private HARMONY, INDEED ♡ MALLOWLARK

[DAWNGLARE]

He'd never noticed... just how obvious it was before, the shift from Sky to Thunder. Even as he keeps his head down and paws rooted to Her flesh, he can notice the change. Loose needles spattered across the ground and soon petered out into nothing. Deadly points soften into supple earth. And instead, there are... sheets of speckled color. Sunburst, sunset, dawn-toned points. They litter the floor in a delicate array. Piling higher, higher, higher until they knock against each other in their eagerness to spread. Touching sight, it speaks to his soul. He can't help but halt beside them, indulge in the little game they played with each other. Fragile things. They stir with the slightest brush of his tail. Twitching, fluttering, they twirl in the air before settling once more. They were so much more pleasant than the ugly, pinprick needles of the pine.

On his way again, on his way ♪ Weave between the stumps and the stones, steady stalk towards saccharine sky; and a stumble, he nearly falls– but when he rights himself...

The most beautiful thing he's ever seen is laid out ahead of him, and it's aggravating. Intoxicating red, stem infuriatingly pristine, too-too shapely twists and turns. Nothing in the pine forest could possibly, possibly compare. Wonderfully awful, terribly divine. Careful, careful, ears pulled back and teeth bared with the utmost care, he secures the stem between his jaws. It's his, and soon, another's (he hopes).

He's undeniably pleased, and yet, undeniably angry. Dawnglare is polite where he waits, jaws dainty with the way it clasps at his treasure (for it'd be blasphemous, any damage to it). The gentle grasp of his maw conflicts with the narrowness of his eyes and the lash of his tail. Further does that confuse the excited tapping– stark white paws itching at Mother's skin. He's sorry, but it cannot be helped.

The glow of the moon sets his gift awash with color. It was so strangely red, foreboding. For now, it was only partially covered. Half-and-half, the light was confused. A strange brand of heterochromia. But with each passing moment, the blood-soaked glow became just the slightest bit more... opressive. But, that wasn't why he was here... But perhaps it'll serve to further brighten the shine of the ruddy stem. He wonder's what he'll look like, awash in red light. Dyed from head to toe. Blood-stained, spattered all over... Expectant, a mid-day gaze reaches toward the moors.

[ @MALLOWLARK hop on the discord kitten ]​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

The night grew more gnashing as the colder season stalked closer, but with fluffy fur accustomed to the whipping winds of the moorland Mallowlark found himself caring much less than he might have otherwise. And, well, there was another motivator- the moon-promised meeting that awaited him in the clearing, cradled by the trees. The forest was beginning to glow with flame-hue, beauty that had always been something afar- it was strange, enchanting, to stand so close now.

There was something else of sanguine glister that snagged his attention on the stroll over, though- hanging in the sky, a great red eye masquerading as the moon. Had the stars banded together, overtaken the moon with enchantment that dyed it scarlet? Or was it perhaps in pain, weeping with blood from a wound? Whatever it was- there was something beautiful about it, an ominous glare of cardinal wing, face, enamouring. If it had been a lesser task that had beckoned him, perhaps he would have wished to gaze for longer- but there was someone waiting who he wanted to share this with. Oh, and what a sight-

"Dawnglaaare!" he called, voice a sing-song melody, whipped up in vivacity and the thrill of greeting. The greeting, his name, leapt from Mallowlark's throat the moment his companion with pelt of weeping-willow bark became clear in his vision. Dawnglare, Dawnglare- the name was honey on his tongue. "Dawnglare, did you..."

His voice trailed in an exhale, argent eyes meeting stardust-iridescent. His grin stayed, curved silver eyes, sparked the light; it felt like so long since he had seen him. It had been, really- was weeks an exaggeration? Never did he wish to forget that face, but with time apart he found the details blurred- how wonderful it was to have the memories refreshed, the flesh alive and moving before him. Charcoal paws carried him closer, pupils set within owlish eyes sliding to what the tom held within his maw. "Hi," he said, breathless. Again, breathless again... it always caught him when he least expected it. Always in this company. "Did you see the moon?"

