pafp apex predator ;; stalking dawnglare.

[Fireflyglow]

WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧​

Under the darkness of night-time, Fireflykit was eager to explore the camp more deeply while everyone else was asleep. Lately, he'd taken to a specific hobby that others would call quite odd if it weren't for knowing the reason behind it. Dawnglare. A mysterious tom with a sing-song voice and whispy-willow gait. Swaying, moving, talking to nature as if it returned his woes and agony. In truth, Dawnglare was terrifying to little Firefly because he didn't understand him. The unknown was always terrifying. Though the very way he watched Dawnglare search for herbs, talking to himself as if a madman- it intrigued Firefly more than scared him the longer he watched the medicine cat.

From behind Dawnglare, whom was carrying herbs in a big leaf on his way to his den. Firefly watches with wide, blue eyes. His tail flicks behind him, the kitten lowering himself to the grass to hide in it as Dawnglare moves to look around- talking to something, singing something. His tail flicks in confusion and irritation, quickly following after the tom until Dawnglare suddenly stops and SMACK!, Fireflykit runs right into his legs, quick to scramble back to his paws and around the corner to hide to the side of the medicine den.

Would he eat him? Was he gonna perish right now? His pops wouldn't like that. Howlkit and Burnkit wouldn't like that, for sure.

// Please wait for @DAWNGLARE to respond first!​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He can feel it, them— the little ghost that crept in the shadows. Wisps of fur and the exhale of breath leave subtle marks upon Her frame, the message is carried to him. Watch, listen, for this, he offers his thanks with a hum. Only once, does he glance behind himself, only to be met with a muddy blur. Broken nettle and leaf-litter coat the ground. They're blown over from their neighbor, one of the many wonders they brought with them, dragged along by the ends of kits fur. The shadow is small and wily. He can never quite see who... what, no matter how he strains his eyes. Twitch of the lids, his face remains blank. "So... be it," the words come muffled with jaws clamped around earthen fronds, ( they're delightfully dull, with this oncoming weather... )

Devil in disguise, a creeping spirit. Invisible beneath the shade of the pine, but clear to the omnipresent, twitching whiskers and bated breath. There's a modicum of self-preservation, a ghost that'll restrain itself till the opening is clear and he's rendered unaware. A game, oh, they obsess over them like insolent children. They yearn to scuttle beneath fur and break supple skin, poison your very veins. Soon, they'd find their efforts to be in vain.

Dawnglare carries on. The plants are greeted as the dearest of friends— they had to be, or you'd find yourself nowhere. The collection of something he the relinquishment of life, and to claim it, you must treat them well; sing to them sweet, hum low in your throat, love them wholly before you expend their lives. It's for a cause, it always is. The power they held was strange as it was useful; and he's selfish, so selfish. But it leaves Her less blemished, and for this, She thanks him.

Camp sits silver beneath the moon, once he returns. He's slow and gentle with the fresh corpse, the fruits of his labor. Buds between his teeth and gums, and he stutters— had he thanked Her proper?

Sudden disturbance.

Strange, stilted movement, a sky-soaked glare searches for the source. This time, the moon shines Her thanks. The whisp of something— a tail?— is illuminated in her glow. Little more, but it's something, and it's small, skittering prey around his den. His lips curl into a smile, and nearly does he reach out with claws unsheathed to the twist of fur, to drag it out screaming, but belatedly, it rings... Dark pointed fur. Whines, whines, whines, in the sun's precious rays. Oh... them. A smile falls into something else. Fickle dear, misguided thing. Unamused, "I've heard you, dear," it's a low drone, menacing tone, though he tries to pick it up into something lighter. "She'll always hear you, no matter how hard you try... And why do you persist, hm?" an icy stare follows the trail that he'd drawn. A claw pricks impatiently at the earth.​

 

[MUSHROOMPAW]

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Mushroomkit was a light sleeper, to put it bluntly.

She didn't even think Fireflykit knew that she decided to tag along on this little attempt at vigilantism, which....was fair, considering how he didn't know he was going to run into Dawnglare's legs either. The older tom was...odd, spoke in lilting siren songs not even her grandmother dare utter. Yet as his voice begins cold and desperately attempts to mask the way his claws prick into the ground Mushroomkit skitters forward, another bright white against the dull background. "Fireflykit! There you are!" The words come tumbling out of her mouth like rushing water. "I-" It begins to dry up as suddenly as it starts, and she finds herself momentarily floundering for words, covering it with pitiful sadness, a kit-like betrayal seeping into her tone. "I...you went to go play without any of us?" Yes, that! That would do.

She not so casually bumps Fireflykit's back foot with one of her own, as if to tell him to play along. Its not hard to tell its fake, she's barely a season old after all, its not like she'd actually be good at cover ups. What's not fake however, is the way Mushroomkit's eyes keep flickering back to Dawnglare, the uncertainty that fills them. The tip of her tail keeps twitching as she tries not to make actual eye contact with the tom's intrusive blue stare. 'Its like he can see through me.....Firefly's always been wonky about Dawnglare....and....now I'm starting to understand why.'

