Chapter Text
PART I: THE CRIMSON STAIN
“This is the strange way of the world, that people who simply want to love are instead forced to become warriors.” – Lauren Oliver
“Guilt isn’t always a rational thing… Guilt is a weight that will crush you whether you deserve it or not.” — Maureen Johnson
Three months and one day after the defeat of Horde Prime…
There, to the South of Bright Moon, was a vast forest, it's great mass seeming as an emerald pillow for the glittering kingdom to sit upon. It was the largest forest on Etheria, its swath of rich woodlands splitting into green tendrils that spread far East to enfold the foothills of the Dark Mountains. To the West, this conglomeration of flora and fauna ended abruptly to make way for a great field of flowers, the multicolored tract changing into a blasted landscape as it veered North toward the Fright zone.
This was a primeval and hallowed forest, but it wasn’t its vast age that made these woods great—no—it was that the magic of Etheria was strongest here, permeating the ground to invigorate any plant that grew in the arcane soil. And grow they did—they flourished; the trees packed so closely that their roots and branches intertwined, creating a density in which a traveler was unable to make out more than ten handspans in some places. The oldest trees have even accumulated great amounts of this mystical power, achieving a kind of awareness and language all their own, speaking in an eerie tongue of creaks and groans.
Indeed, this forest was a special place—even for a magically imbued planet like Etheria, it was a rare phenomenon. To those who have an affinity for the esoteric, this forest had called to them; one of the holders of the Staves of Power had even made her home there for the past millennium. Some say she had gone there to hide, while wiser minds knew it was to wait and bide her time.
In ancient times, before the coming of the so-called First Ones and when the people of Etheria lived in harmony with their planet, this forest was called Maurashi—which translates into ‘her fertile breath which blows through the veil.’ In more recent times, the forest had a less poetic title—one that stemmed more from ignorance and suspicion than reverence. To the unwary traveler with a mind closed to the unfamiliar, the voices of semi-sentient trees seem to murmur strangely, the sound ghost-like and ominous. This forest had become known throughout Etheria by this distinction, the infamy earning a sobriquet that, in turn, became a formal title to be stamped on maps and entered into computer databanks—The Whispering Woods.
A procession was meandering through the leafy enfolds of the Whispering Woods, a chain of steadily marching people following the course of a dirt road. An assortment of Etherian species comprised this coterie, a group of young and old representing a full spectrum of genders. Instead of dividing, their differences united these people—that and the common cause that brought them away from their home of Bright Moon.
Officially, the procession represented what was being called the Reconstruction Expedition; led by the Queen of Bright Moon herself, they had tasked themselves with rebuilding the destruction caused by Horde Prime’s invasion and occupation. Starting with Alwyn, they were to advance from town to town, village to village, making a circuitous route throughout the Whispering Woods before moving on to other territories. It was a good plan, and one with enough padding to account for unforeseen occurrences—well, most unforeseen occurrences.
At the rear of this troupe, a bulky mechanical carriage laden with compact construction equipment hummed along on six wheels. Powered by an internal magical energy source, the vehicle was a new invention, being the first of many to combine magic and technology. The inventor of the carriage and its ingenious method of locomotion ambled beside it, her attention fixed on directing its course via a handheld control wand held in a prehensile purple ponytail.
Following her was a young woman with blond hair—she smiled at the person whose hand she clasped, a feline woman of equal age walking beside the blonde with a rather sulky air. Preceding this couple was another—also hand in hand—but both sharing an amiable temperament. The tall and handsome young man cast a knowing glance at his shorter female partner; she rolled sparkly pink eyes before mouthing the word ‘brat’ at her boyfriend.
With a flick of a stone-gray tail, the feline woman whipped around to stare daggers at those quietly mocking her—both the young man and sparkly-eyed young woman diverted their attentions elsewhere, acting innocently until the angry feline female returned her attention forward.
The mechanical carriage rattled as one of the oversized wheels found yet another divot in the road, emitting a series of staccato squeaks. For most travelers, the sound was brief enough that they hardly noticed it—but for the feline woman’s sensitive ears—the electro vibrations extending into the higher octaves were highly offensive. The barely perceptible tones reminded her of chattering teeth, aggravating already taut nerves.
“Entrapta! Can’t you do something about the blasted noise that stupid wagon is making?” Catra complained, baring sharp incisors at the other woman.
