Torn in All the Same Ways || Turtle & Honey Interaction

He wasn't stupid. There was something clouding over Honeyflare, a sort of bitterness he could pick out as easily as if it were his own. Although the other didn't wear it on his pelt like Turtlefang, all bright gold and speckled white like a meadow flower where the tortie was cloaked in an enveloping darkness, it didn't hide the unrest at his heart, snagging on that smile like it were waiting to hatch into a scowl the moment it was left to its own devices. It only made sense, coming out of an attack like that. It wasn't easy to be nestbound in camp while the cat who'd terrorized you and your clanmate was still out on the prowl, completely unpunished and with half the clan looking in the wrong place. When you weren't frustrated, you became bored, and vice versa. It was standard behavior for any battle scarred patient, but what wasn't standard was the depth with which Honeyflare's eyes ran themselves worn and dissatisfied, like he'd been hollowed out long ago. Further than Fallenpetal, further than even Beestar. Turtlefang knew it, because he saw the same face in the Golden Pond every day.

Without another word, he turned and exited the den. Somehow, he knew a farewell, sentimental and neatly sectioned, would only twist both their tails.

Tidy conclusions didn't suit cats as messy as them.