw wanted to partake in, but she didn't know for how long she could keep it. There was also the second underlining issue of Mistpaw. She had no right to keep him here just to appease herself.
"Tired?" Mistpaw suddenly asked.
Her ears shot up at being called out. Was she that transparent? "A little," she admitted reluctantly.
Here it comes, she thought gloomily. Now that he knew he'd most likely tell her to get some rest and then leave.
"I can wait till you do."
He stated it so simple and casual that she didn't know how to react. Surprise? Relief? Confusion? Who knew? The only thing more indiscernible than her emotions right now was Mistpaw's expression.
"That'd...be nice," she said before lowering her head. A lull fell over the den as they sat in silence. Minnowpaw fidgeted in her nest, mulling over a request she didn't know how to make. Searching for a way not to embarrassment herself too badly, Minnowpaw asked, "Could you–I mean if you're around later, could you bring me more water to drink when I wake up?"
Mistpaw's half-lidded gaze held her in their sights. Five heartbeats passed by before his head bobbed once again in its odd sort of manner. "Sure. I can do that."
That became the starting point. Of what kind would be an incredibly difficult and vague thing to describe or determine. Mistpaw continued to stop by daily and he and Minnowpaw would spend small portions of the day awkwardly interacting with each other in their own unique ways.
She wasn't sure what to think of this arrangement, but the distraction it provided her from her own thoughts and nightmares became invaluable. Days began to blow by like a breeze, and with it came change.
A brisk chill started to take hold of the weather while simultaneously shortening the days and lengthening the nights. Being regulated to the medicine den thankfully kept her free from most of it. The next change came in the form of her appetite. It'd drastically improve allowing her for the first time in moons to eat until she actually felt full. The burn on her side had also grown less severe in degree, thanks largely to Leafwing's constant and attentive care.
There was a time during mid-day where Minnowpaw lay on her side as Leafwing redressed her burned after applying a poultice, when out the corner of her eye Minnowpaw noticed the she-cat smiling while glancing down at her.
"Yes?" Minnowpaw mewed, catching her eye.
Leafwing shook her head while still smiling. "Nothing, I was just thinking it's nice to see you and Mistpaw getting along."
"Oh," she replied lamely, suddenly feeling meek.
Though still clumsy in their overall execution, the talks with Mistpaw hadn't been unpleasant. He was decidedly different from the types of cats she was more used to interacting with, being rather hard to get a real feel for his current mood or intentions, but different didn't necessarily mean bad.
As the creep of Leaf-bare started to ever so slowly inch its way into prominence, Minnowpaw's nightmares seemed to only accelerate in volume. Constant, visceral and heart palpitating dreams of the lifeless form beneath the oak tore at her psyche. One truly rough patch came in the recital of a parting message she'd heard from Dewpaw.
"I wish I'd had you as a friend. Maybe it would've made a difference since you actually care."
No, she screamed internally as the image of the broken form beneath the oak manifested into focus along with it. That's not true! I'm awful, Dewpaw. I'm a awful friend. I'm the worse one to ever exist. You wanted say that if you actually knew the truth. If you knew what I'd done–
She flailed awake, her limbs batting aimlessly through the air to dispel the frightful scent overrode her senses. Haggard and sharp, her breath shot out in quick bursts as she roughly sat up staring around panic stricken.
"Bad dream?" a placid voice called out.
Minnowpaw jutted her head in the direction of the sound to see Mistpaw. No. He'd seen her. He just saw everything. He–. Mistpaw turned and padded out of the den without a word. Maybe less than twenty heartbeats later he returned carrying a mossball and placed it down before her, nudging it forward with his nose.
"Drink," he mewed. "It'll help."
Docile as a kit being coaxed by its mother, Minnowpaw listened to Mistpaw's words and lapped from the mossball. She lapped away until the ball eventually dried, providing no further moisture, and produce a low sigh.