Ignoring the open threat, Entrapta pondered her latest invention, a purple ponytail forming into a hair-hand to cup her chin in thought. Halting the carriage with a wave of a control wand, the Technical Princess began to poke and prod the vehicle with metal instruments and other obscure gadgets. After a thorough inspection, Entrapta stood up and shrugged, the gesture extending to her ponytails as they raised like arms into the air before lowering abruptly.
“Hmmmm… I don’t understand what the issue is, Catra. The Thaumaturgical Chariot appears to be operating within the proper design parameters. Maybe the problem lies in your emotive response to outside stimuli—perhaps if your cognizance were not so easily affected, we would not have to keep halting the Reconstruction Expedition.” She stated matter-of-factly.
Catra turned towards Adora and frowned, the unspoken question conveyed by the confused expression on her cinnamon face.
“I have no idea what she just said,” Adora said, deadpan.
“What she means is,” Glimmer said cheerily, butting in between Catra and Adora. “If Catra could stop being so sensitive, we could actually make it to Glenmar before we all die of old age!”
Glimmer immediately started counting on extending fingers.
“First, the carriage smells like it’s burning—Entrapta disassembled her invention and couldn’t find a thing! Now, this is the fifth time Catra has complained about the noises it makes!”
The expression the feline woman gave Glimmer was enough to make the Queen of Bright Moon back away, hands held up in placation.
“Sensitive?” Catra hissed.
“Glimmer has a point, Catra,” Bow added as he came to his other half’s defense. “I mean, you grew up in the Horde. Didn’t noisy machinery surround you all the time? What is it about Entrapta’s invention that is bothering you so much?”
Catra crossed her arms and did not respond, looking away with a rapidly twitching tail. Bow and Glimmer’s friendship was still relatively new for her; things like sharing personal history were not yet within her comfort margins. After all, it had only been three months since the defeat of Horde Prime, most of which had been spent on the hastily put-together trial for the members of the Horde. The memory of the trial and the Oath she was made to swear caused Catra to seethe with anger—her tail going from twitching to practically beating the air.
Sensing her girlfriend’s rising ire, Adora placed a calming hand on Catra’s shoulder. “Well, it won’t be that big a deal if we don’t make it to Glenmar before nightfall. We can camp out under the stars again—just like the Best Friend’s Squad used to!”
There was a dubious exchange between Bow and Glimmer that Catra quickly picked up on. The feline woman crossed her arms to cast her gaze elsewhere, resentment plastered across her cinnamon features.
“Well, I don’t know…” Glimmer said.
The Queen of Bright Moon peered at the sun's position; well past the zenith, it cast long shadows as it blazed toward the horizon. It was likely that night would find them before they reached Glenmar.
“I guess we could set up camp,” Glimmer conceded. “But we should try and cover more ground bef—”
“It's settled then!” Adora exclaimed, cutting her off. “Let's stop now and start setting up! The sooner everything is up, the sooner we can have a campfire and smores!”
“Ooh! Ooh!” Bow exclaimed. “That means I can regal you with my new song!”
Excitedly, Bow withdrew a stringed instrument from within his pack, producing a pleasing melody as he expertly plucked at it. Glimmer beamed at him fondly, the earlier hesitancy melting away in the face of his enthusiasm.
“Fine,” she said, not unkindly—but then turned to Catra with cool regard. “That is, as long as the ‘Princess of Complaints’ is okay with it,”
Too caught up with her inner turmoil, Catra could not meet the other woman’s eyes—but she did have a meager retort for Glimmer.
“Whatever,” she said, resigned.
The procession continued along the rough road until they found a clearing in the forest—there, they stopped, unpacking the items necessary to make camp for the night. It didn’t take long for the tents and other accouterments necessary for living alfresco to be laid out and established, the Expedition members having done this numerous times over the past month. Expediency was bolstered by everyone being obliging and supportive—well—almost everyone. There was one who had been acting inauspiciously, bordering on subversive.
As everyone busied themselves with the seemingly endless camp chores, Catra hung back, watching the rest as she contemplated the best method of sabotaging the Thaumaturgical Chariot. She had done it before—a few times now—the last instance being back in Thaymor when she had managed to get a handful of sand into the transmission housing.
But what Catra didn’t know was that Entrapta had built this vehicle to withstand the multitude of environments encountered during their journey across Etheria. The intricate gear network transmitting the energy from the power source to the six wheels was reinforced to handle the grit encountered in the Crimson Waste. The sand Catra had jammed in there was slowly pulverized before being shunted harmlessly to a waste chute, the only damage done being microscopic and the source of the irritating noise that only she could hear.
