The queen laid limply against a rock in camp, Her blind eyes dull and dejected at the recent events that had transpired.
He was really gone. They voted him out.
Of course, they would of if her son had returned with his mentor.
At first, she was sure he'd come back. The clan wasn't going to throw him out and Brookpaw didn't like to stay out alone long, right?
Hours passed, and her worry grew.
Breezefire had told her that he wanted to collect herbs for a little longer. Was he hurt? Sick? Dear Starclan, she wouldn't forgive herself if he was in trouble. Still, he did not appear. Windsong started to think. Peice things together.
Then it clicked. And she snapped.
Maybe it was the recent murders. Maybe it was her isolating herself for so long. Maybe it was because she lost the last thing she loved. Maybe she was slowly going insane.
Oh, she would never feel bad about the words she screamed at Breezefire.
She murdered her son. Must've left him for dead. She was the true killer, she had to be. Windsong called her heartless, evil, a traitor, and countless other things that one would be horrified knowing she had sobbed and screamed those words. But Windsong had lost it. In a heartbeat, she would had left with her son and even sacrificed herself for him, but no, Breezefire had to abandon him and leave him scared and defenseless. It killed her.
Oh, how she wished Breezefire could feel the pain she had felt. She would love to see it.
So there she was, laying in her pathetic form against a stone, waiting almost patiently for her to be next on the killers hit list. If didn't matter to her now.
She wouldn't be the same again.