When he next woke, the area around him was much clearer.

It wasn't that blurry anymore and he could see his own paws beneath him. One was all wrapped up in all sorts of herbs and moss, plastered with cobwebs and various other green bits. Yet the other only had a few cobwebs that scattered upward from where his paw ended.

The ground no longer seemed to shift as he did, and the world was anchored around him. He was in some form of a den, with sticks and some sort of tree root above him. Twisting momentarily, he finally surveyed the area that he'd been put into.

He was beside, or rather tucked underneath, one of the two trees' roots. He didn't know which one it was but that didn't really seem to matter. The root seemed to have been pushed up and he was tucked snugly beneath it. Moss and some sticks were woven above him, and it smelled somewhat nice, too.

Sunlight slowly filtered into the small den, peeking through the branches above his head. Dappling his pelt with its warmth, he settled down a little more and realized that he was settled on a mossy nest. Peering down, he caught sight of his heavily injured pelt, and soon enough caught sight of the herbs plastered atop it too. But it was safe now. Except it wasn't.

The second he was awake, his mind immediately plagued him with Pantherleap. The days of forgetting he was gone were over, apparently. Every time he laid his skull down, the tom would pop into his head.

You're not being sad enough.

His stomach grumbled irritably as though in agreement, but that one didn't even make sense. But it didn't just go away; it was stuck there, like a cobweb on a bloody wound, like how water stuck to a cat's pelt and only left after being shaken off.

You probably didn't even love him.

Evidently, that one was fake. But still, it didn't move, it simply stayed and hissed its words at him over and over again as if he would listen, as if it would help. And no matter how hard he tried to shove them away, they stayed.

He died thinking you loved him.

Some were stemmed off others, and the more and more they stemmed from each other, the less it made sense. The worse part was that he knew it was fake and that he knew it couldn't be true. But they just wouldn't go away.

You didn't even try to save him.

And the more and more he fired back, with things like I couldn't have helped, I was fighting or he was killed by Cougarstar, and he was going to kill me, too! the more his brain continued to make things up that wasn't true.

It's not Cougarstar's fault, it's yours.

It seemed like that one was the worst. He tried to get rid of it but it just stuck, inching further and further into his head now that it had learned that it hurt him. The tom knew they were all dumb but he couldn't get rid of them. He was trapped in his own skull.

You killed him.

Ears pinning, he laid his head down on his paws before a harsh spark of pain lit up the mangled one and he lifted his skull swiftly. Peering down to it, he frustratedly laid his head down on the ground, setting his jaw.

Probably didn't even love him if you went and killed him.

I did love him! He thought, eyes brimming with fresh tears. How come everything was going wrong? His mate was gone and now his stupid head wouldn't leave him alone. His stupid, stupid head wouldn't stop making up lies and he couldn't even do anything about it.

Shifting to hide his face so no passerby could see him, the tom simply sat and allowed tears to flow freely. Staining the ground beneath him and allowing his face to grow damp, he found that now there was nothing he could do.

Any scrap of power that he had previously gained over anything within his own life had faded within only half a moment. As soon as his paw had been messed up, as soon as Pantherleap was gone, as soon as the battle was over, as soon as Nova and Tawn had wanted to help him, it was all over. And now he was trapped and unable to go back.

It was as though two large rocks, before unseen, had suddenly popped up without a warning. One was going back to SageClan. That posed many problems; where would they think he'd gone? And why had he returned to SageClan so slowly? He could sense the many eyes, burning and harshly creating tons and tons of miniature holes to burn into his pelt.

The other was staying. That evidently posed problems, too; he didn't know anyone in the rogue group. What if they decided they didn't want him? Or if they were as bad as SageClan? He would have to make all new friends. And he wouldn't even do it in the place where they would bury his mate back at SageClan.

I won't even get to see him one last time.

A new kind of pain rocketed through him. A deep, searing pain that he felt as though he had truly experienced, for his situation was specific and no other could go through it. Shutting his eyes, he tried to will the world away. Maybe it would go away if he tried hard enough.

It didn't. It stayed, harsh and unforgiving, allowing cold winds to seep through his makeshift den and nip at his paws and his whiskers. Shivering, Adderheart couldn't ignore his belly any longer.

Growling loudly, he tried to shift out and found that using his paw as an anchor to get out was the easier way to do so. He couldn't sit up straight in the small den due to the sticks being so tightly woven above him, but he didn't really mind.

As soon as he was out, Adderheart seemed to realize why there was so much protection around him. It was cold. The wind was harsh and biting, and the sun's light did little to warm him up, despite its dappling across the world around. There was even a light layer of snow that numbed the tom's paws.

Perhaps that would be good for walking.

Struggling to his paws, he tried to keep pressure off the heavily injured one, but all he tried to do seemed instantly to fail.