"You okay now?" Mistpaw asked. He slid into a crouched position beside her nest and peered at her face.
Minnowpaw warily looked back at him, the initial urge to lie urgent, but mid act something silent shifted in her conscience to say instead, "I–no. No, I'm not. I've not been okay for a very long time now. I've been trying to solve my problems by brute force. If I banged my head hard enough, surely things would go my way, is probably what I was thinking, but it's not. Its gotten worse–I've gotten worse, and I don't know what to do about any of it."
"Sounds painful."
"It is," she agreed. And the admission made her suddenly feel thirty moons older.
Why was she suddenly being this open, especially to Mistpaw of all cats? Maybe it was just an accumulation of events coming to near collapse for her, who knew? One too many things had transpired for her to just suffer alone in silence anymore.
Mistpaw's gaze wandered around the den. "What was it about?" he asked quietly. "The dream."
She deliberated over whether to say anything. Truth told, there was very little of the dream she wanted to revisited. "Applepaw," she mewed at last, once a span of time had passed. While it didn't go into detail it still managed to surmise things succinctly.
Silence fell over them. It surrounded the two cats sitting in the otherwise empty medicine den. Mistpaw's usually vacant expression carried a certain active quality to it in the dimness, a sight Minnowpaw wasn't used to seeing. His half-lidded eyes suddenly shone.
"Did you know Applepaw was stealing herbs from Leafwing?"
If not for the ache at her side, Minnowpaw would've gone completely numb then out of shock. Being tossed rapidly between bafflement and alarm, she could only stare in stunned silence at Mistpaw.
"I'd see her," he continued on rather mildly, appearing ambivalent to her frazzled state, "sneak in when Leafwing was gone and she thought no one was looking. She'd come running back out with her mouth stuffed full of something."
A faint hint of a sweet fragrance teased the tip of her nose. A moment later it became overrun with the stench of blood, visions of a oak, and more. A flare of anger ignited within Minnowpaw.
Her eyes narrowed in a mixture of pain and suspicion as she glowered at Mistpaw. "If you knew, why didn't you say anything?" The accusation came barbed and venomous, directed at the gray tom.
Voice still as a lake in Leaf-bare, he shot her a sidelong glance and mewed, "Dunno, why didn't you?"
Her pelt burned as though covered in ants. "Why do you think I knew?" she quickly tossed at him.
"So you didn't?" Mistpaw tossed back.
There was no hint of a challenge in his tone, but it didn't change how defensive she suddenly felt. And Minnowpaw knew precisely why. Of course she would. Why hide it anymore?
In the silence, she cobbled together her courage best she could before turning to face her fate. "Chamomile," she relented. "That's the herb she was stealing." She then added, still unsure in her own mind if it made things better or worse, "It's a flower with small white petals and a yellow center."
Mistpaw's whiskers twitched briefly. "What's chamomile?" he droned. "Don't know too much about herbs."
"It's a mood enhancer."
A low rumble sounded in Mistpaw's throat. "Why'd she need something like that?"
Minnowpaw spoke her next words carefully, using the same level of caution one would handling an egg. "I don't know." Mistpaw gave her a long, dry, thoughtful look. "I'm telling the truth!" The protest came raw and anguished, summoned from a place buried far below.
"Never said you weren't."
Whether it was his tone of voice, the statement itself, or just her own insecurities come to light, Minnowpaw gave Mistpaw a look of profound look of disdain, blind anger taking hold once more. "Why do you care?" she lashed out derisively. "None of it concerns you anyway. Not you or anyone else. It–"
"Why?" Minnowpaw fell into a stunned silence as Mistpaw's placid complexion melted away to be replaced with gritted frustration. He widened his eyes to reflect the same. "Because I saw Applepaw doing weird stuff like that and never said a thing, and now you're being weird too, sneaking out at night, getting burned and not telling anybody how. I saw problems, never said a thing about them and later cats got hurt."
