Northstar Vale i'm so tired of eating all my misspoken words

Ok.

Her mouth fell open as a line appeared between her brows, and the wildfire fur on her back raised indignantly for a moment before she smoothed herself.  She wouldn't let him see her upset.

Whatever.  She shouldn't have expected any better from someone who had been part of Blackfeather anyway — at least, that's what she told herself.  Truthfully, she couldn't face that maybe she was the only one in this godforsaken place that had a problem with killing someone and Siarut was an easier scapegoat than tussling with those feelings.  Instead she'd focus on this is why we wouldn't have worked out, or why can't people put aside how they feel about things to have some compassion, or it's easier to say that when you haven't killed someone yourself.

Because it's much easier to say you'll do something than to actually do it.  She used to say she'd kill dutifully without hesitation — and she had! — she just hadn't realized the baggage that came with feeling someone's lifeblood leave between your very own jaws.  She wanted to tell him this, but something else came to her.

I have learned you cannot put your faith in others, or places. They will let you down.

It wasn't worth trying to explain to someone who wouldn't understand — no, someone who didn't matter to her anymore.  No.  How was he fine?  How did he just have his little family he wanted to get back to?  How did he seem so solid, and she was such a fucking disaster?

She wanted to hurt him, in the only way she knew how — and she didn't even know if it would work, but if it did it'd feel better than anything else thus far.  I slept with someone, too.  She took a step closer.  You know, all you had to do was ask.  Ceara rolled her shoulder and turned from him, prepared to leave him sad and alone with this newfound information and so long as she wasn't stopped she'd sashay away, tail swaying just enough to tease a glimpse of what might have been his, had he convinced her well enough.