At first, he thought that walking normally would work. Evidently, it didn't, as he simply went crashing toward the ground. Knocking his skull upon the lightly snowy ground was painful, but he struggled upward and awkwardly tried to balance so that he could lift his paw but still use it to walk toward wherever prey would be.

He'd spotted what seemed to be a small pile near the edge of camp, and of course, it was in a space that was far away from where he was. Though his new strategy failed, he attempted to simply just lift his paw as he struggled along. That one allowed a little bit of success; he hopped along for a bit before hovering the mass of herbs and cobwebs above the ground.

All at once, voices appeared within his senses and he grew startled, looking around the camp.

A few cats were scattered at the edges of them, watching him struggle toward the fresh-kill pile, and a wave of shame easily overtook him. Pantherleap would've helped. A new surge of pain and sadness covered him like an abandoned blanket that nobody wanted.

Near the corner was a thin white-and-black patched tom, sitting aside a tom who had the exact same pelt pattern, yet he was tall in comparison. Their amber-yellow eyes burned four holes into his pelt, their tails curled harshly around their paws as they seemed to almost glower. But they weren't. They were simply watching while they still guarded their expressions.

With his classic brown tabby pelt smoothing against his frame, a young tom with a piercing amber gaze peered at him from one of the edges of the camp. He didn't seem to be angry; he only held a sharp curiosity that seemed insatiable. But he didn't move and he didn't get up. He only watched, blinking, unmoving.

A brown gaze caught his attention and he noted the final cat in the clearing. Her short tan fur held white and black spots, and she seemed to be the least interested in him of the group. The rogue simply just stared up at the sky, and her honey-brown eyes only momentarily flitted down to survey him. He couldn't tell if she was being critical or just surveying him.

None of them moved as he continued to try and struggle his way toward where the prey was. Hopping awkwardly, he was only able to move a bit more before he crashed onto the ground.

With an upset huff, the tom lifted his good paw and rubbed his gaze with it. Putting it back down, and with a half-hiccup rising, the warrior rose unsteadily to his paws. Lifting the bad one, he curled it beneath himself and attempted to skitter closer and closer to the pile.

Now he could at least see the prey — it was clear that there were a few pieces of prey, though it wasn't abundantly full. A small mouse lay atop the pile, coated in a light layer of snow, and beneath it was a much larger bird, its black feathers contrasting harshly with the pristine snow around it.

Once he got there, he'd pick the mouse. It was the polite thing to do when he'd only been invited. Do they even want me to stay?... probably not. I wouldn't contribute anything. A brief frown surfaced and his eyes darted around once more, finding that all four of the rogues were now staring at him, their pairs of eyes scorching his pelt even in the crisp and cold weather.

Immediately, he tumbled to the ground, knocking his jaw against the ground. Swallowing an agonized whimper, he clamped his jaw shut and then sat up, looking around. All four cats now had pity in their gazes.

The silence was suffocating. The only thing that was able to break it was his falling, and even then, that only lasted a few moments before the hush returned again. His struggles and the light lashing of his tail would shatter it, too, but never for long. The lull in chatter always returned.

"Hello?"

His voice was quiet and shaky but it was there, and it swirled around him and the camp. It was almost taunting him, as though making fun of him for even daring to speak, even thinking that it would be a good idea. Why would you talk? It's all your fault Pantherleap died. You don't even deserve to speak.

The young tom rose first, and as he spoke in a fairly happy tone, he waved his brown tabby tail in a greeting. "Wasari's the name."

Following him was the tan-furred she-cat, who lifted herself elegantly off the ground with a swift dip of her skull following the motion. "Arsenas, it's good to meet you."

Both black-and-white cats stood — seemingly at the same time, too. The one that rose taller said, "Hemlock."

"Aelous," introduced the second with a dip of his skull. "Do you need help?"

Feeling weak and useless, the tom nodded.

Immediately, the rogues seemed to swarm around him and he shifted away, a harsh panic rising quickly. Why were they so willing to help? Weren't they mean and bad? The tan she-cat and both of the black-and-white rogues came to his side and hoisted him upward.

And then suddenly he was off the ground, no longer standing, no longer touching the one thing that seemed to be constant. Panic filled him and he thrashed momentarily in their grip, yet the she-cat lifted her tail and flicked it harshly in the air to gain his attention.

"You'll be alright," she said sincerely, shuffling as they continued to walk.

All over again, he wanted to cry, unable to forget all the times that Pantherleap had been so kind and so caring to him. For how long had he believed these cats were bad or wrong? He should've known that they were nice and willing to help.

His mentor popped into his skull, and her death soon followed; a skirmish with the rogues. It was her fault. These cats had never done anything really wrong to the Clan cats. Cougarstar had just pushed it too far, as he usually did, and everyone jumped to whatever conclusions they could reach, which often were vicious and rude.

Brief anger flooded him. Cougarstar probably hated the rogues so much because of Tawn and Nova.

Yet it faded away, leaving nothing but the sadness that had been buried by the rest of the feelings that had overcome him so swiftly. His ears pinned as the three cats gently laid him upon the ground, and he noted right away that snow had been cleared from where he'd been laid.