To everyone’s vexation, Catra had used this unforeseen consequence to halt the expedition numerous times—but never to stop it permanently. Never to stop the encroaching position she would find herself in and the things she would have to face.
There would be accusatory stares and hateful comments—just like in Alwyn and Thaymor. Being so close to Bright Moon, Alwyn barely felt the sting of the Horde while Catra had been second in command, the townsfolk having only heard of her secondhand.
But Thaymor knew Catra; she had been one to drive a Horde tank directly through the town square, demolishing a fountain that had stood for three centuries. If it had not been for She-Ra’s intercession, much more of Thaymor would have been destroyed—well, by Catra and her version of the Horde, that is.
Under Horde Prime, Thaymor had seen itself re-made in the aspect of perfection through sterilization in the Light, and it had taken the majority of the Reconstruction Expedition’s efforts to cast down Horde Prime’s antiseptic buildings in favor of the earthy and warm architecture native to Etheria. The final touch of adding a fountain to the center of the town had fallen to Catra; the townspeople watched with pleasure as Hordak’s former second-in-command laid the brickwork for the reservoir before a decorative statue of She-Ra was placed in the center.
Catra’s hands still ached from that labor, but worse than the pain was the shame she felt being debased in such a manner. From practically ruling the mightiest army in Etheria to a common laborer working to jeers—it had been a hard pill to swallow. Sure, there had been Adora tending her aching muscles at the end of the day, sometimes taking the form of She-Ra for the extra tight places on Catra’s body.
She sighed deeply. Adora was the only reason this whole ‘good guy’ thing was worth it, and Catra would take everything Etheria had regarding punishment as long as they did not take that away from her.
But that did not mean she would like it, nor did it mean that the ‘Old Catra’ had been entirely excised by an Oath sworn. With this thought in mind, she eyed the Thaumaturgical Chariot, hefting a pickaxe in one hand.
“Caught you!!!”
Catra let out a small shriek as she dropped the makeshift weapon and whirled—there, standing with hands on hips, was Glimmer, beaming with triumph.
“They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks—it seems that goes for cats, too.” Glimmer said.
Catra’s face screwed up into annoyance as she strode over to the other woman, arms held loosely to either side, claws extending to their maximum length.
“Let me get this straight, Sparkles. Are you calling me old?” Catra asked.
Glimmer’s eyes made a circuitous route from one side of her head to the other as she placed both hands on hips. She was not impressed or intimidated by Catra.
“I’m saying we all gave you a chance to change your ways, Catra—me, Bow, and practically all of Etheria—and here you are, still causing mischief. What is it you have against Entrapta’s invention, anyway? Was sending her off to Beast Island not enough that you have to destroy the things she creates?” Glimmer accused.
“What are you talking about? I wasn’t going to do anything to Entrapta’s stupid ‘Thaumaturgical Chariot,’” she said, fingers making air quotation signs.
“So let me get this straight; you were just carrying that pickaxe in its direction for what? Give it a tune-up?” Glimmer asked.
“No,” Catra responded, drawing out the word. “I was going to pack the axe away—which I would have done if a certain sparkly pain in the rear hadn’t interrupted me!” Catra said.
Glimmer crossed her arms, her face settling into the aspect of utmost dubious disbelief. Stopping herself from voicing a scathing rejoinder, Glimmer let out a long sigh of exasperation, releasing some of the negative feelings that had built up toward the other woman.
“Look, Catra. I’m really trying here—mostly for Adora’s sake. I want to believe you were honest when you took the Oath, and supposedly, you were since my father cast a truth-seeking spell while you all recited the words. I don’t know, though; sometimes, I feel you thought you were being honest when you said the words, but then there was another part of yourself that wasn’t. That same part of you that was just about to smash Entrapta’s invention but then hid when confronted. What do you think, Catra? Am I on to something?”
Catra was surprised by the sudden jolt of anger sweeping through her, making her want to leap forward and slash the other woman’s face to ribbons. But as soon as it came, the rage subsided, replaced by a well of shame so deep Catra felt like she could sink into it, letting its silken caress enfold her in its cold depths. She felt numb—and even more so—she felt tired. So very tired.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Glimmer—someone like you would never understand what is going on with someone like me,” Catra said. “Why don’t you share your suspicions with Arrow Boy and leave me the hell alone? Maybe he can serenade you with his lame music, and the two of you can live your perfect lives—picture-perfect, dumb little lives.”
