“Then find a way to entertain yourself,” Chimerastar replied tersely. “I’m busy. Go for a hunt, look around the borders, collect herbs for all I care, because I really, really, don’t care.” As frustrated as the throwaway line sounded, they both knew he didn’t really mean it; he was just stressed out by the sudden responsibility of raising a clan. He’d told her before they left the Regime he was planning to renounce his position as soon as he could, he clearly wasn’t fit to be leader and refused to hear any rebuttals, but that plan had gone spectacularly awry.

He continued to sift through the pile of moss in the leader’s den, doing his best to remove anything that smelled of Riverwolf even remotely, though the den had already been cleaned once. He rolled a ball of dirty moss to the side and then froze, his half gaze falling on a scrap of tortoiseshell fur. Violetstar’s fur.

Chim took a long, slow breath, then pushed the fur away. He was not going to have another breakdown. He turned away and headed for the exit of his den, shaking his head. “You know what? Forget it. Let’s go find something to do together.”

"Fun?" he asked, distractedly, pushing his way out of the den and taking a breath of the cool cave air. "You're asking the wrong cat. I didn't-- I don't do fun." He forced himself to walk slowly through the camp instead of rushing through. Being around other cats helped him keep a grip on himself, reminded him he couldn't break down right here right now, and he needed the extra pressure to contain his grief. His clan had been through enough, they had doubted him enough, he didn't want them to see him fall apart.

"I guess some cats play in the water for fun. Can you even swim?" For all the time they'd spend together, he barely felt like he knew her sometimes; he knew nothing about her skills or her aptitude when it came to hunting, those things hadn't been necessary for life as a prisoner.

He shrugged, vaguely embarrassed without knowing why. “That was different. It was prison, and this is my clan,” he said, wondering exactly why it felt different. He still couldn’t say why.

“Well, that’s better than some cats we get. You don’t have to get too wet to fish so I suppose that will work out for you. Some cats like the taste of land prey, anyway.” He led her on and out of the camp. He knew a couple cats still gave his friend off looks, or questioned what had happened in prison, much to his anger so it was rarely mentioned to his face. She was a new member of their clan and he didn’t want anyone to doubt her because she associated with him.

"Maybe," he allowed, but he didn't say anything else. There wasn't much to say -- she was right, he was backwards, but he couldn't explain why much less change it. He should be happier now, but he wasn't, and he had his doubts he ever would be. Only a few days into his leadership and he was already falling apart, barely strung together; what would happen when something truly threatening his clan? It made him sick with stress to think about.

Then Chim sighed, too, his gaze falling away to the ground. "I don't think they watch," he said, slowly, aware most of his clan believed the opposite he did, that his ideas were controversial at best. "They're real, even I can't deny that, I've seen them myself," he paused, remembering he wasn't technically supposed to speak of his leader ceremony, and tried again. "If they were the all-powerful all-knowing cats we were raised to believe in, wouldn't they do something more? They don't do anything, they never step in. If they watch, that's even worse; they just sit and watch as cats turn corrupt or suffer painful lives and deaths and they do nothing to help." He glanced up at her sharply, his gaze hardening. Maybe he was a little off topic from what she was asking, but he didn't get a chance to talk openly these days, and he trusted her. "Why should we honor cats that let us suffer without helping? I don't care what their damn reason is, if they really are watching over us, and don't warn us or help us or do anything, then I don't think we owe them anything."

Bored. They were bored, and that was why his clan, his family, had to suffer? A familiar hot anger seethed through him, and he disliked the dead cats even more now with that idea implanted in his mind. He had grappled with religion for many moons in the bitter stupor that had overtaken him for most of his life and he had never found it comforting. They had allowed him to lose his eye, to ruin his eye, and now they had taken so much more from him. He couldn't deny their existence but he didn't have to help them either. "You, no filter? I never noticed," he snorted. He glanced over at her and shook his head. "Sometimes I wish WaterClan wasn't so set on StarClan. I don't know. I don't like the other gods much either."

His gaze flashed in surprise as she stomped her paw. At least he wasn't the only one angry at the situation. He rumbled at her suggestion, a little amused, even if the idea was completely ridiculous. "There's already an alternative to StarClan where I'll be spending all my time. They're called the Dark Forest." He spoke in a deadpan, leaving it difficult to judge if he was joking or not. He was, mostly; for all the harm he had done, the pain he had endured because of it, he still held a fleeting hope he had earned himself some small redemption. He was no hero, no god among cats, but at least he wasn't as awful as some.

He smiled ever so softly for a fleeting moment. Leave it to Pygmyprawn to mock the Dark Forest instead of fearing its existence. “Maybe is clan cats are a little dramatic sometimes,” he admitted, his smile then slipping away like it had never been as he grew pensive. “Cats who commit atrocities without good reason, I suppose... or just the least popular ones. There can’t be room for every cat in StarClan, I suppose.”

He snorted. He doubted he was too nice for anything, but compared to the cats they usually sent to the dark afterlife, he supposed he didn’t look that bad. His ear twitched as she quickly corrected herself, shooting an inquiring sideways glance— what was the wrong idea he might’ve gotten? He stopped to puzzle at her, letting her get a few steps ahead before he shook his head and followed.

“Sounds to me you think I belong along the dead. At least we agree on something,” he observed dryly. Chim was fond of gallows humor, despite misliking death and not really wanting to die for all he claimed he did. As he fell in step beside her again, he had drifted to the other side, so the maimed side of his face was closest to her. Chim rarely liked to show other cats that side of himself, even when it made more practical sense to keep his good eye on the outside to look around, and the list of cats he’d willingly let walk on that side was short. Chim didn’t even seem to notice her at his side, though: he was so comfortable around his friend he didn’t think twice.

His muzzle wrinkled. "That's what this clan needs, another ghost. Between you and Vulcan I'd never get any sleep." Not that he got much sleep anyway, but he didn't need to tell anyone about that. It was the one good thing about having a den to himself: no cat knew how little sleep he got, they could only guess by the dark circles that had begun to grow under his eyes ever since his return to the clan. But who could blame him for losing a few hours here and there, after all he had been through? The few hours of sleep he did manage were ravaged by nightmares nearly as dark as his memories and he was starting to reach his wit's end.

"If you're lucky, maybe you won't go anywhere. You'll just be gone. Finally resting, not stuck on this world for eternity." Sometimes, he felt bad for his grandfather, that Vulcan might never move on and would spend the rest of his dead days wandering this territory. But most of the time it was hard to feel bad for him when he was always antagonizing Chim.