His voice brimmed with thrill, excitement refusing to settle. A foolish question, really- someone so sylphlike as Dawnglare, thrumming with wisdom, would have certainly taken note. So stark crimson against icecap, that leaf mimicked the moon in its beauty... perhaps the other had taken it as a keepsake, remembering the scarlet sight just as it hung suspended against late-night's deep-dark veil.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Ears prick at the sound of his voice. It's melodious, far from bird-song, but something of his own. It shatters the night's silence in a burst of excitement. His grievances are nearly forgotten all at once. Instead, room is made— forced aside in favor of the chirp of his own name and tar-soaked paws. A bright smile, further flashing in the light of the moon. The phenomena is nearly crafted with him in mind (it has to be, he's sure of it). Pale, pale tufts provide the perfect muse for Her, painting him with crimson and blue. The light shifts along with him, mood seemingly changing with each turn of his body, red-ladden daunt to cool tranquil. And it backlights his frame with an ominous glow, almost sinister with the curl of his fangs and wideness of his eyes.

Long pause. Dawnglare can see the sag of his shoulders with the breath he releases. Hi, eventually comes out sweet, and this with his wide-set eyes– in this light, the look's nearly meant to kill. Giggles, they bubble up before he can quite catch them. The thought of him, moon-chosen vessel, starsilver eyes here to kill him has him laughing. "H-hi!" is rumbled out between breaths. And the moon... "The moon—?" the beginnings of something is puffed out. Then things are suddenly precarious– The stem of his treasure threatens to fall. Teeth keep their grasp on it by barely a whisper. A bitten-back hiss slips past bared teeth. He couldn't... lose it.

He swallows, teeth held awkwardly onto the stem. "How could I... miss it with how you look?" Crystalline eyes flit from the nearly-lost leaf to Mallowlark's eyes— his face. There's a twitch of his whiskers. And his treasure would soon find him unfit to deliver. Again, giggles. "You nearly look blood-soaked. You– Am I your next victim? Here to rip my stomach open? A matching scar–" Unable to help it, his treasure slips loose, and laughter is abruptly cut off with an exhale of breath. He surges, shifts and sways as the leaf does... Frustratingly fluttering thing. But he shrinks on himself, tilts his head forward and...

–Catches it on his nose. Satisfied, he smiles. And in his efforts, an accident– he ends up so much closer. Up he blinks at the moonlit tom, and it's even more ominous, the angle. He huffs a shaky breath, amused. An unsteady smile curls at his lips. "You look scary."​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

His laugh; Mallowlark had forgotten that sound, or remembered it wrong. One or the other, either reality made it sweeter to the ear than it could ever have been otherwise. Perpetually his grin occupied stark-white features, but when in Dawnglare's company he truly felt it. Dawn-dipped features sang with that laughter, better than birdsong, and from his throat crawled subconscious echos, his own mewling mimicry. It did not surpass the bellchime chitters that danced from Dawnglare's tongue, and how could it ever! To dare to compare them-

Dawnglare's hypothesis of his identity as a blood-dressed villain come to claim a prize was enchanting- and oh, a matching scar sent his giggles as quick as chitinous wingbeat! The light, not just the moon, loomed sanguine. Soaked by rivers of blood, Mallowlark almost expected to taste that metallic tang upon the air, feeling as if a wound must be weeping from the sky. But no- everything was sweet as sun and pine, as nighttime frolic, of herb-assortment. And he said, he said- you look scary, looking up with pearlescent hues, his fragment of the moon carefully caught upon his nose. There- they were closer now, and yet Mallowlark still took a stride forward, emboldened. "Boo!" Voice hovering above a whisper, there were but whiskers between their faces.

His laughs leapt from him then, as insistent as they had always been. "You, though- you look terrifying." Giggles died down slightly, still there but bolstered with dizzying reverie. Terrifying, enamouring (for who was to say they were not allowed to coexist?) he did indeed look- no lie leapt from his curved maw. The low light, so peculiar in hue, lit his gossamer fur ichor-soaked- but the brown of his body bore a deepened shade, the dark of a mystifying forest. His eyes, though- his eyes were the daylight, pulling him out of the illusion. Never, never in a bad way. He grinned, doglike and sincere, hoping the show of his teeth might make him scarier.

