At another time, in another place, Tiger might have been able to guess what would follow her grudging answer and to piece together a swift if patchy plan on how to handle it. As it was, however, she was as adrift as a twig in a river: clueless as to what might come next, or how to deal with it. It was that cluelessness as much as anything that drew her tired and watchful gaze back to the Star in the beats after her words her struggled free of her, and it was that, too, that helped to keep her eyes steady upon her. Tired though she was, painful though her head and body had grown, Tiger still understood the importance of tracking this other cat and of trying to drag clues from the cues she showed.
And there were cues.
The Star was watching her as intently as any other cat she had known—as intently, even, as a hunter watching prey edge nearer their paws—and, somewhere in the last moments, she'd slicked back her ears as if confronted with some dangerous or unpleasant unknown. It was a signal Tiger was well familiar with, on the surface, and yet somehow it struck her as wholly foreign; as meaning or being driven by something she'd never previously known. That familiarity and yet unfamiliarity left her feeling even more unbalanced than she had before, sending yet another wash of suspicion rolling through her weary form. Tiger could not read this cat, right now. Tiger had no idea where she might stand.
She didn't like it.
There was little she could do about it, however, so the tabby resigned herself to watching and waiting—the last defence—keeping her muscles taut just in case. At first, she stayed silent as the Star chose to talk once again, for the words were framed like an order and gave shape to what came next, and Tiger was both wise enough not to argue - and weary enough to find this shaping, these almost-commands, a relief. She could understand this; she didn't have to guess to far ahead; she inclined her head in the barest signal of acceptance--and bristled as the orders gave way to a question.
"I'm a Claw," Tiger growled, the sound half a grumble; dripping, less with aggression, than offence. It was true that she hadn't already declared it, but given her build, the way she held herself, the very fact she was still pushing when she should have fallen, it should have been obvious to this Star what she was. And if it was obvious what she was, then it should also be obvious what that meant. Tiger didn't understand why it wasn't, but she behaved as she should nonetheless. She forced herself up from her shamefull broken crouch, gathering her paws beneath her and rising with purposeful smoothness: making her shoulder work. Making it hold her firmly, her weight spread evenly, even despite the pain that it caused.
"and I'm not broken," not shattered, not worthless, yet. Only worn: head barely able to hold above her shoulders; tail tip quivering where her body would not. She was functioning largely by force of will and physical reserves, now, but she was still functioning; still fighting; still driving herself on. She was still able to grumble "where would you 'ave me go, Star," and make it sound, almost, as if she yet had the strength to go somewhere else.