Remembering the time that Finchtansy had cleared an absurd amount of snow from camp, a spark of guilt lit his dark gray gaze. I left her there. And I left anyone else who doesn't know any better, too. He briefly thought of Willowdapple's kits but the thought shattered as soon as it had existed.

Wasari approached him and gently laid down the large, black-feathered bird from the fresh-kill pile in front of him.

"Oh, n-no, I can't eat th-this much... just get—"

"We'll eat what you don't finish," Aelous told him, sitting down, and Hemlock did the same. Both cats were fairly close and Adderheart couldn't help but inch away. They'll fall in love with you and then they'll leave you, his mind snarled, and he flinched.

The tan she-cat seated herself, too, tail wrapping around her paws with a pleasant expression scrawled across her features. "Your name?" She asked with a curious though kind expression, skull tipping.

"Adderheart," he answered, voice shaking like a leaf in a cold leaf-bare's wind.

"He's the cat from SageClan, then," Aelous murmured, and Hemlock nodded.

Wasari looked interested. "What's SageClan all about? I hear cats like Nova and Tawn aren't even allowed there, and whenever they are discovered, they're killed. It's not like that here. Our leader's fair and just and very kind, I'm not—"

"Wasari!" Arsenas snapped, her voice like a knife through fabric. "Haven't you learned not to ask prying questions?"

Even though Adderheart wouldn't have minded answering in a different life, bringing that all up was like putting saltwater directly into a wound. Cats like Nova and Tawn weren't allowed back in SageClan. And that was the entire reason that his mate was gone. And that he was alone.

And that I'm here.

His ears pinned, and Arsenas noticed this immediately. "I'm sorry, he's young and doesn't know any better," she apologized with a sincere dip of her skull forming. "I'll have to talk to Maya."

"She's my trainer," Wasari piped up helpfully.

"Unofficially," Aelous commented, and Wasari frowned. "We all pitch in to help with training cats like Wasari. But they have one main trainer who helps out the most, usually. Some have two."

"Like Boulder," Wasari added happily.

"Boulder's not here anymore," Aelous told him sharply, sending him an edged glare. "Maybe it's in your interest not to bring up things relating to the battle?"

Adderheart would've had to agree; it grew harder and harder to stop the tears from flooding his dark gray eyes. Emotions continued to surge upward, alongside thoughts that didn't want to leave him alone — it's your fault Boulder died was easy to come to mind, followed by the harsher how many deaths did you cause?

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"He's talkative, I apologize," Arsenas commented, looking at Wasari with a harsh glance. He shifted and grimaced, yet the she-cat offered Adderheart a soft and polite gaze.

Stinging panic rose within him and he blurted, "I'm n-not— here for a m-mate, s-sorry."

They stared at him, bewildered. An awkward silence settled between the group, taking up every orifice, squeezing between every spot where there was a spot, stealing air from around them... Adderheart struggled silently, gaze darting from cat-to-cat, realizing what he had said with a paw rising furiously to his skull.

"S-sorry, I— got distracted— I know y-y-you don't... d-don't want..."

His words trailed off and his ears pinned further to his skull as he looked down to the bird. It had not a single bite taken out of it, so he took a large bite of it, not caring if feathers got into his meal. He chewed quickly as the rogues stared.

"Do we need to get Tawn?" Aelous muttered.

"Nova could help him, maybe," Hemlock mewed quietly.

"He's weird," Wasari stated bluntly.

"It's not his fault," Arsenas scolded all three of them, her eyes narrowing as she lifted herself from the ground. Her skull shook. "I apologize for all of their behaviors. I promise this isn't what we're usually like."

"Hey!" Wasari exclaimed, yet Arsenas glared daggers and he, muttering, stopped talking.

"Aelous and Hemlock, go hunting. Wasari, go do something else unless you're going to stop talking about the battle and the differences between SageClan and this group." Her orders were as swift as a deputy's yet he doubted she was one. Her short tan pelt still seemed to glow with youth.

Palewhisker wasn't the greatest example. Logic broke through the wall of idiocy that had recently surrounded him and Adderheart considered this fact true, up until he was great! surged angrily within his skull.

Hemlock rose first, swiftly dipping his skull to Adderheart before he left the camp with a few easy bounds. With a huff, Aelous also lifted himself from the ground and tipped his head to the SageClanner before leaving the camp. Wasari, though, just stayed with a half-subdued expression on his face.

"Do you want us to leave?" Arsenas asked soon after, the softness from her gaze having long disappeared. In its place was a simplicity that only she seemed to cradle.

Adderheart shrugged. It wouldn't matter anyways. Arsenas nodded after a moment, understanding soon glittering within her eyes. She swished her tail toward the young brown tabby nearby, and with that, Wasari and the she-cat were padding off.

He was alone once more.

And this time, it's your fault.