It was not gone for long, though.

When everything flashed back around him, he was not within the territory. The air was strangely crisp and clean. There were pelts and cats around him, moving swiftly and causing air to easily skimp by him. He was floating; a cloud within a sky of multi-colored pelts that moved incessantly.

And then the voices came through.

It was like they were discussing what was going to happen. Some sounded deep, gruff, upset. Others were more just confused, whereas a few were high-pitched, screaming, afraid of what was going to happen next. Those hurt his ears the most.

After the voices, the feelings and touches filtered through, yet, in a heavier fashion than last time.

No longer was it a gentle motion of whirring pelts. Now he was aware of the cats pressed aside him. And he was able to feel the fact that there were new things on his pelt. Not the herbs from before. It felt almost like leaves or moss. And the same feeling was upon his paw.

Then the voices flooded through, louder, more confused, more concerned.

"This is Adderheart!" Slow concern washed onto him.

"How do you know that?"

"We spoke at the battle! Pantherleap's dead and he was—"

The cat who had answered went silent, and a hurried motion flurried around him, followed by several hushed apologies and a loss of warmth at his side. Now that caused him to jolt upward. Dark gray eyes flitting open, he could only squint at the world around him.

Everything that wasn't in his immediate vision was mildly blurred, but the two cats ahead of him were in a crisp, clear view. They were easy to see and their pelts seemed to burn into his mind, the image imprinted into his skull.

It was Nova and Tawn, the former wrapped comfortingly around the latter. Her leopard-spotted pelt was cleaned to perfection yet it had dark bloody stains upon it, scratches and gashes littering her legs and flanks. Tawn was similarly injured, cobwebs and moss wrapped around her neck.

There were other cats, too, but they were either leaving or digging into the ground. Brief confusion seemed to enter his figure before it faded and he realized that they were digging up prey. It seemed old. Had they kept it there for all that time?

They were all rogues, though. And that was clear. Yet, the tom had no explanation for how he'd gotten here. He didn't even know where he was; he could've been in the territory earlier, but if he had been, how had they found him? Had they invaded again?

As soon as Nova noticed that he'd woken up, she murmured something in Tawn's ear before slipping away and settling down in front of him.

"Are you okay?" The question was soft and gentle from her maw.

He shook his head. What else could he do? He was in their care, it seemed.

"My mate and I wanted to help you. We know what happened with Pantherleap, and we're sorry."

It seemed as though the warrior had forgotten that they were mates, and the entire battle popped right back into his head. He jolted forward, as though he was trying to reach for Tawn, and Nova shook her head in response. The leopard-spotted she-cat frowned and pity shone brightly in her eyes.

"It's not her fault," Nova told him quietly. "She didn't know that he was right there. She's not a malicious cat."

But she had killed Pantherleap, technically. Right? Hadn't she? She'd been the one to hurt him the most. Right? And so it was Tawn's fault. The rogues. It was the rogues' fault that his mate had— that his mate was gone. Cougarstar was right?

"Cougarstar is, and that's why he did what he did. I would've stopped him, but it was too late."

Nova seemed to notice the confusion rising within his gaze and mercy seemed to shine even brighter in her eyes. The rogue glanced back to look at Tawn, who was staring off into the distance, quiet.

"Tawn?"

The leader turned, eyes red-rimmed as she tipped her head slowly. "What?" Her voice was a piece of glass; easily shattered yet hard to be conjured in the first place.

"He doesn't know about Cougarstar... and the kits, too."

Kits? What kits? Willowdapple's corpse popped into his skull and his dark gray eyes could only widen silently, panic briefly rising. Through the numbness of it all, had Willowdapple really caused that? Guilt followed and he lowered his head, lip quivering.

Nova used her paw to lightly lift his skull, and he shook his head harshly as he inched back.

"Careful!" She warned as she pointed to his paw. It was now covered in moss and cobwebs, a few herbs squeezed in here and there. He scowled at it, frustration rising. He was useless. He only dragged those around him down, and when he tried his best, all he did was fall back.

"Sorry," she stated, skull dipping down as though to apologize.

"Then tell him," Tawn interrupted, sitting down behind Nova with her long tail wrapping around her darker paws. Her dark golden eyes were sharp yet softened by hardship and sadness.

"After Tawn was fighting Pantherleap, she realized that he wasn't joking or anything about liking a tom... and Cougarstar had heard, so he demanded to know if it was true."

"And my brother would never lie. So he didn't." Tawn's voice was quiet once more, and she studied the ground beneath her. Confusion sparked in him but there was little to say, pain easily taking over any emotion he could've felt within a moment's notice.