Eyes fell to the leaf again. "So did that fall from the sky? The moon's lost a bit of meat?" Silly questions, for he knew it to be a leaf- but there must be something about it for Dawnglare to endeavour so gracefully to keep it from striking the forest floor. Who knew- perhaps the leaves came not from the trees but from the sky, some wicked enchantment. Dawnglare would know.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Boo! suddenly flies from his mouth. Mallowlark pressed further with an eager whisper. Nearly does he want to flinch back in faux terror, but he can only laugh. His smile is sharp. His face burns with the tension, corners of his lips stretched to accommodate the fluttering of his heart. Close— the tom is close, whiskers shake with Mallowlark's breath, and he bites back his laughter with teeth pressed into lips. Too-wide smile fights against the press of teeth, and he can only keep laughing; trying to keep himself steady as he's wracked with giggles. And Mallowlark joins him in this cacophony of sound–

Feather-light, his laugh makes him woozy. Screeching sound, up and away in this fluttering lilt. With it comes an easiness; a release of tension he fails to glean from much else. Howling laughter, it dies to make room for words. He's terrifying, Mallowlark says, and– giddiness, it spreads like sweet sickness. His smile somehow brightens. Eyes are near slits with the creasing of his lids. For a moment, he regrets the burden he carries, balanced delicately atop his nose. What he could do without the need for carefulness–

The burden itself, Mallowlark addresses; chirping with questions, curious bird. Dawnglare swallows thick. "Maybe," he purrs, dreamy. "The leaves fall in Her effort to rid herself of them... but so plentiful, so stubborn. Always... they come back." It's truth of the matter, he knows. But for some reason, his thoughts are inclined to stray. Other possibilities buzz in his mind at the mention... He hadn't seen where it came from. It merely... appeared at his feet. There to be found, perhaps. "Maybe it is a drop of Her blood– or the moon's... I think it's an omen. Something good, something bad..." he's inclined to think the former, with how Mallowlark hovers, just so slightly above; blood-drenched, grinning– Delightfully horrific, horrifically delightful.

"What– what do you think?" he asks, and its a strange stutter, an uncommon question. Soaked in moon's blood as he was, perhaps it was him, and the question he utters, mere bait? The thought has him smiling, dizzy. Mallowlark leaping into the heavens to slice at the moon's flesh (and leaving it just for him). "Or– are you trying to hide that it was you?"​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Their laughs in a dance, melodic- a tango of perfect cacophony. He adored the sound, siren-song melody reaching out and winding around him. It called him closer, yet- how much closer could they get? Another laugh burst free- loud, sudden. His fur prickled with the awareness of their proximity, and in the closeness he found himself acutely able to notice the nuance of Dawnglare's face, the way his expression bloomed from within, joyful spirit luminous upon his features. It was there, then- in the curve of his smile, the vivace of his eyes crescent-curve, that Mallowlark realised that Dawnglare was beautiful. Beauty, terror- who knew they could be entangled so, married and conjured before him? No wonder he had thought him some spirit...

His expression softened, happiness remaining brimmed at the words that flitted from his companion's maw in contemplation. Ears perked to attention, eager to absorb all the wisdom that Dawnglare provided him. The cycle of the blood-fragment he held- how it sustained itself, struggling against the Mother to survive. To come back once she had rid herself- was that blasphemy? An omen, though- that seemed apt. Rapture radiant in owlish silver eyes, Mallowlark nodded slight, soft.

Then- then, the daylight was upon him. Asking- his breath caught. Another laugh fell from him at the accusation- though it was a sugared one, meant not in malice. Even with this gory lighting, he knew malintent when he saw it. There was nothing but that beautiful joy illustrated idyllic upon Dawnglare's face, illuminated through the ichor-glow. "I think it's a good omen." In whispered tones, whiskers-away, the blood-soaked ghost said he thought. Really, he felt like he knew.

