It appeared his answer was unsatisfactory to Frozen, and Fellcone let out a lil hum. Racking his brain, trying to remember, remember...
"Golden fur painted scarlet, it dyes the water red. His throat is severed, a small price to pay for cruelty." Maybe that would be telling. The blood in the river had tip-toed in the recess of his mind for moons. Maybe that would be more appeasing to Frozen.
"I do not suppose you would." That would be where they differed: Scorchedfang needed to fix this sad excuse for a Clan.
"They make a mockery of a Clan name, and must prove themselves worthy. Otherwise, they are naught but kittypets playing a game they cannot survive. Either way, it must come to an end." And once it had, he would move onto greener pastures. This was not-- could never be, his home. His home.. was not with any Clan.
It was with the cat laying before him, small and fragile, breakable. The only place he ever felt free. Freecone.
He was tired of playing pretend.
"Just me." Was not that sweet? Fellcone absent-mindedly flexed his claws against the floor; they tore at strands of dirty-gray.
"You will not be dying tonight, my dear. Maye in the future."
[ @
Fawn ]