pafp all the world is mine .. sharing tongues

[hazecloud]

There was an unexpected symptom to becoming a queen that Hazecloud did not expect or been warned about. It did not affect every queen, perhaps, or for that it may have been why but ever since her litter was born the smoky molly had felt inclined to keep her Clanmates groomed just as neat as her own. It was an impulse that had grown from a rasping tongue over the six she watched over to her mate. And when her mate was not home and her kits were already cleaned herself, of course but after that it had extended to the apprentices that brought prey into the nursery. Licking the loose scales from their fur in loud purrs and laughing as they dodged away from her to return to their mentors.

A moment had came where she and her friend were both without any obligation that needed their immediate attention. The youngest kits were asleep, the elder trio chasing after their older Clanmates as they became more driven to play than explore.

"How long has it been since- actually, don't answer that." Hazecloud gave a breathy laugh as she discovered Dawnstorm's coat was in much dire need of attention that she originally thought. The misleading appearance of tortie fur had her believe the speckles of darker strands on his pelt were a part of him, and not flecks of mud from his time outside of camp.

"Hmm, once we're done I think I'll be able to see my own reflection! What do you think?" She pulled a bit of preyblood from his side with a quizzical look. "Stars, Dawnstorm how does this even get here?"

// pls wait for @DAWNSTORM !​

 

[DAWNSTORM]

die with memories , not dreams .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

He found himself in an odd position, gaze owlish as uncertainty welled up in the pit of his stomach, not out of discomfort, but sheer confusion. Dawnstorm wasn’t sure how he found himself here at this exact moment. Still, the trickle of emotion that reared its misshapen head made him stutter, thoughts gooey, pleasant feeling despite the odd things Hazecloud pulled out of his fur, maw parting in question, only to quiet down, swallowing his words. He wasn’t sure. He never really paid attention to things like that, learning the basic things a cat should do was done by observing others and copying it.

His “adoptive” mother, admittedly, the very cat that gave him his name hadn’t the slightest clue about raising a little one, not that Dawnstorm blamed her. She was just as clueless as he was, thrust into something by accident. His father never failed to mention that she had picked the worst time to wander by and save him from an unfortunate fate. If she hadn’t, then maybe father would have been happier. Oh. Isn’t that a silly thought?

He blinked, pulling himself out of his mindless stupor with an awkward chirp, ears angled awkwardly. “I’m dead?” He uttered, confused. Why would—”Oh.” He blinked. “Figure of speech. Yes.” He nodded to himself, brows creased, words whispered on a sandpaper tongue, unbothered if Hazecloud had heard.

He watched her pull pieces of prey blood from his coat, owlish hues blinking in surprise. “It can get stuck?” He responded just as quizzically, staring at her. “I—” He paused, licking his teeth. “Oh. I’ve never—” He tampered off, humming confusedly. “I’m not sure.” He decided, nodding, satisfied with his answer.

He never had someone, well, help him groom and even then it had been an awkward event, stiffer than a log, Dawnstorm had remained rooted in place, pupils blown wide and hoping he hadn’t screwed it up. He’d seen them do it many times, sharing tongues and warmth. It befuddled the tom. They do it so willingly without thinking of the what ifs. It made him wonder what it was like to share something as sharing tongues.

Now—Dawnstorm didn’t mind, awkward when Hazecloud had begun her lengthy task of handing his pelt, uncared for even though he didn’t know how long it’d been. A startled sound erupted from his chest, low sounding as it vibrated against his vocal cords, causing the warrior to blink, pupils widening. What? The sound shuddered, cutting off amid his surprise, maw parting open in a simple ‘o’ shape. “Am I sick?” He uttered, glancing down at himself, mismatched hues narrowing, paw coming out to poke his chest, brows drawn together. ​

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thought speech​