“How dare you!” Glimmer seethed, hands clenched.
Catra grinned now—she loved pushing buttons, and Glimmer’s were the easiest to find.
“Oh! Look at me! I’m Princess Sparkle-Butt! I was born in a castle with a mommy and daddy who loved me so much—I have no idea what it's like to be abandoned! I was handed everything and was told what a wonderful little girl I was—every day!”
Where once they were ready to strike out, Glimmer’s fists loosened as the anger evaporated from her body. She seemed so very uncertain of her position suddenly.
“That’s not f—” She started to say, but Catra wasn’t finished.
“I don’t know what it's like to be treated like dirt by the very person who I thought was my mother! To be told that I am worthless so much that I start to believe it! To one day realize that you hate yourself so much that you want to—”
Catra cut off abruptly, catching a wrenching sob as it attempted to escape her lips. She realized that rather than having the upper hand in this conversion, the roles had been reversed—and Glimmer knew it. But instead of seeing triumph on the other woman’s face, Catra discerned something worse.
Pity.
Glimmer stepped forward, one hand held out. “Catra—”
“SHUT UP!!!” Catra shrieked, slapping the other woman’s hand away.
Suddenly panicked, Catra cast about, wanting to bolt away—but that was foolish. Catra knew she could bound away from Glimmer on all fours if she wanted to. She could escape even if Glimmer used her stupid Princess power to teleport after her; the Queen of Bright Moon would eventually run out of magic.
Catra realized that what she wanted to get away from was not external to herself; it was more intimate and not so easily eluded. Catra felt a cold sweat break out across her body as the anxiety transformed into terror.
“Hey, guys. What’s going on?” A voice queried.
Catra pivoted towards the speaker—instantly, the ground solidified under foot—it was Adora, strolling over from the direction of the camp. Adora eyed the two other women uncertainly, easily reading the tension displayed in her girlfriend’s body. Glimmer and Catra’s eyes met briefly as a silent agreement was made—neither would speak of what had just transpired.
“Oh, nothing,” Glimmer said. “I was just telling Catra to be careful with that pickaxe, or she could break a nail.”
“And I was telling, Sparkles,” Catra said, rictus grin in place. “I don’t have fragile princess nails—they don’t break easily. So, she can keep her suggestions to herself.”
Disappointment bloomed on Adora’s face, making Catra’s heart want to break. She hated being the cause of such an expression—it meant that her soulmate saw through their façade, making her sad that one of her best friends wasn’t getting along with her girlfriend. Catra’s guilt multiplied.
“Okay,” Adora said. “Well, we should be about settled now. How about you guys help with dinner—oh! Wait! I have an idea!”
Catra winced, already knowing she wouldn’t like what came next.
“Glimmer, what about those dumplings you’re so good at making? You remember? When we had just rescued Catra and were all on board Darla? Maybe Catra and I could help you, too?” Adora said, as hopeful as a golden retriever.
Catra and Glimmer shared another look, mutual dislike for the idea pouring off both women. In perfect unison, they both turned towards Adora, fragile happiness plastered limply upon their faces.
“Sounds great, babe!”
“Yeah, and I bet Bow would love to help!”
Later, after a tense and awkward dinner prep and an even worse dinner, Catra found herself snuggled up beside Adora, both seated on a blanket as they stared into a blazing campfire. Bow was perched on a nearby rock, tuning his instrument as Glimmer rested her head against his leg. Where Entrapta was, no one knew—she had disappeared right after dinner, saying something about checking on her ‘precious baby’ while shooting a suspicious glance at Catra.
Many of the other members of the Reconstruction Expedition had retired; those that didn’t were on blankets—either single, in duos, trios, or in some other configuration. The atmosphere was relaxed, and Catra could almost allow herself to enjoy this moment; the heat of the fire combined with the after-meal sluggishness lulled her into a haze of comfort. She even almost started purring—but the constant reminders of what tomorrow would bring halted Catra from going that far. From getting too happy.
“Look! A shooting star!” Someone behind her said.
Directing her attention skyward, Catra caught the tail end of the meteorite's luminous disintegration as it was burned up in Etheria’s atmosphere, leaving only the glittering multitude of countless stars behind.
