- Jun 9, 2022
- 602
- 408
- 63
Ghosts are wandering tonight.
The air is humid, and with their misty breaths, they ask him, did we fool you? with unseeable smiles playing at their lips. They dare not look him in the eye. No— whether the gaze he turns upon them is furious or not. Whether he allows tears to bead at his eyes or lets claws be sharp against the hardened floor, they will not face him. Benevolence, this is what, for the sake of their minds, they choose to think of these few. Unending kindness and all - seeing eyes. This One - This liaison, is allowed just that little bit more. Smiles can't be kind all of the time. When you watch and watch for so long... Do you not grow tired? Do you not grow cynical.
He looks to the one place they cannot run from him. Silverpelt, oxymoronic in nature - alight with the dead. He tries to crook his grin just the same. White paws dig a ditch for themselves, nestled in ThunderClan ground. " Let me wear your face for you, " A loyal patron, he suggests. Divine attunement that's all his life has ever been, and all it was ever meant to be. But now - with Him amongst him, they try to strip him of this privilege. What was He telling the others? No good, that one. Sickening WindClan lover. Dawnglare's grudge had only ever held for as long as His had. With that word, with that corpse...
" Get over yourself, " he spits suddenly, hackles risen. The stars glitter coldly. The sun is unseen. His eyes mirror the moon itself — or at least, how it would appear over Fourtrees. If he is not StarClan's, who's is he, anymore? Forgive me, catches in his throat. An angry, spitting demand more than it was a request. And yet - the ghosts still smile. Hypocrite. ( Dawnglare could not forgive him, for as long as he lived, and his friend did not)
He relents to a horrible slouch. One that makes him look dingy, and less like the moon was made for him. A pale paw is partway underground, sinking further into the grave it's dug for itself. Only when pawsteps come, does he turn; and it's a face wrought with distress that he gives him. Wide - eyes, pinprick pupils. Dawnglare prepares to curl his lip, but upon seeing the face above, he wilts near immediately.
" You're through with me, " with sunken eyes, he says. " Fireflypaw is the same. " He glimpses the ground as if it is something to fear. " There's nothing for me here, " or there, or perhaps... anywhere at all.
// wobbly timing this a little since techniaclly he should be gone by now... pls wait for @GENTLESTORM teehee
The air is humid, and with their misty breaths, they ask him, did we fool you? with unseeable smiles playing at their lips. They dare not look him in the eye. No— whether the gaze he turns upon them is furious or not. Whether he allows tears to bead at his eyes or lets claws be sharp against the hardened floor, they will not face him. Benevolence, this is what, for the sake of their minds, they choose to think of these few. Unending kindness and all - seeing eyes. This One - This liaison, is allowed just that little bit more. Smiles can't be kind all of the time. When you watch and watch for so long... Do you not grow tired? Do you not grow cynical.
He looks to the one place they cannot run from him. Silverpelt, oxymoronic in nature - alight with the dead. He tries to crook his grin just the same. White paws dig a ditch for themselves, nestled in ThunderClan ground. " Let me wear your face for you, " A loyal patron, he suggests. Divine attunement that's all his life has ever been, and all it was ever meant to be. But now - with Him amongst him, they try to strip him of this privilege. What was He telling the others? No good, that one. Sickening WindClan lover. Dawnglare's grudge had only ever held for as long as His had. With that word, with that corpse...
" Get over yourself, " he spits suddenly, hackles risen. The stars glitter coldly. The sun is unseen. His eyes mirror the moon itself — or at least, how it would appear over Fourtrees. If he is not StarClan's, who's is he, anymore? Forgive me, catches in his throat. An angry, spitting demand more than it was a request. And yet - the ghosts still smile. Hypocrite. ( Dawnglare could not forgive him, for as long as he lived, and his friend did not)
He relents to a horrible slouch. One that makes him look dingy, and less like the moon was made for him. A pale paw is partway underground, sinking further into the grave it's dug for itself. Only when pawsteps come, does he turn; and it's a face wrought with distress that he gives him. Wide - eyes, pinprick pupils. Dawnglare prepares to curl his lip, but upon seeing the face above, he wilts near immediately.
" You're through with me, " with sunken eyes, he says. " Fireflypaw is the same. " He glimpses the ground as if it is something to fear. " There's nothing for me here, " or there, or perhaps... anywhere at all.
// wobbly timing this a little since techniaclly he should be gone by now... pls wait for @GENTLESTORM teehee