Frozen had been sleeping lightly (as usual, there was no alternative) when he stirred to consciousness with Falcon leaning over him. He'd be lying if he said his heart didn't thump a few more times than necessary as his sleep-addled brain filtered through recognizing this as DANGER, as a captive situation-

but it wasn't, probably? It wasn't good, either. It was Falcon wanting to show him something and that . . . felt like a fever nightmare. So he'd go with him, of course.

And he went listlessly, still unsure if this was some strange episode because he felt out-of-body somehow perhaps from lacking sleep beyond just Falcon's disturbance. A chronic issue, he might call it. A tick in the long list of symptoms.

Clearly, he didn't learn anything from the actual kidnapping because here he was going WILLINGLY, so he guessed if anything he did learn. how to not be kidnapped. this was with his permission.

He could probably turn around and go back to camp unscathed without feeling Falcon's teeth around his neck.

"You're taking me again."

Frozen blurted it out, emotionless, until he realized he'd said that aloud and-- lopsidedly smiled of all things. (he had a choice this time, a reminder replaying in his head.) "Like last time, but... not. Better, I hope."

He was aware of the possibility Falcon would have no idea what he was talking about since he remembered so little of what felt important to Frozen (to both of them) but didn't care if he came off like a rambling idiot. Falcon was the one who woke him up.

When they landed at their destination, Frozen considered the chance of some horrible beast waiting within but entered anyway without hesitation. [b]"Did you make a nest so I can go back to sleep?"

He had to hand it to Falcon. This was a nice place. And he wished to express that but didn't have the words to convey relief, being away from the eyes of others, removed from their judgment. Just himself to face.

"You didn't like it back there either, huh?"

"Long time ago, before WindClan," Frozen idled in reply, unconcerned, writing it off as another vain attempt to chip away at an amnesiac's unmoving exterior. Falsifying real memories wouldn't be a satisfactory outcome either, and even the best case (an apology, an acknowledgment) would mean painfully little.

The thought behind this makeshift den -- calling it makeshift really did it a disservice, especially compared to what they were used to living in -- warmed Frozenberry. It was sweet. He felt ill. "This is for you? . . . Or us?" His voice cracked over the last word. Even if not a gesture for the two of them it was kind of Falcon to share the safe haven he'd been preparing, and Frozen wouldn't squander the opportunity to sleep somewhere that felt SAFE for once. No shared dens or trees in the middle of predatorland.

The nest alone was just part of why they were here. He wanted privacy for a reason. "Not terribly. They call themselves a Clan but lack bite, the Clan does nothing but lounge around and wonder why bad things are starting to happen." For a second, he fell silent... "Frozen, there are few cats I feel real around, and I wish to tell you something. A project, I have undertaken."

Truthfully, he didn't pay much attention to the Clan. They were easy to ignore, background noise, until he felt the eyes burning holes through him. Mainly, it was boring in a way that surviving in an unforgiving territory of bloodthirsty felines shouldn't be. "RiverClan used to be different." At least he thought it did. Perhaps it was a side effect of looking at everything through naive, inexperienced eyes.

Confusion struck, an easy escape from dwelling on whatever that possible-compliment could mean. (He didn't even know and it felt too intimate. He didn't want to know.) "It's not this? This isn't the project?" How much had Falcon been doing?

Lukewarm sentiment, but there was no true right way Falcon could've answered that. Admit it was for both of them, he could imagine the crash of anxiety (enamor) or the rejection he'd feel over Falcon explaining it was purely for show. The relief. And this was somewhere in the middle where it merely left Frozen unsatisfied.

"ShadowClan? What?" he echoed, suddenly tuning back in and wondering if he'd missed a key moment of Falcon remembering his history. "What about ShadowClan?" Something had clicked. He wanted to know to what extent.

Why did cats keep talking to him like this? The way Falcon spoke was similar to a Lion-monologue about being great by committing some terrible crime.