“Did you make a wish, Catra?” Adora asked, nudging her shoulder gently.
“Mmm,” Catra said noncommittally at first. “You know, we never saw those growing up in the Horde. You and I would sit on our secret balcony and stare into the sky all night and see nothing—not a star or speck of anything.”
“Huh, yeah,” Adora said. “Well, we were in Despondos. That place is just a big empty nothing, so it's no wonder we didn’t see anything.”
Catra frowned. “I think it was because there was no hope in that place—the Fright Zone, I mean. There was no hope, so why would there be shooting stars to make a wish on?”
Adora chuckled. “There's my little sentimental Applesauce Meow Meow!”
Catra couldn't help the grin forming on her face. “Oh, man. It's been a while since I heard that one!”
“Who gave you that nickname? Wasn’t it Seargent Cobalt?” Adora asked.
Catra gave a snort of derision. “Close, but no. It was that creep Force Captain Grizlor. He thought he was sooo funny with that one. Plus—” she said, giving Adora a gentle elbow. “All my so-called friends called me Catra Applesauce Meow Meow for a year straight!”
Now Adora cackled as she relived the memory, and Catra tried hard to keep the beaming smile from her face.
“I think we should make it official—Catra Applesauce Meow Meow! I will ask Glimmer to write a royal decree and make it your official name!” Adora teased before becoming thoughtful. “Wait… if I do that, then when we get married, I will have to take that name as well—since I don’t have a last name either. Adora Applesauce Meow Meow!”
Catra saw something more than simple teasing in Adora’s words as she spoke of marriage—it made her blush, wanting to change the subject.
“So, whatever happened to ol’Grizzle-pus and Cobalt? Those two were like the tag team of toxic education for young and vulnerable minds,” Catra said.
There was that disappointment on Adora’s face again—obviously, she had hoped to steer the conversation further down the matrimony road. That wasn’t something Catra wanted to think about just yet. She didn’t feel ready—or more importantly—worthy.
“I heard that after the Trial and the Oath, Grizlor and Cobalt took positions at the Academy of Historic Enterprises, although I am not sure if it was as professors or janitors,” Adora said.
Catra responded immediately and without thinking.
“Really? They let them work there with kids after all the garbage those two put us through? I believe in forgiveness—but man! Sometimes you can’t just let bygones be bygones!”
Catra immediately realized her mistake as Adora frowned at this statement.
“So does that mean that you don’t deserve forgiveness either?” Adora said.
The concern in her voice made Catra want to break in two, and as she scrambled to find the correct lie, Adora continued.
“Catra, what has been going on with you? You haven’t been yourself since the trial, and it’s gotten worse since Thaymor,” she said.
Catra snorted. “Adora, I haven’t been myself for the past three years—since you left me in the Horde,”
Adora’s beautiful face immediately set like concrete, and Catra knew she had gone too far.
“I never left you, Catra—you just didn’t want to come with me. How many times do we need to have this discussion?” She asked coldly.
Knowing Glimmer and Bow’s attention would be on the burgeoning argument, Catra felt strangely self-aware. She didn't want them to conclude there was a rift between herself and Adora, for doing so made it seem like it was true. Catra didn’t know why she cared so much about their opinion, only that, at this moment, she did
“Sorry,” Catra said in a rare moment of acquiescence. “This has been hard for me, Adora—this whole trip. The last time I was in these places, I was… you know… and now I have to… ah—”
Adora’s stern countenance cracked into warm love as she reached out to place a hand on the other’s shoulder. Catra, happy to stop speaking, put her hand over Adora’s, giving it a knowing squeeze.
“I think I understand,” Adora said. “I won't push tonight, Catra, but at some point, you need to open up about what’s going on with you,”
Trying not to show how overwhelmingly grateful she was not to have to peel back the onion that was the current state of her psyche, Catra nodded before resting her head back on Adora’s shoulder. She knew that keeping the most important person in her whole world in the dark was wrong, but Catra just couldn’t go down that road. Once they started pulling on that loose string, there was no telling how far it would take them or, more importantly, how much everything would unravel. Feeling the bone-deep fatigue once again, Catra yawned wide, both lower and upper incisors flashing in the firelight.
