Since her time with Doefreckle, Lilydawn’s anger had settled a little. It was still a prominent, burning thing, but she realized that perhaps murder wasn’t the best option for her. She still hated the idea — arranged marriage, what was that all about? — but she had steeled herself to meet the tom. Even if the thought of him made her want to throw up a little. She’d seen him around, heard his name in overheard conversation, but she didn’t think they had ever talked before. What was Wintrystar thinking, putting them together of all cats. The day she went to talk to him, tell him of their impeding separation (no way in hell was she staying with this guy for more than a moon), all of the anger almost returned. Almost. He seemed so pleased with himself, and she wanted to rip his dumb face off. But she took a breath, a few — a lot of breaths, and tried to approach with at least a little bit of civility. 

“Alright, listen!” Instead her words came out a hiss, “I don’t want to spend more time than I have to around you, so when our moon is up, we will be going to Wintrystar, to whoever, and you will agree to a divorce, you hear? She would have been glaring him down if she were taller, but unfortunately she was short-legged, rounded, looking much less intimidating with her small folded ears and big eyes. But her energy was just as intense as any other, if not more so, like everything about her held nothing but fury. Partially, it was true. 

"Don't be so pleased about it," she sneered. The way he laughed, looked so content, gratified, it seemed to rile her up more — how had he just accepted it, like it was just a regular Tuesday and they're weren't literally assigned a marriage? His words were sweet and poised, and to anyone else it would have been charming, but Lilydawn was not fooled so easily. She would not spoil him with faux politeness, feed him any sort of ideas that there was any chance their relationship could work, she simply wasn't ready to settle down, didn't think she'd ever be ready, because every time she did she would have to drop it all at the next terrible thing that happened, and even the notion of having to do so was terrifying. 

"Meaning in what? There's nothing here, don't kid yourself." 

I don't know what you've been doing, but I'm willing to trust you if you are willing to give me just a small chance to make this right? She thought for a moment. Really, she wanted nothing more than to leave the conversation, the clan, everything and go to Springclan or Fallclan like Doefreckle had suggested, but there was that small part of her that enjoyed Winterclan, the little voice that told her: yeah, maybe it'll be fun, give it a try, because it was nothing but impulse. She was torn, because she hated everything that was going on, she hated Cottontail simply for existing, but he was willing to try something just for her, and she went her whole life not ever having that. That sad, impulsive little part of her thrived off the attention, even if the whole didn't agree. 

"Fine. You have," she paused as if thinking things over, "you have from now until sundown tomorrow to think of something, anything, that you think will 'make it right' then maybe — maybe — I'll think it through more." 

She could see he was pushing his buttons, ever so slightly, that he was trying to hold it in. She was petty, immature (though she would deny that part), and she wanted to make it as difficult for him as possible. What was the use in such a union if she couldn't have any fun with it? It just so happened that riling people up, watching them try to settle themselves as she continued to press and press and press, was entertainment enough. 

She gave an uneven chuckle, one without much humour in it, "Be my guest, if you want. I've no need," her voice heightened a few octaves, indignant and almost childish, drawn in the worst ways just to make herself sound that much more pretentious. Surely I'm not the worst cat you could've been paired with? Lilydawn didn't say anything more. She knew he was right, she could probably name much worse cats, the ones the would have driven her away a lot faster, and she supposed she was more lenient on him because of that fact, that she decided to stay. He still made her want to give him a good cuff around the ears (existing had a price, obviously, especially if it inconvenienced her). The next part of his sentence gave her a very slight rush — 'me? me? somebody wants me?' it said — because she was still hopeless and lonely, even if she had begun to reconnect with her fathers, and had some closure with Doe's kids, even if she was sure it wouldn't go anywhere. 

"Two and you have a deal," just to be a little more annoying, she decided, "but thank you for noticing." A sort-of joke, a little more light-hearted than anything she'd been saying before.