Shadowwyn Moor find my nest of salt, everything is my fault

She offers food. A hare.
Wren takes the nape between her teeth and begins to tear, slowly, meekly. And she does this in silence for a while, a long while, before she stops suddenly with a brewing nausea. It grips her stomach and plants her feet firmly upon the ground.
And she isn't sure why, but she begins to tell this woman everything.
The story from beginning to end; Moss, dead, the child wriggling at her bosom and searching for the warmth that was not to be found. The strange man. Mae. How he'd snapped at her, how he circled Moss's corpse like a vulture. How she struck first; started it. How he sought to finish it. How she hadn't known. How he hadn't stopped.
Gunnar's appearance at the border, demanding she pay for what she had done. Akavir's defense of her. The guilt that tears at her. I am a monster. I do not know my own strength.
And then there was Silvertongue.
She recalls the story of how they met; how a chance upon Riverclan's border blossomed into more; the trips between two lands. How Silvertongue had nursed her to health after the fight. How Germanicus had unravelled her — stolen her, robbed her of a life free from pain, and now she was gone. How she loved her.
You and your people deserve the truth, she mutters then. and that's all of it. And I'm sorry.
There was nothing else left.