"So then— Cougarstar killed him, and then he was going to try to find you. Tawn and Cleo, Aurelian, and Nimbus all tackled him, and then it was all over for him too... Aurelian, Cleo, and Nimbus are some of our most skilled cats. Nimbus is my brother, and Tawn is Pantherleap and Cougarstar's sister."

"I wanted to save you," Tawn stated faintly. "It's not my place, but I just... I don't know. We're related." Tawn seemed to realize something else along with this fact, and she lifted a paw to her skull with her eyes darting below. "Your kits, they're... I'm sorry, they're gone."

"N-not mine—" he somehow managed, and both she-cats were surprised when his voice came out half-strong, a note of fire buried deep as he looked at his paws. Shame filled him. He couldn't take credit to Featherkit and Stagkit when they weren't his. He didn't want them.

"Willowdapple was—?"

"It must've been fake," Tawn interrupted her mate, sending a partially apologetic look to her. Adderheart nodded in confirmation. "You were Pantherleap's mate, right?" He nodded again, a familiar feeling surging. "So it was a ploy to get Cougarstar off your track?"

"Didn't you try to do that before you left?" Nova asked Tawn, who whipped around and glared. "Sorry, I thought—"

"It's fine. Just don't. Don't."

Silence settled upon the she-cats, and he didn't like them. Not anymore. He didn't feel safe with the she-cats even if they had wanted to save him. What were they going to do now? Would they leave him in the territory? What did they do to me when I was out?

He knew his pelt was covered in moss and some herbs but it still felt wrong. The tom hadn't done anything to assist them. Was it repaying him for his loss? What would happen next? Take him back to the rogues? But what if I don't want to go there? They'll know I'm a warrior because of my name. They'll—

"Do you want to go back to SageClan?" Tawn questioned, her skull tipping. "If you do, I understand... but know that Bearpatch will be the new leader, and Tinydust will likely be killed if she is not already dead."

Adderheart couldn't handle this and he turned and vomited onto the ground, and before he jerked his head away he saw little specks of leaves and berries within the mixture. The bile rose again and he was sick once more, spitting up as his head spun.

Nova had sprung up and away, whereas Tawn had lifted herself and grabbed nearby moss to place it atop the substance after he was done. Everything hurt again. His throat felt like it was going to burn into nothingness and his brain was a rock, slamming into the insides of his head.

"...have to bring him back," Nova said, her voice cutting through his fading focus.

"What if Bearstar... and attacks?" Tawn interrupted, and the tom could feel paws and pelts beneath him again. His skull lolled back and knocked upon the tree behind him, and he could only thrash as pain once more surged within his brain.

Why was everything so difficult? He failed to understand why bad things continually happened. And why he was the recipient of it all? It was horrible but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Then everything fizzled away again as darkness easily took over his vision.

Yet it didn't stay for long. Every now and then, feeling or hearing would burst back into his faded world, attempting to get him to stay awake. A poke from his side, a sharp voice that seemed to flit in and out; all of it was too hard.

Adderheart couldn't seem to grasp onto anything that would keep him awake. Everything was fleeting; feeling, emotion, even pain. But the darkness stayed, covering his vision even when he wanted to see things around him.

And yet, he could somehow tell they were moving. The two she-cats trudged along with other cats half-surrounding them, chatters and whispers shared between them. Now that Adderheart couldn't hear them, they could say whatever they wanted.

They weren't being rude or mean. Simply, they were being truthful in that if they were to really bring him back to the rogues, he would essentially never go back to SageClan. And was it really their place to take him away from there?

But the counters were that it wasn't safe, it wasn't good for him to be in that environment. Not after Pantherleap, not after Cougarstar, and anything else that had happened. It was probably upsetting for the tom, and their assumptions were correct. But he couldn't comment. He didn't know they were talking.

The rogues kept walking, and Adderheart continued to struggle on getting a grip on the world. Feelings seemed to grow more prominent as moments passed, pain soon following. And then, a strong sense of confusion.

Why did he keep trying? Everything was a cycle; a cycle that was harsh yet full of truths that were hard to understand. And as the cycle continued to spin, he found that everything that he was dealing with was a truth he didn't like. While that was normal, after these truths came more difficulties. More problems rose from said difficulties.

No matter how hard he tried to understand the cycle, it continued to whirl and spin without thinking about him. And no matter how hard he tried to make things better through it all, things always fell through. The greatest thing that had ever happened to him — Pantherleap — even was gone. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Control was something he lacked but craved. He never had been a leader. Or a deputy. Or an heir. Or a healer. Or even the healer's apprentice. Only a warrior, one who had been respected before he'd started messing up. And that was due to Pantherleap, wasn't it? But Pantherleap was good in general. It wasn't his fault I started— started...

