Lost Creek Hollow excessum

Leave.
In that order was a world-shattering coldness Wren could not have fathomed ever coming from the man she envisioned to be Crowfeather. And she felt her expression change, from a soft outcry to something ugly and scorned—
And she looks to Silver; she will come to her, and oh, how the sound of her weeping made the eyes of the somgbird swell with her own tears.
She could have fought it. Should have, would have; would have spat in the face of the coward who turned Silver's love away in the name of that battered soldier with that thousand-yard stare, that thief, that liar, that world-destroyer, and yet as she stares forlornly at the woman who had become something to her she found that she could not. Even as he spewed his anger unjustly to everyone who had done him no wrong, even when Wren could feel the blood rush to her head in a slew of reactionary emotion that felt so violent, she could not.
Silver loved him.
And they had children.
It was that statement from the man which, under any other circumstance, would have ultimately sent her metaphorically tumbling off the rails of the track. They had children. Silvertongue, Silver, she had borne the spawn of this man and had not once thought to tell her. And yet in this moment, it meant nothing.
These-- these are for you, bella.
She leaves the flowers where she had dropped them and limps into the brush as quickly as she could. Alone. She would go alone, and if that man; Kestrelcloud, or whatever; were to follow, she would warn him away with a hiss.
She needed to go alone.