Avette glanced to the Followers of her clan, her gaze completely devoid of any emotion, or at least mostly so. There was a part of her that let her eye glint darkly as the cat spoke to her. It was a mostly involuntary response - the feline had spoke just a little too close to the home of trauma that nested in her chest. What a unique thing to tell her, that cats she loved were marked with such primative sin, and that she would somehow feel pity for them. There was an implication there, that such words would change the mind of the superior officer. Cinderwraith had no concept of the feline she was dealing with, though. Her words did not bother her even remotely; after all, Avette made a personal policy to love no one, and she had already faced the reality of killing someone who she at one point did. Her lips twitched into a wry smile.

"Perhaps I misspoke, or perhaps I stuttered. If you have an ungodly gift that establishes yourself as a risk to normal cats, you should be eliminated. Your qualm about those being close to me being monsters is unwarranted; I would feel no loss if I lost someone for the greater good. It is only natural." Avette's tail tip twitched slightly. Her tone was level, even, the kind of detached that could only come from an outsider looking into the problem. "We are standing in the pool of destruction of cats with powers, cats that should never have existed. I am more than ready to defend the idea that we should protect the many at the cost of the monsters that live within our ranks." She cleared her throat once. "What I mean is that if you can cause damage or harm beyond that of a normal cat, you should be treated no differently than we treat the other animals that only serve to cause harm." Badgers, foxes, the like. They were ran out or destroyed, and she saw no reason to treat other threats the same way. 

This was an argument that lacked nuance, and perhaps, six moons down the road, she would have reacted differently. After all, her own gift was a fresh wound, the only cross she had never been willing to bare. Yet, it laid across her shoulders, dragging her down almost constantly. After all, would you not be disturbed if one day you woke up and you saw the other side? You see, in reality, if you took her at face value, she'd be advocating for her own destruction, and although there surely was a part of her that craved the sweet release of death after a life far too long, metaphorically at least, she didn't actually think others like her should be goners. Spiritual gifts were not uncommon in MoonClan, and she saw them as little more than blessings. If your gift did not influence other cats at all, you were probably safe, as her qualm with the empowered was moral, a protection for the mortal that stood no chance against those unlike her. Her problem was with the powers that she knew her goddess would not give: the sort of power that created a heirarchy, one that would inevitably create the establishment of a ruling class at the cost of the layman, if the layman would even survive his oppression. Of course, she didn't articulate that, the only way she even came close was her emphasis of the word risk, but perhaps the Archbishops calling, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, obscured her ability to speak. Or perhaps the she-cat, one with a kill count far higher than the average deputy, was naturally inclined to have an unquenchable bloodlust, one that would only be managed through the elimination of those different. After her performance tonight, she was sure that others would once again start to question her, but she was more than willing to sacrifice the reputation she had created to help those who needed it most.