Feelings and thoughts quickly shattered as easily as they had come, and once more was he left with emptiness. Everpresent and never-leaving, it seemed, clinging to him like how moths would cling to spots of light within the sky, or how water would cling to a cat's pelt when they had recently left a pool of the liquid.

He was a stone, a rock, a boulder. One that cracked easily whenever something attacked it, and one that could easily crumble too. But one that was, most of all, heavy and hard to carry. His words were a burden to any that had to hear, and his figure was one laden with many issues and problems that not even he could carry it.

Especially with his paw, now, which seemed to pop into his mind as though to remind him if he had forgotten about it. Pain suddenly seized his figure and he thrashed momentarily in wherever he was, not understanding that he was no longer in the grasp of the rogues. His eyes flew open and somehow, he was in a camp.

He was toward the edge or the wall, and everything around him spun as soon as he allowed his eyes to peek open. Cats flitted around, all of different shapes and sizes, holding different pelts and different sharpened gazes. Though none seemed to be on him.

The tom tried to move but it was impossible. Everything around him was simply a weight, all pressing down harshly at the exact same time. He could feel some sort of rock behind him, and as he twisted awkwardly and with great difficulty, he seemed to see what the camp really was.

There were two large trees that towered above the camp, sheltered within a small dip within the ground. That was notable by the taller ground that seemed to rise around his vision. There were leaves on the trees— no, there weren't, there were no leaves. That was only the colors in the sky flashing too quickly to be differenced from leaves. And besides, it looked like it had snowed, with white patches on the ground flitting around within his sight.

Yet, the trees still rose tall and strong, with many branches that seemed to multiply instantly as he surveyed them. They both had thick branches with tons of tiny twigs, hanging over the camp as though a protective force over it.

Around the dip, there was a decent collection of moss and brambles combined. There seemed to be a few dens dug into the ground, though as his eyes traveled back around the camp once more, they seemed less like dens and more like just some half-created nests tossed together to ensure that nobody froze.

Though, the more he looked, the harder it became to distinguish anything from anything else. The nests blurred with the ground and it sometimes seemed like the nests had snow in them, yet at other times it seemed as though the ground was swallowing the nests straight up.

He closed his eyes for a moment but found that such a motion only caused him more and more pain, and suddenly Pantherleap popped into his skull.

It was a new, different layer of pain. One layer turned into three, and next, it multiplied by twenty, easily turning into numbers he couldn't count, numbers he didn't know. Pantherleap was gone. And he was alone. Fresh tears blurred the edges of his eyes and he couldn't have felt guiltier.

His mate was gone and he hadn't even done anything to help. And, more so, he had forgotten, and continued to do so— it was as though the thought itself brought him so much pain, it was shoved away alongside the rest of it all.

And that wasn't something he wanted. He wanted to remember the tom but he seemed unable to even think of him before memories and pictures of the tom's body popped into his head, swarming and filling up everything with the tom and everything that had happened, the fear in his tone, the blood surrounding him, the glazed—

A tall and slim silver tabby slipped over to him, peering at his figure as though she expected him to fall over any moment. Really, that was how he felt, and he could barely see the she-cat's approaching form; it blurred with everything else around the camp.

Her tail waved and a smaller cat approached; this cat had long limbs and black paws, and seemingly a happy smile spread across her gray-green features. Yet maybe the latter hue was so blurry because of his head. But it was clear they were there to help.

How could they help? He didn't know. The first she-cat peered to him and her maw stretched and closed in rapid motion; he simply watched, blinking as though it would help him see better. Though it didn't, and she simply lifted a paw full of herbs to his maw.

Jerking backward out of surprise, he soon noticed a lot more moss and dried up leaves upon his back, as the crackling noise gave it away. Reaching forward, he lapped up the herbs, assuming that they had meant for him to take them. The second she-cat offered some moss and he went to bite it, but she pulled it back.

He could tell they were laughing but there was little he could do except just biting at it again. He didn't understand. Pantherleap would've known. But he was gone and Adderheart was alone and so frustrations rose again, tears easily blurring his gaze.

Though the silver tabby took the moss and showed him what to do; she simply drew her tongue across it and lapped it up. So he did the same and found water to be soaked in it, quickly lapping up some more before he grew tired and laid his head back onto his paws. There was little to do now, with the exhaustion sweeping more prominently over his figure as moments passed.

And eventually, he drifted away. It wasn't any sort of fake slumber, rather a real one — induced by herbs, perhaps, but it was real and not caused by injury or panicking. The world was dark, but it was warm darkness that he didn't exactly dislike.

Not yet.