When the wind shifted, she’d hoped she was wrong. That, somehow, between the icy current on her tongue and the long shadows of her memory, she was just imagining that scent; making herself think she smelled him (Stars knows how many nights that’s happened, when bittersweet dreams what was once hers wake her in the dead of the night and linger in her various senses like a haze). But this didn't fade away or even tarry faintly, teasingly — no, the scent grew stronger and stronger yet.

Then, of course, came that voice, drifting gently over, as familiar to her as her own.

Her ears quivered at the urge to snap to attention but — somehow, Stars be blessed — she managed to stifle it in time. Coming to slow, deliberate pause in her drinking, she gave herself the briefest moment to screw her closed eyes tighter shut. The dance of painful lights behind her eyelids was grounding, at least somewhat, and gave her the bracing she needed to open them.

Darling. The word settled heavily in her chest, breathe-taking in how it gave her such nostalgia and such hurt in equal measures. As olive eyes slowly fluttered open, though, she found it hard to look past his reflection as it flared across the river towards her.

He was just as devastatingly handsome as she remembered, even just his reflection made her ears flush. His mirror image appeared relaxed, smiling even, like he was greeting an old friend but the silver tortoiseshell knew her ex-mate’s tells to the contrary (at least, a part of her mind murmured, you think you do…); his smile was sharp, like a bear’s claws, and it didn’t truly reach his venomous eyes — and though the sly tension shouldn’t have bothered her at all, not nowadays, it still cut at her to the quick nonetheless.

She took a sterling breathe, then slowly rose to her full stature, despite knowing how much taller he was — it seemed less noticeable, with the water between them anyway. Languidly, she licked her lips, and leveled the calmest and blankest stare she could muster. Her pelt prickled under his gaze (and, if asked, she wasn’t sure if the way he pinned her in place like a cornered mouse was entirely… unpleasant) and her foolish heart stirred in her chest, as if summoned by the mere green of his eyes.

“Firetongue.” Thankfully, her voice held strong, even though her heart gave a soft flutter as the name left her mouth; she scolded herself.

There was no way to avoid this, her eyes drifted away, peering past his shoulder into the trees beyond, noting no one else was lurking around, this was inevitable. She couldn’t run from her past forever… No, in fact, she decided, it was best this happened now, while the pair were alone; just go ahead and rip the cobwebs off this wound, let it air and heal properly instead of foolishly hiding it and hoping it wouldn’t fester if left untended.

“You look well.” She settled for that, pointedly ignoring the whispers of her soft-heart (have you been coming here, looking for me? it wanders: do you regret it? The things you said?).

She cannot let her guard down; she can’t ignore this tension in the air, combing at her fur like the faint lapping of tongue. To do so is dangerous, not just because of who Firetongue has shown himself to be…

But because of her own heart. Tender, sentimental and indulgent – all flaws of it that her former mate knows just as well as she knows most… some of his.

She feels hot under her pelt at his compliment: ravishing. Stars, it has been so long since anyone has been so overwhelming sweet with her, has flirted with her—

But it really hasn’t, she reminds herself; sinking her claws into her wily, stupid heart, she slams it into the metaphorical ground and pins it down viciously like she would sparring partners, grinding it into the earth – just to make it be quiet, please, if only until he left. It’s only been 11 moons; she wasn’t weak, she didn’t need Firetongue. She just needed herself and her convictions. This is not the time to let him fluster me like some doe-eyed, newly named warrior. (She’d already been there once…)

Externally, she fought hard to keep a calm appearance, to not let her struggles show and certainly stifling any signs of fluster at his attention. (And this wasn’t even the full force of his charm, a part of her murmurs despondently).

Distantly, she is glad the river is between them.

The implication of his next words were not missed: ‘Mistclan must be desperate to take a naive, pathetic traitor like you in.’ And just as quickly as she warmed to his words earlier, the memories of each cutting, cruel word he tossed at her doused her like a splash of frigid water.

...let that pretty face dupe me. Those pretty little eyes shining with the dreams of a kit… “Ravishing” suddenly did not seem like a compliment anymore.

“There are many in Mistclan who are more forgiving than you’d think.” Than you are.... were… She also shoved aside her hurt, working to maintain civility as she manvuers with as much care as she can muster around his words. Even after so long, it’s so hard not to treat him like before, like a mate, instead of her ex – especially when her foolish heart sulked inside her chest, sad and hungry for times long past (and so very, very far out of reach). “Dawnclaw and I have managed to find friends.”