"But if it had have been me- HAH-" The thought of him ripping ribbon-flesh from the moon, leaping so high he could tear away some of it, his fur soaked in blood as a punishment; it was humourous. As if, had he done such a thing, he would hide it! "You would be the first person I would tell." The glee in his tone, giddy- it betrayed the sincerity of his heart. Anything that happened- anything he did- if he did not tell Dawnglare, there was little point in doing it at all.

Claws sprung from their inky prison, one of Mallowlark's paws rising to catch the light of the moon as it glinted off of them. "Maybe I should practice," the joke tumbled from his maw in lockstep with laughs, unable to contain his scrambling, grasping happiness. Why should he? ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

The reverie in his voice– words eagerly spoken, the body language of someone who cared, and the eyes of an attentive student; it lights up his face with a special kind of joy. Mallowlark's words speak agreement with his very own thoughts, a good omen, he says. And Dawnglare's thoughts wander with... with the thought of what. Alluding to what? An answer is clear in front of him, brimming bright with ghoulish laughter. He'd be a fool to miss it. Petal the same color of an ichor-soaked face. It's andsome, the way skin stretches over muscles pulled tight and narrow. The curve of his smile; too, too familiar by now. For a moment, it grasps at his breath– held captive by those teeth, ruptured vein and torn sinew, soul in a vice-grip–

His eyes squeeze shut and– back to the present. Bright luminaries drag to the red-flecked maple. Cross-eyed, he hums a makeshift melody, made up, nothing really, just– how he feels. It's a balancing game with the burden, tilt of his nose and following droop of the stem. Again, again, eyes on the other. There's a moonlit spark, lock of the eyes.

Mallowlark lets out a sudden bark, and he meets it with his own outburst, an undignified snort. Bubbling laughter is always wrenched forward in his presence, his screeching howl an inviting tug. Insistent, invitation to dance, a sinuous song. And– the devotion, giddied chirp with Mallowlark's admission. His face burns. "I'm privy to all of your sins, then?" Tongue between teeth, a tittering chime in his throat. "Ha– I– I might have to take your tongue, rip out your throat–!" Oh, but he couldn't. He couldn't. Of anything in the sky, of any exception he could make, it– it would be for him. Rosey glow against his face, bathed in dawnlight that wasn't there. If the moon is made for him, perhaps it was his right to take it, then. He brushes his tail, white and sanguine, against Mallowlarks side; a show of good nature... that was all.

Mesmerizing, the way wine-light glints from his claws. Like the bursting of stars for just a moment. There's blood on his paws, a victim claimed by his own gnashing teeth, maybe. "Sure, if you're greedy," he purrs, languid. "Pluck enough pieces and... we can make our own little moon," suggested in a murmuring lull, eyelids half-shut as he regards the flash of Mallowlark's claws. Defying nature, maybe. The slightest of sins. Maybe worth it to... to have something of their own. Swipe of his tongue. "I think this one should be yours."​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Again, that song, that heavenly melody. And from Dawnglare's maw there was a song, improvised unpredictability, the most wonderful skip of a sound before it spun into more giggles. Sins he speaks of- mild ones perhaps, but still blood on his paws separate of the light. But the laughing- it was still there, and Mallowlark doubted that both of them lacked the ability to control it. The image- and how good he was at conjuring those images!- of Dawnglare ripping his throat out, the power of it, the sanguine light and liquid that would soak the ground of this already-bloodied battleground, was hilarious. It sent the peals spilling, like- like- like the blood would-!

As he swayed, there was the feather-light feeling of a tail-tip touch, dawn-soaked starlight touching him. The light of his grin glowed luminous, moonlight ablaze in his eyes at the touch- he hoped he read the mirror of Dawnglare's expression correctly, that he felt the same joy. The pleasant brush, the way it left a spangled scar on his side, there-but-not-really; an open wound weeping silver, invisible on his side, appraised by nothing but a touch...

His claws remained sky-bound, and still he saw that claret-glow gory, but that notion- greed, perhaps, but he wanted to be greedy. If they had their own moon- no matter how small- it would be them and not the heavens that dictated their meeting. They could choose when it was full, new, waning, waxing- whatever.