He felt light-headed, grateful to be laying atop the white moss nest because his wobbling legs would've proved unsupportive while he processed several truths simultaneously: ThunderClan was hunting them, Falcon was the cause of that, and he saw it as a . . service he was providing them.

There was something deeply warped about Falcon, a disruption in his worldview. Fragmented morality. He guessed it wouldn't be so hard to not have a conscience if he couldn't remember his past errors. "I know you're not the fun and games sort, but I thought that's what Clans did to encourage comradery. Not murder." Don't you care about cats dying? was what he could've said but retreated in guilt as he couldn't put names to faces or faces to families and that somehow made them more of an imagined figment than the real, living and breathing clanmates he should be defending.

Oh, and poisoned the herb supply. Because why wouldn't he do that. Frozen didn't know what to say, or do, and stared blankly. The acceptable thing would be to shame him, but doing so would merely cast light on his own unworthiness of being a clanmate.

A pacifist Clan seemed like what Falcon was trying to combat by enacting extreme measures in a twisted effort to watch the chaos unfold. It chilled his insides to acknowledge an unavoidable fact: Falcon was still dangerous. He supposedly didn't even remember his history, and yet-
violence. disorder. bloodshed. just for the hell of it
old habits for both of them

The time of being uncertain vanished. This was a Falcon he was familiar with. Frozen gave a few licks to his chest tufts and repositioned, a leisurely roll onto his back. Lamb for the slaughter wearing an expression of calm and asking (offering) sweetly, "I don't really want to fight ThunderClan, or anyone. Did you bring me out here to dispose of me personally?"

Another dead end in the series of intertwining tunnels of Falcon's capacity for his old life. Pushing him on it often ended in futility and Frozen felt dumb for trying in case there was a sliver of a chance he'd regain himself. (He'd inflicted it on Frozen, it was unfair he didn't have to live with the lingering mind-poison.) Karmic retribution didn't top his list of reasons, but as immoral as it was, it had to be there somewhere.

The severed connection bothered him the most. This was their shared history. Frozen had been so vulnerable for him, with him, and none of it mattered.

"I don't get it. What do you care? It's a lot of effort for a Clan you..." aren't even really a part of. Or maybe this was a massive ploy -- the amnesia -- to assimilate into WindClan and destroy it from the inside. "Yeah, they don't do much. And they aren't trauma-bonded . . yet," Falcon seemed intent on fixing that, "but I don't know what you're getting out of this."

Gazing at his exposed belly, then back to Falcon, he shrugged. Whether he lived or died, that didn't concern him. Quietly, he admitted, "I guess if someone's going to kill me, it should be you." Just appeared now was not the time his homicide would be enacted which was rather convenient since he wasn't done caking on the charm of submission and obedience. "I'd let you." He swallowed. "Not others. Just you."

Frozenberry stared, and stared, and then stared more because he hadn't pinned Falcon as the edgy poetry or wannabe-medicine-cat type rattling off prophecies. "Have you been. . ." killing cats? WindClanners? Who? It was such an off-color thing to say. If there was a connection between that and his desire to cull WindClan, Frozenberry didn't follow.

Falcon taking up the angel of death mantle did make him wonder what either got knocked loose recently or if he'd always been dishing out vigilante justice. Perhaps it was the thought alone or combined with Falcon's earlier statement, but discomfort welled in his bones. He remembered something. But everything before his Life With Falcon blurred with age and came from a lens of youth.

An echo of his former self. Different, but similarly twisted. Ruthlessness influenced every move, and Frozen had a focus: be on the right side of this. Morality aside, survival would win out every time.

"You find me worthy enough to keep around, and that's a high compliment."

He didn't miss Falcon's claws scraping across the ground.

So Frozen idly asked, "Who are you thinking about hurting?" Or was that just his default mode? Perhaps if only to lighten the morbid question, he added: "Do you want a list of cats who've wronged me?"

Mostly, that would be Falcon. The rest were nameless faceless wisps that filtered through his life and reminded him of past hurts or the shell of a cat he now was.


@BEAR.