It goes "hashtag, bodybag." Toe tag. Shot in the chest. —
It had been three days since his meeting with Eve. And he felt, horrible. He tried so hard to wash his pelt of her scent, of her touch. But, no matter how much muck he rolled in, how much water he stood under, how many times he groomed his pelt, he felt as though he reeked of her. Even if he knew better. And, the only way Chucky would forgive himself is if he wiped her of his memory. But she didn't deserve that.
As he thought about this, he realized he was by Skyclan's border again. He looked up, up at the clear night sky as he waited. Waited for what? For Mudpaw, of course. The stars seemed to twinkle and he wondered about the supposed ancestors that looked down at him, watched him. Were they okay with what he did? Why wouldn't they talk to him? Why couldn't he hear anything except those voices? His new cuts weren't easy to hide, having to bandage his own wounds and hide in the Junkyard from his family since being attacked by Ardent. He sighed. So much was happening and he just needed to feel the one's touch that he always felt safe with.