// @
Phoenix Fall
"Alive," the molly echoed duly, mind drawing on images of her past mate. She thought of claws and fangs, of brown and white, of twisted love and absolute loathing, and of foxes. Had she mentioned that she despised foxes? Foxes and foxhearts, and she most definitely claimed the title of the latter. Not that anyone knew. Frankly, Honeypool enjoyed their ignorance. Just like her mate…
She didn't kill him. She tried to save him. Only, foxes… they were much stronger than anycat on that patrol could've prepared for. Regardless, her mate remained dead, and she remained broken. Would be broken until either she died or he came back to life. One was more probable than the other.
"Better a living, breathing companion than a dead one to haunt your dreams," Honeypool remarked.
"Mine is—" she paused as Cedarleaf looked away, patiently (seething on the inside, yet outwardly serene) waiting for the molly to pay attention again.
"My mate is dead," the warrior shared eventually,
"–so I recommend spending all the time you have with your lover, whoever that might be. Just admit that you like him and get over with it. For one who cannot hear, your eyes display your emotions quite clearly."