She suddenly tensed as fingers stroked one long ear, then relaxed at the realization it was Adora doing the caressing. Catra closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy the sensation of being touched for pleasure’s sake and not for harm. She had become inured to the latter during her lifetime in the Horde, expecting it every time someone reached out for her with clutching hands or a balled fist. With the antagonistic nature of the environment under Hordak’s rule, even the people she called friends had been a source of pain now and again—from sparring to combat training, Catra had learned that even your allies could wound you.
But that did not prepare her for the ultimate anguish: when the most important person in her life had disappeared briefly, and when she had returned to Catra, claimed that the only world they both knew was no longer suitable for her—that it was evil. On top of this, Catra’s dear friend now expected her to make a quantum leap of faith, to accept this fact as gospel—right in the middle of a battle. Catra’s first, in fact.
When Catra would not accept something so insane at face value, the very person who had been by her side her entire life just abandoned her. It was like what they had meant nothing—when to Catra, it meant everything.
Yes. Catra knew pain very well; she was intimate with agony like a lover, and as a devoted paramour, Catra has learned to give as much as to receive. In fact, during the years of The War, she had taken to prefer the dominant role and had doled out pain like—
“Hey,” Adora said suddenly. “Where did you just go?”
Pulling herself out of introspection, Catra felt a shadow withdrawing, retreating into somewhere else—an indefinite aspect of her ego. A nether region. Catra then gave her head a gentle shake, feeling vaguely guilty as she leaned back to peer into Adora’s blue eyes, forcing a weak smile onto cinnamon lips.
“I’m right here—with you. Where else would I be, dummy?” She said.
Adora seemed truly relieved to hear her lover’s reassurance, increasing Catra’s sense of culpability. She shoved that aside, adding the black mark to the tally like bruises upon her soul.
“You look exhausted, Catra. Really. How about we turn in, huh?” Adora said, running her hands gently through Catra’s hair. It was longer now, longer than when Horde Prime sheared her long mane in an attempt to tame her. But now, her stone-gray locks would not be managed; Catra planned on reclaiming her former length, perhaps letting it grow even longer than before.
But for now, she enjoyed how Adora could freely run fingers through the strands, barely tickling the scalp to elicit a pleasing tingle in her skin. Catra could melt in Adora’s hands if she could—but something kept her solid, a crystallization whose latticework was composed of contrition, whose bonds were of transgression.
She was so very tired.
“Yeah,” Catra said sleepily, almost in a slur.
After a brief good night to the others, Adora coaxed Catra up, guiding her out of the firelight and into the darkness. There was a slight chill to the air as they passed through the warm threshold provided by the campfire, the two women pressing closer to one another as they sought out their tent. Neither said a word as they both entered the privacy afforded by four thin fabric walls, immediately removing their clothes until nothing but air separated one lover from the other.
Adora was the first to slip into the down sleep sack they shared, holding it open as Catra immediately followed suit, wiggling in until she was snug against the other’s warm body. Both women immediately intertwined arms, legs, and hearts in a loving embrace, their natural state since declaring their love for one another.
Catra sighed in contentment; she coveted this moment of each day. It was the only time she found any shred of respite from the weight that hung about her neck, pulling her down into a stoop as it attempted to drive her into the dirt. Catra had never felt the intimate trust that was achieved with Adora—that someone would make themselves so vulnerable as to fall asleep naked in her arms. It meant so much, and with Adora so close, so utterly near that Catra could feel the heat of her sex against her upper thigh, she could almost attain a sense of… completeness… of peace.
“Good night, Catra,” Adora whispered. “I love you,”
But then the doubt crept in; Adora’s human vision was not as adept as her own, and Catra could see her lover’s eyes searching for her in the dark. At this moment, when Catra felt hidden while still able to view the other, she wondered: would Adora still love her if she knew? If she knew just how far Catra had fallen during the years of the war, discovering what she did in the name of heartache? How she used it as an excuse to—
“Catra? Are you asleep already?” Adora whispered.
With a jolt, Catra noted that Adora was staring straight at her, now able to catch the subtle flashing of the mirror-like lenses in her feline eyes.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve just been out of it.” Catra said. “You know I love you—how could I not?”
Satisfied, Adora made a slight sound of comfort as she closed her eyes. Catra nuzzled into her neck, allowing a purr to dispel the negative thoughts tumbling in her brain. She would have to create peace for herself if a full night’s rest was to be achieved—she was going to need it. The Reconstruction Expedition would begin its journey to Glenmar by mid-morning, setting the stage for a very long day.
Especially for Catra.