Despite the flatness of his tone, the words carried weight and stung deep. It left her speechless and thoughts spiraling.
She couldn't deny the accusation. Since the incident she'd kept mum about the entire situation, deflecting every chance she got to not give Leafwing a genuine response. Realistically what could she say about it anyway? 'I got burned in a dreamland while trying to protect a dead cat'? Leafwing was already overly concerned about her enough. Telling her that would only worsen it. It'd– A sudden old memory of Applepaw's lone and solitary visage gave her pause.
That's right. As staunchly as she tried to forget, this was the truth. Minnowpaw was just making excuses like she'd done to avoid telling the truth. To not let others peer through the fog and perceive the cat hiding inside, the one they wished no one ever would. Mistpaw had though.
He'd been watching not just her, but the two of them silently for some time now. Observing the actions and behavior she and Applepaw had both separately thought anyone was keen to. Her behavior would alarm any sane cat.
Mistpaw readjusted his posture while heaving a great sigh. "Sorry," he mewed, remorse coloring his tone in emotion. "Sorry," he mewed again before shaking his head. "You were alone after Applepaw died. I knew but held back. Dunno why. Watched you start sneaking out at night and finally followed." He seemed to fight back against something then before revealing, "found you hurt and panicked. Thought you'd died." He grew distant, his expression becoming faraway before he blinked and looked to her. "I started helping Leafwing as a excuse to see you. Had to know you were okay. It's fishbrained, but I needed to take responsibility. I wanted to. Staying quiet hurts others. Not fixing your faults hurts you."
The tom who hardly emoted let alone seemed to feel anything sat there baring his all to her, raw and unguarded. He'd carried such a dark burden on his lax shoulders all this time while she roamed around completely oblivious, festering. For so long she'd thought only she had been so greatly affected by Applepaw's death, but it wasn't true. The reality was sitting right here in front of her.
There was so much she'd misunderstood or missed through her narrow-minded tunnel vision.
"You're right," Minnowpaw said, drawing Mistpaw's ears to perk at her voice. "Applepaw wasn't who I thought she was. She wasn't who anyone in camp thought she was. The chamomile helped her keep up that lie. In my own way I kept up that lie afterwards by refusing to acknowledge it. Mistpaw, I need your help." She looked to him not quite pleading, but clearly vulnerable. "There's something I need to face, but can't do alone. Not how I am now."
Mistpaw nodded, almost as if he had been suspecting the news. "Gonna assume it's to do with how you got burned?" She nodded and he mewed, "How can I help?"
Radiating relief, Minnowpaw let show a tiny smile, surprised at how natural it felt. "I need help getting out into and through the forest."
They emerged from the medicine den and she was instantly struck by the difference in temperature between the inside and camp, as a brisk bite greeted them. Minnowpaw lay leaning against Mistpaw's warm side, the burn on her opposite side making it unfathomably difficult to move alone without assistance.
A bold and whole, luminous moon nestled in the night sky, illuminating the barren scarce nature of the RiverClan camp.
Mistpaw leaned over and mewed, "Gathering," into her ear with a low mumble. She looked backed to him and nodded. That made things significantly easier.
They slipped out into the wintry climate of a forest much different from the one she'd last seen a moon ago. Wilting, mottled brown had encroached upon much of the greenery. The treetops were even more barren than the camp they'd just come from, long, gnarled, and skeleton in display.
Guided by her direction they set off down a path, the trek relatively slow moving, but still quite quicker than anything Minnowpaw would've been able to managed on her own. They were silent for a majority of the it, the only sound breaking up the monotony being Minnowpaw's occasional snippets of indicating the right directions.
They were silent for another long sweeping curve of the path when Minnowpaw suddenly ordered their momentum to a halt. "Could you wait here for me? I'll call if I need you."
The gray tom's expression implied he wasn't particular comfortable suddenly being split from her, but after a few more pieces of reassurance from Minnowpaw that everything would be fine and to trust her, he relented.