Funny of her to trust her fellow kits, as opposed to the adults, on this matter. Especially since 'always' for her meant about a week.​

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[Fireflyglow]

WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧​

He's gonna eat me. He's gonna eat me whole, and add me to the collection of bones in his den. The intrusive thoughts swam around the tan-and-night colored tom's head, warning him of caution around the odd medicine cat. Their healer was weird; he'd decided that a long time ago, since the first time they met. But curiosity killed the cat, and he found himself eager to push the bounds of just what he could do to-

I've heard you, dear. The deadly siren sings out, and Fireflykit jumps in place; fur fluffing up in fear. He musters up some sort of courage, but all that comes from him is a soft choked laugh. His savior comes in the form of pretty eyes and cream-tinted fur; he blinks as she offers him an out, an excuse. To play with them, that's right, that's right.. He gives a nervous laugh, hues of aquamarine upshifting at the sight of Dawnglare as he mentions a She. She? Who was She? "Y-Yeah.. Play.. Huh.." He murmurs softly under his breath, moving to stand over the shorter molly so Dawnglare wouldn't devour her whole.

"Who is this She that you sing about, ocean-eyes?" He asks, suddenly distracted by his own curiosity. So much for Mushroomkit's own life-saving excuse, yeah?​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Another interloper, just the slightest bit smaller. With blue-moon eyes and a full face, you could nearly mistake her for another of Blaise's kits. Unfortunately for her, she was not. He feels little need to approach her with kindness. It's evident with the click of his teeth and shifting of his gaze— eyes only, the rest if him remains still. The way she speaks is strange. She stops and starts... blathers something about play, and the bedbug mumbles his agreement. Dawnglare's face shifts. Half-smile, half-something-else, crooked. Slitted eyes narrow as the scoots closer to the other. Whatever did he think that's worth?

"Playing," he repeats, tone something between amused and incredulous. And what is he to make of it, really? The truth? A lie? Did it truly matter? Awfully jittery, fuzzystatic to the eyes... Ick, there's something between his teeth.

Momentarily preoccupied, he no longer bothers himself with the twitching of her eyes or her tail. His tongue slides between his teeth. It feels the disturbance, and yet fails miserably to right the wrong. Unconsciously, a disgruntled growl slips from his throat, and he just barely catches what the little spider says. "Huh?" spoken eloquently with pink tongue captive between pearly whites. It just barely peeks over his lip. The forest shudders Her own blunt remark, and he huffs. He can nearly appreciate the shown interest... At the same time, he glowers at the admission of guilt. "Do not call me that." The concept of an ocean evades him, but anything other than holyspeak should be blasphemy. Too easily would he be able to rip out their tongues.

He does not, though. "Mother," he replies. Perhaps his voice lacks the usual whimsy that comes with the relation, but its late, and there are ticks clinging to his pelt. His claws tap at the ground. Less in irritance, and now for the sake of reference. "The very ground you walk on. Her skin. The dirt: her flesh, the plants... parasites," his flat tone whips into a hiss— though it's kept low, low, in the case that they hear him. It's only make them all the more difficult to manage. Stubborn.​

 

[MUSHROOMPAW]

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Fireflykit murmurs an affirmation of her cover, but she cannot relax, even as he moves in front of her. Her tail taps against his as if to fully remind herself that she is not alone, yet as the other kit does not move to leave the area, does not abandon his mission, Dawnglare becomes static. He is the ants under her fur, the stiffening of her joints, the roaring of her heart in her ears....and the ringing that accompanies it. Suddenly she is no longer the kit of a feline mother, but that of a rabbit. Firefly speaks to the other tom and as Dawnglare snaps back at him all she can hear is ringing and ringing and ringing. Louder and louder and louder until it is her claws pricking into the grass and the wind fluffing her fur and the moon shining down into camp.

Then he speaks again, and everything stops...as if the danger has passed for the moment.

Dawnglare speaks of a Mother, seemingly not his mother, but Everyone's. She's distantly reminded of both her birth mother, and the words of her grandmother. It makes her more relaxed, a little more composed as she pulls tiny kit claws back into their sheaths, and speaks. "She who Gives, but from She we must not Take. To ask for Her gifts is to hope to be forgiven for the- the mar-" Mushroomkit has an odd lilt to her tone, as if recalling someone else's words, further made evident by her inability to properly recite the words she wants. "For the wound on Her body and soul. Though She cares for all who care for Her." She recovers quickly though, replacing the word with one she knows and following the rest of a seemingly longstanding prayer. There is a curious tilt to her head, almost as if to ask Dawnglare if both of them speak of the same benevolent and stern being, but she still refuses to look directly into his eyes. It almost appears as if she's looking at his nose instead. ​

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