private desert oasis && ember

[WASPRATTLE.]

The sun hangs lazily overhead.

Like he always has, he follows it.

There was no rhyme or reason to it all, nothing that was not... natural. Even the brightest of thinkers (which certainly, he was not) were bound to fall into patterns; a certain natural order. Something so warm and inviting and— eye-catching, even when it lacked the former; wouldn't anything want to chase after it? Perhaps with a dream, to claw your way into Sky. To keep reaching and reaching for something obtainable. Or perhaps, it was just... simple comfort.

But maybe, he was wrong. It burns, after all; and for some, he could imagine, the rest was not worth it. He wasn't sure what it was for himself that compelled him so. Fickle, he was fickle as any other thing. No better, and that was perfectly fine.

And what's strange is... vague familiarity. When you wander without a care, the stops muddy together. But something still jumped out to him now. Curious, he pauses. A sundown gaze rakes across his surroundings, careful appraisal; careful... consideration (for he knew he could miss things at the worst of times. ...A work in progress, his mind could be unbecoming) Perhaps it was more of a feeling. A vague something-something, not solid enough for words. He was fine with that, certainly. Though maybe, you couldn't tell from afar. A sloped muzzle, chocolate, bright-star shape, cranes downward. Blank gaze at nothingness... perhaps he seemed lost.

A rustle there— his gaze flicks upward. Painted face, striped and engulfed in flame. A form worse for wear, but certainly not in tatters. A blink in their direction. Friendliness is the intention (it does not come across.) "Hello," he greets, steady, staid. "Is everything alright?"

[ @EMBER ]​

 

[EMBER]

wandering becomes aimless.

frustration burns hot, a wildfire which has engulfed her. honey had fixed her up as best she could, but there is still a gaping hole in her chest. ember has never been so far from her family; they've always been a unit, working together to get through the hard times. without them, she feels...

empty.

missing her nephew's laughter, sunshine's jokes, pollen's poetic observations, echo's friendly competitions. ember had thrown all of it into the fire to become kindling for her anger at sootstar. now, those memories are just that- memories. ashes left behind after the flame is doused.

ember tells herself she had to do it; if she gives up her ideals, she isn't truly ember anymore, is she? but the price is steep, and she's beginning to doubt she has the strength to crest the mountain.

still, she pushes on. if anything, it's to spite sootstar by continuing to live.

brambles snag on flame-kissed fur as the molly pushes herself clumsily through the undergrowth, hissing curses beneath each breath as she fights with mother nature. unaccustomed to traversing anything other than the plains and the tunnels, she is, and it shows in fumbling pawsteps. "damn plants. why's there gotta be so many of you? you're worse than rabbits in newleaf-"

ember's grumbling is cut short by the voice of another nearby. nicked ears perk for a heartbeat, before they're pushing themselves back, spiked fur bristling. is it one of sootstar's pawns? have they tracked her down to finish what she'd started a half-moon ago?

she prepares herself for a fight, but it doesn't come. ember's narrowed stare lands on an unfamiliar figure, a strange thing with tight cinnamon curls draped in chocolate. her hackles flatten, but she keeps her claws at the ready. he asks if she's alright, and ember laughs. no, she isn't alright. the flame point does not care to depart with such information to a stranger, however. "i'm alive, aren't i?" she doesn't mention the scabs along her face or her sprained paw held a whisker's length above the ground. she's alive, and that's what matters, isn't it?

the thrill of a conversation brings ember a step closer, her gaze unwavering as she stares down the tom. it's been a half-moon since she's truly talked to anybody, since she'd spoken with honey before they went separate ways. she's starved of social interaction, and now that she's gotten a taste of it, she's unwilling to let it go so soon. "who're you, then? don't think i've ever seen you 'round."​

 

[WASPRATTLE.]

For a moment, it's all narrowed eyes and hackles raised along her spine. Thankfully, it takes only another beat before she eases; ebbs and flows. He's patient, jaw set in straight-faced calm with the release of her tension. He's far from interested in a fight—a wanderer with few other talents, and combat certainly was not one of them. Dryly, she laughs; a crackling in the midday air. He fails to find the humor in their present interaction, but that was fine. Something he'd said, perhaps? To be sure, he clears his throat; a gutteral sound. "Pardon, I do believe..." Accented vocals weigh heavy on his tongue— "The threshold for alright is not quite so..." ...set? He purses his lips, unsure how to finish his thought.

His eyes trail to their surroundings, searching for a word he could not place; and, contemplative, a paw taps at the ground. Trailing, trailing... a loop is surely immenent. Musings of right and wrong, but it's never anything anything new. The same words play again and again in his head... but, its dutifully broken by sound of her, yet again. Closer— had she gotten closer? Her eyes blazed in a way he could not place; sky-toned, and yet with an intensity that seemed to come naturally.

The questions come quick, then. An interrogation? For a moment, he pauses, proccesses with a slow blink. Who was he? "Rattling Wasp," he says. It's the truth, but it's... unweildy, the name she gave him. "Wasp is quite fine, though. And you?" tacked on by the end. It was only habit now, to follow up with the question of his own. "You seem to have..." searching for words. "Stories to tell." finally, he finishes. His gaze (,and it burns in its own right,) bores onto the molly, quizzical.​