“You know, if every cat looks at Crowfeather and thinks about the affair… you’re not just poisoning his image. You're poisoning your own image, too.”
“So be it,” Breezepelt mutters, and suddenly Mousewhisker can understand why Heathertail might struggle with Breezepelt. Mousewhisker has spent his entire life trying to make cats forget about where he comes from; so that when they gaze upon him they find him perfectly acceptable. So when they compare him to Foxleap or Poppyfrost or Lioblaze they can’t find the differences. The faults.
Breezepelt is the son of a Clan hero, he’s the friend of Onestar’s daughter, he was mentored by Onestar’s mate. Breezepelt was born with It, born with whatever Mousewhisker lacks. It should be so easy for Breezepelt to be accepted, to be loved, to climb the ranks even despite his father’s affair, and yet here he is so bitter at one cat that he would burn his own birthright to ashes.
The silence prompts Breezepelt to tilt his head back, and now Mousewhisker can clearly see his mocking expression. “What?” He asks. “Can’t relate to that, can you?”
“Not really, no.”
— be still my foolish heart (don’t ruin this for me, c3)
