- Jun 9, 2022
- 602
- 408
- 63
In his dreams, he streams through the sky. Dutiful wraith, reporting to those who needed him. The chilling of the seasons has brought with them little more than strife. They've left Skyclan drowning in their own blizzard, frostbitten from head to toe, victims of an ever-volatile mortal world. It was cruel, but so was the way of things. Not everything could live forever. What good is a world spun in perpetuity?
In his dreams, Immortality is not something to be held lately. It is a kindly gift given to those deserving, and such a pool was small. So is the way of things, the way of being special. Spin your webs as you may, you would always, and forever be mortal. Existence is not but a stain on this world, for every being, but him.
And in his dreams, if he so chooses, this gift may be seamlessly passed to those deserving. Able to give a godly gift, his choices must be wise as the gods' themselves.
Emotions are fragile. And this one has made him emotional. It's more of a liability than anything else ever could be, that fear; festering of irrationality, those very same thoughts that led him to such a decision in the first place. Even if his mind was naive, it was not so much so that he was impossible. Even if his bones were fragile, not so much so that they were breakable. The only threat lies in the ability to influence him, themself. Dangerous. Far from ground tread lightly.
But if he could remove that threat of death, what reason would there be to fear? Their strings would loosen, and their hold, along with it. Two birds with a single stone, a gift irrationally given would never give chance for him to be irrationally won. And who better to watch over him, than the only one who could strike him down?
In his dreams, he lifted him to the sky, and yelled to the sun to hear his word. Child of the very sun, he rose to form, and the heavens smiled upon him with their kindly faces. It isn't so simply a dream.
In the real world, his head crests high. Lifted chin, the gaze of divinity. The past few days are but a blur in this moment. Even if the blood still roars in his ears, and the chaos of his den brings a gnawing to his throat, for a moment, he can ignore all of it. He can ignore the shutter of disgust that comes with the thought of his sanctum, lying violated. He can ignore the snow that piled high, once, blocking dens, now, a pale stage for the clan to wade through, their tunnels dug and secured. Gossamer fur meets the ground in a blur between fur and snow. It glistens with the light of the sun. Traitor, that very lord, shining in mimicry of its once welcoming embrace. Now its shine is cold. A treacherous lie, repeated for moons and moons. It only maintains his light, and the glimmer that comes with it.
Highbranch, that place fit only for a leader. It Blaise could shake upon its weight so often, Dawnglare surely could. Sound in his reasoning, he creeps forth with only a whispered order to Firefly. The prodigy would follow, for soon, the prodigy would be known. He has stewed on this choice, and hopes that the child has followed. Now, when there is finally something other than grief and anger to be felt, is when he would take to the skies.
Firefly is instructed to stay Mother-bound, meanwhile, he takes to the trees, conquering the frigid bark with but a few pushes of the leg. Here, he stands, his tail raised high. Hooded eyes gaze upon the lot of them, a pinch of ice-bound blue within the snowy expanse. He clears his throat, and his voice bellows. "Cats of Skyclan!" –and, traitorous, his paw loses its grip on the branch, snow-laden as it was. He is far from a fledgling in terms of climbing. Easily, he catches himself, even if his front half dangles without purchase and a foreleg twists to accommodate. He continues without issue. "I command you– lift your eyes and rejoice in the face of your chosen one!" His tail flicks downward in a gesture to the child in question, and his voice sings sweet victory. A willing peon, found in a place so delicate. The earth hums with approval, even if the Skyclanners did not.
"Even if the face you see below you as pitiful, this will not always be so. No, I vow it." Sincerely him, he purrs self-satisfaction. The drape of his body across the ice-soaked branch is no longer an inconvenience, but a delicate display. "Offer this child your utmost attention, for he will know more than any of you ever will." Merely a truth, he does not mean it with malice, even if his voice rumbles sickly-sweet, and his tail sways in satisfied rhythm. With this, his word has been spoken, his sermon delivered, and Skyclan will slowly settle back into the care of his waiting paws.
[ @Fireflypaw ; NOT PAFP! <3 so sorry abt him ]
In his dreams, Immortality is not something to be held lately. It is a kindly gift given to those deserving, and such a pool was small. So is the way of things, the way of being special. Spin your webs as you may, you would always, and forever be mortal. Existence is not but a stain on this world, for every being, but him.
And in his dreams, if he so chooses, this gift may be seamlessly passed to those deserving. Able to give a godly gift, his choices must be wise as the gods' themselves.
Emotions are fragile. And this one has made him emotional. It's more of a liability than anything else ever could be, that fear; festering of irrationality, those very same thoughts that led him to such a decision in the first place. Even if his mind was naive, it was not so much so that he was impossible. Even if his bones were fragile, not so much so that they were breakable. The only threat lies in the ability to influence him, themself. Dangerous. Far from ground tread lightly.
But if he could remove that threat of death, what reason would there be to fear? Their strings would loosen, and their hold, along with it. Two birds with a single stone, a gift irrationally given would never give chance for him to be irrationally won. And who better to watch over him, than the only one who could strike him down?
In his dreams, he lifted him to the sky, and yelled to the sun to hear his word. Child of the very sun, he rose to form, and the heavens smiled upon him with their kindly faces. It isn't so simply a dream.
In the real world, his head crests high. Lifted chin, the gaze of divinity. The past few days are but a blur in this moment. Even if the blood still roars in his ears, and the chaos of his den brings a gnawing to his throat, for a moment, he can ignore all of it. He can ignore the shutter of disgust that comes with the thought of his sanctum, lying violated. He can ignore the snow that piled high, once, blocking dens, now, a pale stage for the clan to wade through, their tunnels dug and secured. Gossamer fur meets the ground in a blur between fur and snow. It glistens with the light of the sun. Traitor, that very lord, shining in mimicry of its once welcoming embrace. Now its shine is cold. A treacherous lie, repeated for moons and moons. It only maintains his light, and the glimmer that comes with it.
Highbranch, that place fit only for a leader. It Blaise could shake upon its weight so often, Dawnglare surely could. Sound in his reasoning, he creeps forth with only a whispered order to Firefly. The prodigy would follow, for soon, the prodigy would be known. He has stewed on this choice, and hopes that the child has followed. Now, when there is finally something other than grief and anger to be felt, is when he would take to the skies.
Firefly is instructed to stay Mother-bound, meanwhile, he takes to the trees, conquering the frigid bark with but a few pushes of the leg. Here, he stands, his tail raised high. Hooded eyes gaze upon the lot of them, a pinch of ice-bound blue within the snowy expanse. He clears his throat, and his voice bellows. "Cats of Skyclan!" –and, traitorous, his paw loses its grip on the branch, snow-laden as it was. He is far from a fledgling in terms of climbing. Easily, he catches himself, even if his front half dangles without purchase and a foreleg twists to accommodate. He continues without issue. "I command you– lift your eyes and rejoice in the face of your chosen one!" His tail flicks downward in a gesture to the child in question, and his voice sings sweet victory. A willing peon, found in a place so delicate. The earth hums with approval, even if the Skyclanners did not.
"Even if the face you see below you as pitiful, this will not always be so. No, I vow it." Sincerely him, he purrs self-satisfaction. The drape of his body across the ice-soaked branch is no longer an inconvenience, but a delicate display. "Offer this child your utmost attention, for he will know more than any of you ever will." Merely a truth, he does not mean it with malice, even if his voice rumbles sickly-sweet, and his tail sways in satisfied rhythm. With this, his word has been spoken, his sermon delivered, and Skyclan will slowly settle back into the care of his waiting paws.
[ @Fireflypaw ; NOT PAFP! <3 so sorry abt him ]