"You..." The offer suspended itself in the air, and Mallowlark let his jaw slack slightly, grin splitting in twain and attention moving to hang upon the fragment. "You sure?" he murmured, voice dipping low into a whisper. It seemed criminal almost to take such a discovery from his companion, and yet... "Next time-" Really, he should not speak of next time when their parting was not yet imminent. "I'll have to bring you something."

For a moment, his words hovered in his throat. In such company, wise and clever company, how could he conceal his wonderings. "Maybe now we have a chunk of it, the moon'll stay like this forever."​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Incessant, he still reaches to the moon, grasping at something so far away, and yet, he nearly believes he could reach it. Leap high into the sky against all odds. Soaring, flying, blazing past all of those stars; brighter than any one of them (blasphemy, surely. Just the thought—) Bounding through open air, fueled with nothing more than the desire to draw moon's blood. Star-blinded fool slicing through the sky. He would watch it a thousand times.

His eyes tear away from it, and the image he'd conjured along with it (blood and torn sinew hooked tauntingly over the edge). Expectent, Dawnglare awaits his willowy words. The curve of his smile pulls ever-tighter, with the look on the other's face. Slack-jawed, slight gape. And, voice dipped low, you sure? Reverent, quiet as the very stars themselves (though still, twinkling, shining, very much there) A low-rattled hum, affirmative. "Certainly." He would not take offense to the suggestion of wrongness, for the tom's voice was soaked in soft-spun musings and held-on breaths.

And the thought of his own treasure, an exchange between them— just them— it piques his interest. His head lilts to the side, slight, enough not to disturb their piece of the moon. Time and time again, they spoke, but had he a real idea of what Mallowlark liked? Not quite, no. Slight twitch of his whiskers... food for thought.

A thought, a suggestion shared; and it's something so, so strange. Strange, and exciting and something he cannot name— the musings of a dreamer spoken through those wide-rotted eyes and moon-sharpened grin. Wouldn't that be something? The moon always weeping, weeping red, casting rose-burned shadows across the world, for now and forever. A stubborn moon that stayed seated in the sky, and if it never moved, why should they? "I hope it does," earnestly, he admits, even if he knows it's nonsense.

Serene, he allows his eyes to fall shut. For a moment, all he wants is to just breathe. Breathe in the presence of Mallowlark, relish what he has while he has it, because... "...Always too soon," he says, and there's the hint of a whine, faintly bratty. An exaggeration? Who's to say...​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

He lowered his night-stricken paw with the knowledge that the treasure was his, a brightened gift, scarlet in more-scarlet light. Certainly. A brightened gaze, ever brightened in this presence, cradled the leaf- remembered every vein, every curl. Claret now, it would eventually crisp, shrivel... but knowing it would be born again did not sadden him. Though the leaf was temporary (and so too was this night, despite his wishes for it not to be), his memory would forever remain. And that, that was when his gaze lifted, met the daylight pools sunset-tinted of Dawnglare's eyes once again. Wist wracked them, wide- he wanted to remember, better than he had ever done before.

His head tilted, the fragment undisturbed- interest, perhaps. So there was that promise for next time, the coming night that kept him moving. Blackened paws pressed into the earth, as if it might fall away beneath him- for whenever they spoke of next time, it meant their moonlit meeting devoid of crowd was soon to end. But he hoped too, that useless but wonderful hoping, that delightful dream- "Me too," he agreed, not letting his attention flinch away for a second.

The leaf lay there, still upon Dawnglare's nose. Were they to pass it between them, swept upon the bridges of their noses? And yet, yet- there was not enough space. Ponderings peppered his mind, a breath shaky from cold or tension (he couldn't quite tell) shuddering from him. Dawnglare's star-touched gaze fluttered shut, and Mallowlark could feel the prickle of his pelt, realising he stared. Voice still low, discord and melody both braided together at once, he let his words run from him waterfall-free. "Yeah..." A pause, a thought. "I don't really want to go."

What did WindClan have for him that was not here? Logically very much, but in this fervent-yet-quiet tumult of emotions he could not care to differentiate feeling from logic. There upon the bridge of Dawnglare's nose lay his very own shard of the sanguine night-star, and...

