He'd fled from the makeshift camp heartbeats after breaking down, stumbling as tears blur his vision. He'd made Ash cry. The fear in her eyes, her tiny body flinching away from him. He'd made Pumpkin cry. He'd lost control, let all of this frustration boil out of him. And he'd hurt others along the way. A bitter laugh exhales itself through his nose as he stumbles to a stop. How hypocritical of him, to talk of peace in the same breath as he'd stung others with his acidic words.

The river splashes against his paws. Beesong looks down, staring at the face of a monster.

He'd always hated his reflection.

They look too much like their father, with their long cinnamon tabby fur and curled ears. The only thing that differentiates the two now are the deep scars that mar their right side, but they hate those, too. They only serve as a reminder for what they've lost.

They hate the puffiness of their bloodshot eyes, watery from the weakness they'd shown. They hate the damp fur along their left cheek, the moisture gleaming on their right. They hate each sniffle, each hiccup, each shaky breath they suck in. They hate everything that they see. What kind of a medicine cat are they? StarClan has made a mistake, a poisonous voice whispers, planting a seed of doubt. They should've never chosen you.

You're too much like

Is he becoming like his father, too? Volatile, taking out his anger on others, hurting others? The thought scares him, and Beesong flinches away from his reflection as if it'd burnt him. No. No, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He's ran away from that part of himself his entire life, and he didn't intend to fall victim to this darkness. He- He would make it up to everyone somehow. He'd try harder next time. He wouldn't lose his temper again.

They'd be the medicine cat that RiverClan needs.