[Insidious]

Grayowl

From his perch, he watched through sickened eyes. Into the den of Lionstar strode the golden tom-cat in question, and at his side was the petite frame of his beloved sister that looked to Lionstar with half the distrust that had enveloped her upon the day prior. He was losing time, and for this situation in particular, time was of the most precious. Every day that he sat in idle waiting was another day wasted; gifting his leader with the opportunity to alter the she-cat's already shaken perception. She still knew not of how her disappearance had come about, and for this even one such as he was reasonably thankful. Having her alive stacked the cards against him, and he refused to be played as the fool. She was the foolish one. She was supposed to be dead.

Why in the name of StarClan was she not dead!

He could not help but grimace at the picture that had suddenly become his reality. He recalled in a moment's time spent of fondness how her blood had oozed from fresh wounds and coated his paws, his muzzle. He had watched the life drain from her eyes, and as if by the workings of some miracle the life had seemingly revived out of thin air. He should have waited with her longer. He should have guaranteed that she was dead. At the time, he had been far too engulfed by his own sense of confidence to ever consider that this kind of thing could happen to him. But, he could no longer sit along the sidelines and wonder hopelessly why all of this had happened. Lionstar was trying to jog her memory as though it was inscribed within his duties as clan leader. As though the idea of them together wasn't already difficult to process—he was succeeding. The warrior had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from voicing aloud his frustrations. If only Windwhisper had not up and vanished. He had never truly contemplated the chances that he would ever need guidance again. He was the master. He was the conniving criminal that a few selective individuals now turned to in order to seek their sadistic guidance. He had finished his training, so why was it that he needed his old mentor more than ever? Allowing his eyes to drift closed in a brief moment of peace: Images of Windwhisper were reincarnated from his memories. He tried to think through the wise tom's mind. He tried to picture those of TreeClan in the way they were viewed through the eyes of the most clever trickster that Grayowl had even been privileged to know.

And for a moment, just one, he saw the situation in a way that he was certain his monstrous mentor would have.

It's your life, or hers. Choose one.

The demon, perched in the trees—peering upon the leader's den through venomous eyes—made his decision. He would not allow Willowfur's memories, her mere presence to ruin the life he had built around TreeClan. She was supposed to be dead, and dead she would be.

Dead she would be.