Minnowpaw?" She heard from behind and turned back to him. Mistpaw stood resolutely in the dark. "I dunno what you're trying to do, but I hope it helps."
She flashed a tiny, delicate smile and nodded back. "Me too."
Left to move alone, she hobbled ahead while fighting back constant grunts of pain from the stinging pricks in her side.
Almost there. She just needed to put in a bit more. The familiar landscape of their previous encounters were flocking into view like migrating birds. And speaking of birds then.
"And so once more you've returned." The voice welcomed her the same as always, the level of derision and spite it'd held before all but a distant and harsh memory.
She wished she could say the same for its appearance. The bird lay perched on a barren tree branch. Its feathers were missing, exposing raw and rotting skin peeled back even further to reveal its bone white ribcage. One black eye was also gone, socketless and calloused over with a hideously dark brown scab. Its wings were little more than stubs, barely supported by a few remaining tufts of fur.
Despite it all, the bird stoically fixed its remaining eye down on her. "So then, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Minnowpaw paused for a long moment, looking down at her paws. Speak what's in your heart, the same as Mistpaw did. Looking back up, Minnowpaw's expression had solidified into one of acceptance. "I'm here because I'm done running away. Not just physically either. Mentally and emotionally, I'm here to confront everything. Not just Applepaw but myself as well."
"Tell me the truth, Minnowpaw. I want to hear what happened in your own words," the bird prodded. "Where does your guilt stem from?"
"I abandoned her." Once said, Minnowpaw knew there was no turning back. "After realizing who Applepaw really was, I stopped speaking to her entirely." She closed her eyes briefly and gritted her teeth before mewing, "And then days later she ended up dying."
Vulnerable and weak, similar to her. No! Applepaw was great specifically because she wasn't similar to her. Always smiling, always upbeat and happy. Proactive and friendly. Sociable. Confident and strong. That other cat didn't reflect the one she knew.
"Ah, so she wasn't who you wanted her to be?"A bout of laughter followed after, sardonic and pointed. It knocked against her skull, thudding with each rippling echo. "My, you truly were naive, weren't you? Imagine idolizing a cat who only existed in your head. No, Minnowpaw, Applepaw struggled just as you did–unsure, scared and desperate for someone to notice and reach out like she did for you. Secrets hid, buried behind bright words and kind smiles. Accept and acknowledge it. She's not perfect. She is not your savior."
Minnowpaw could hear the drum of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. "I know that now, and I'm here to finally take accountability for it. Let me see Applepaw so I can apologize."
"Do you truly believe an apology is all it will take?"
"Probably not," she admitted with some glum. "But I can't expect to move pass any of this if I'm not at least willing to try."
"You're aware your life will be at stake this time around, correct?" It pressed, confining her to a corner. "The same as reality where reckless, thoughtless decisions result in permanent outcomes. No one else can save you. There will be no second chances. Do you accept this; will you go anyway?"
Her answer had already been decided the moment she decided to come here. Minnowpaw knew no other recourse. All paths led to this final scenario. "I do and I will."
The bird craned its head back and opened its beak. A tendril of white smoke exited out to join the chill of the night air. "And so comes an end to our relationship. Go to the tree."
Minnowpaw's insides twisted into knots. "What tree?"
The bird's single eye enveloped her. "You already know," it said as the knots twisted harder. "A final word of parting then, Minnowpaw. For all you have experienced, for all you have accomplished and failed, remember this: Applepaw is not your savior, but neither are you hers. Giving your life won't give hers back."
And as if the final strand of life had been plucked from its body, the bird toppled lifelessly from the branch, bouncing off of the hardened ground below before rolling to a standstill, stiff and broken.
Minnowpaw swallowed against the dryness and odd since of loss in her throat, turning then to quietly pad away to where her final encounter would take place. Back to where it'd all started. No matter what things would conclude tonight.