Forward he moved, closer and closer until there was not a whisker between them, not even the slightest sliver of breath. Nothing but nose-to-nose, pine and petal and Dawnglare and them and this place, all at once occupying his senses. This was the best way to transfer the leaf- but what was that giddy giggle that left him as he moved for the touch, then? That bonfire warmth, remaining and growing at their contact? He could not name it- all he knew was that it was a good feeling.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Night-softened words from a blood-soaked tongue. Their thoughts are... similar. And he's glad— thankful that the admission spills from Mallowlark first. His own words sound less strange then... Not so out there; a mind shared between the two of them. "Neither do I," he says, the ghost of a thought. His eyes are still fixed shut, (almost afraid of what they'd see). It's easier to pretend this way, that time was locked in a standstill; that truly, he could decide when to stay and when to go. (Nearly does he beg to the heavens, that he may have more in exchange for his worship; a grip over the moon. It isn't how the world works, he knows. Surely, he'd be eaten from the inside out—)

A sudden touch, and mentally, he's reeling. Nose-to-nose; the tremble of whiskers. His eyes fly open and there's Mallowlark, impossibly, impossibly closer. He can practically see the starlight in his eyes; wide-set wonder of the world, and his own blood-lit blue nearly mimics them in their brightness. Mallowlark's tittering giggle is met with his own laugh, or— exhale, more like; a strange stuttering of breath with a grin that slowly reached high into his eyes. Trembling smile; the beginnings of a question play on his lips, before the realization.

It's a steadier sound, this time; his tone lilting with a giggle. An indulgence, then. Sure. Just a little bit straighter, he sits, and he nudges his head. With a downward lilt, the stem is guided down the slope of his nose, eager press against stark white. It's less than orthodox, but he cannot bring himself to care. Somehow, somehow through some miracle— it's safely passed between the two of them, delicate atop the other's nose. "...There" he purrs with satisfaction. The exchange is made, and yet, their closeness remains. He can't bring himself to tear away, not yet. Not when Mallowlark's eyes smile and his breath tickles. Not when he can see the very spirits glittering within starsilver pools; a delicate sheen like no other. "You'll take care of it, won't you?" The question... rhetorical. It'd be a thing never to be given in the first place if he didn't believe as much.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Even at the flash of eyes a-widening, awakening, Mallowlark let not a muscle of his face flinch. How could he dare? It felt blasphemous to even blink, not when they were this close- and there, here before him, Dawnglare laughed. Always a silvered sound, in this proximity it transmutated- grew gilded, the most precious melody. Though he could not suppress his own chitters, every part of him desired desperately to temper the volume, to avoid drowning out the sound of Dawnglare's joy.

That velour touch- it was intoxicating, and still Mallowlark found no appeal in shifting. As realisation set upon his companion's features, the grinning ghoul was sure to allow his prize easy passage, working with the sway until the fragment found its place upon his own nose. Still though, they did not move. Perhaps a more physical representation of their earlier reciprocation- what point was there in going, if neither of them wanted to? His gaze stayed wide, illustrated with awe and idyllic with enchantment. Every curve of laughter-in-voice, every giggle or tiny songlike hum- wonderful sounds from anyone, but hearing them from Dawnglare felt like he was meeting his destiny.

At the leaf's settlement, Mallowlark too let a hum of satisfaction take flight from his maw. Crossing his eyes for a moment, their moon-piece faded into his view- it would take pride of place of course, among other collections and sentiments. "Of course I will. No-one else will even touch it...!" Thrilled whisper, he meant it, he meant it. His sincerity was mirrored in his immobility, he continued to let Dawnglare's scent and appearance and voice and self envelop him.

"I really don't want to go." In the air there hovered a blood-drenched, unspoken 'but', and not gore-soaked in the way that had made their night beautiful. No, it was the horrid and undeserved type of violence- how unbelievably that a mere notion could have such claws! Yet- it did, cleaving them apart and casting them to their separate worlds. "I'll bring you something." Low, giddy with the giggling and that sun-warmth in his chest, Mallowlark made his promise but did not yet draw away. Reluctance kept him stationary, let his eyes drift closed for a moment. Perhaps he might fall asleep by accident, and have an excuse to stay.

