riverclan had brought wren peace. stability, in the way the creek once had.
she thought often of them, of akavir and arric. how they held up without her. she did not think they missed her the way she did. and she did, horribly, resolutely at times; but she felt relief in other moments, knowing they were not burdened by her. riverclan was, now.
and she saw the way ash star looked at her, she saw the wrinkle of shadowpaw's nose; she smelled the distrust, the discomfort; she remembered the harsh demand of crowfeather for her to leave as if she were a beast wreaking havoc upon his home, all those moons ago. but silvertongue didn't look at her like that. she never had, and perhaps that was all that mattered.
she didn't know. all she knew was that she could not ruminate in the shade of the hollow. so she went elsewhere.
clumps of snow coat the ground, and the sky yawns good morning in shades of warm coral. the cuesta is empty, as far as wren can tell from the cutting drop of steep cliffs. the river shimmers with newly formed ice in the far horizon. it was a good place to go and think, and if she was lucky, snatch a foolish hare for her lover before she wakes.