all that time has worn away / dawnglare

[Orangestar]

Much to her annoyance, the walk Orangestar decides to venture out on after parting ways with Edenberry is cut short by the intensifying pain in her hindleg. Pride and paranoia meet in a turbulent intersection, one which keeps Orangestar from camp for quite some time, most of that spent under the shade of a tree and attempting to stretch the soreness from the limb.

Lifting her paw above the ground, a remedy spared for some of her worse days, only postpones the inevitable: she'd have to return to camp and see Dawnglare. Orangestar has lived with this injury long enough to know there's little he can do for her except give her some poppy seeds and tell her to stay off her paws for a day, but she does have a secondary reason behind meeting with the more experienced of their medicine cats...

When she returns, the sunhigh patrols have left, and camp is quiet. Good. A glance at the unmoving form of Slate as she enters the medicine cats' den tells Orangestar that he's asleep once more, for better or for worse. Her heart aches at the sight, but her attention is quickly captivated by the crimson form of SkyClan's first healer. An uncharacteristic nervousness stirs in the leader's gut, as if she were an apprentice aware of the chastising she's about to receive from her mentor, but she stamps it down stubbornly. Her ears twitch back briefly, defensive before she's even opened her mouth.

"Dawnglare." Her jaw is set, another glance spared around the den to ensure no pricked ears were listening in on this conversation. Satisfied but still not wholly comfortable, she steps just so that her form would be blocking the entrance to the den, and focuses upon the taller tom with sharp eyes. It takes a short time for her to find the words, wondering how she could possibly explain this, but in the end Orangestar decides upon simplicity. She doesn't have to justify herself. "I think I'm pregnant. How far along do I need to be for you to check?"

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦

• // @DAWNGLARE
• 
  
  [ art by pin ]
• ORANGESTAR ✧ she/her, leader of skyclan | seven lives
  
  
  — "a scarred white-and-ginger she-cat with brown eyes."
  — (undisclosed) mate to slate ; mentoring ashpaw
  — speech is in #D2977D
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Familiar presence. His bane — once thought dead — only shaped Himself into something new. The sickness is malignant, worming its way into each and every one of SkyClan's pores. Do the others not see the way they gape so plainly? With the passage of time, each day spent beneath that blazing sun, they only become more fragile, more insufferable. What did it say if not even he could hope to snuff it out fully? The anticipation of something dreadful makes his nose itch, his eyes ache. It is restless, how he makes about his den as of late. A burnished head swings itself back and forth. The sleeping form of slate is remembered, then forgotten, then resented, and then —

" Orangestar, " Acknowledgement made with a sudden swing. Aimlessness is too - suddenly wide - eyed rapture; a tight frown creasing his features. He demands with those eyes, What is it you want? And what is it that obligates him to care any for it? For whatever reason, she takes her time. For whatever reason, Dawnglare lets her take it, rather than demand some urgency with a snap of the teeth. He loathes it — this... complacency. What they uphold as one is terse. Sharpened umber and round blue moons. With the drawing of her silence comes the drawing of his eyes. The clench of his teeth is hidden past pink lips.

I think I'm pregnant. And — he blinks. Was that all? " Pardon? " Surprise brings the show of teeth in the way of a grimace; the high perch of a set of brows. " You... " This heartless thing? Bearing the star, but no ounce of the warmth? Eyes narrow upon her with a quickness. A svelte neck pitches forward. Scrutiny, absolutely; and a thick tail gives this hopeless little lashing... He supposes love is no necessity... Supposes, and yet his thoughts drift still... For a moment, merely a moment, his frown dips toward that of the beast within his den, dark pelted and surely sweltering beneath the thickness of his head, and he dares to wonder...

The thought is discarded quickly. Here does he exchange shock for irritation. He is perfectly still for a few heartbeats. A visual probing is clear as the stars in the night sky. And eventually, eventually, there is the shaking tapping of a paw to leaf - litter floors. " Come here, " he grouses. " ...I will see."​