Really, it was dread that guided his silver gaze to hide behind his eyelids.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He's so funny like this. Funny— was that the right word? To describe his cross-eyed glee and blood-touched wonder in his voice? So sincere, the flittering of his tone. And again, his insistence; that sentiment that they shared. Unwillingness to leave... in quiet agreement, there's stillness... and a bubble of something in his throat. The unspoken word between them grates, agonizing; obligations to their respective homes, no matter how soft or how wicked the ruler. Their time here... never forever. Unfortunate truth, note of despair. The promise of a gift does little to pull him away (but still... something, starfire warmth in his chest).

It's cruel, so cruel that he doesn't yet pull away. Quite the opposite, even; shutting his eyes seemingly without intention to leave... It's horrifically cruel, if only because then, it leaves himself as tonight's villain. "I'll be wai-ting ♪" said with a purr. Genuineness is highlighted by the shine in his eye and crease of his lips. Still so... funny, funny. Starsilver eyes stay locked behind their lids. It nearly leaves him... sad. Sorely missing what once, he could see so clearly; and what he'd miss for another dull, dull moon.

He huffs a breath, resigned to his fate... Achingly, he pulls away. A smile spells fondness, clear as day; fondness... and maybe, something more. It's caught in his throat, really. Feathers he can't quite cough up. Maybe something that's so much trouble to say shouldn't be said to begin with... but still, they flutter in his stomach and tickle his insides with something strange, so strange. An unstoppable sickness. Parting words... of all the things he'd like to say, how is he to choose just one of them, truly?

So, he swallows, and... "Buh-bye." Lame, it feels lame, hardly compensation for what there was truly left to say. "Make sure to wash the blood before anyone can see," said with a smile and click of his claw against mother's skin. Her who... he'd so duly neglected, hadn't he? Not a prayer, nor a thought spared for Her grace. So sorry, he sings. So sorry. "Your secret's safe with me," thought from a blasphemous mind. For the moon to be so wounded, and yet, he'd keep it secret? Say it ain't so... So it is.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Sliver of breath, that subtle pull... away he moved, but with a purr that left any bitterness from parting a pleasant aftershock instead. It was barely a movement to pull away, and though it had lingered their touch had been merely that- a touch. So why did he yet yearn? Maybe he was greedy- wanting more pieces of the moon, more time, more...

What was it he wanted, even? Thoughts shook aside, a twitchy shake- subtly done, an abnormal attribution. At his words of parting, the finality that came with bye, he opened his eyes once again- wide, wider, widest. If they were not to speak like this for yet another moon, he had to remember more than ever the feeling of it- and this sight. Dawnglare soaked in the light of a wound, seeping and weeping over him like weightless rainfall, claret cascade. Mallowlark wished to keep the sight in his mind for as long as he was able. Forever, should that be possible.

"Bye," he murmured, words that came in tandem with a reverie-ridden sigh. He swallowed- lingered, still. Every meeting, the parting became more difficult. Idly- like a wasp-buzz, there in the back of his mind- Mallowlark wondered if the dread was mutual. There was something... reluctant about Dawnglare's movements, his sighing pluming to mist... was the urge to stay just as strong?

But- to stay, it would be selfish. To ask him to stay would be even more so. Dawnglare had responsibilities- a leader to aid, prophecies to read in his own home. Outside of this, his phantom had his own life... away from being a willow-pelted spirit in his most dreamlike nights. That, he had to accept. The last thing he wanted to be was selfish.

Oh, how he missed not feeling this way- whims were once his own to act upon whenever, but now he found himself seldom hesitant. But he could not deny it was simultaneously- somehow- a wonderful feeling. His mission was given... wash away the blood. This secret- it was safe, held, with both of them. Never had he trusted anyone's words so absolutely. A flash of his claws one last time, the curve of his smile a wingbeat upon his features- and then, gone, headed to the river. The moor soon afterward- home, if he could find home there at all. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​