They never know what to say to each other. Their fate now is unchangeable, or so Sedgewing thinks. Morningsong doesn't believe in permanent. Things will change, if she pushes hard enough; pushes with her claws. He knows she's beautiful, but he can't see the appeal. Morningsong is a rose, and her thorns are deadly. She doesn't like him much. He seems to get in her way too often. Her pair is her liability; she knows she was never meant to be restrained, and much less by this scrawny tom, but nothing lasts forever. He'll discover this, when he dies bloody and betrayed, pricked one too many times by her thorns. Nothing will last forever, except for perhaps the rose in the sun, a perfect shade of crimson.