Howlingheart sat on the end of the pier, a look of nothing but exhaustion on his face. The large tom was distressed; he had every right to be distressed. Of course, he knew he wouldn't be able to change his nephew's mind. He understood that there was probably some strategy in letting them in. But that didn't mean he liked it, didn't mean that every time he was in the same space as Aspenflicker, his skin didn't crawl. She had destroyed the life of his best friend, of the cat he had fallen in love with. She'd hurt Foxstar, she'd hurt Sunveins. She was the gasoline to his brother's fire. She'd hurt damn near everyone he loved. She'd continued to hurt them. And now, Foxstar had let her and the group of remnants in. He had the right to be angry, didn't he? His anger, though, only fed into his exhaustion. He wished Rosethorn was there, he really did. She'd know what to do. But, she wasn't. Only her son, his nephew, remained, and perhaps Southernskies had been right. Maybe the boy had come to them tarnished, unable to make decisions. The thoughts made his head hurt. He'd come to the water to try to calm down, to ease his mind. The soft wash of the waves had always been therapeutic to him. Yet, now, his head fuzzy and his weary bones aching, the soft drum of the waves wasn't quite enough to shake the weight of the world from the former medicine cat's shoulders.