private MELTING FROM THE INSIDE 𓆩♡𓆪 FIGFEATHER

[DAWNGLARE]

It is not often that Dawnglare toils in matters of bone... Would he dare call it a delicacy? To do so may perhaps trivialize the struggles of those affected... but he, at least, inherently takes more pleasure in treating it than the likes of sickness... ( Or- it would be more apt to say it disgusts him to a lesser extent... ) But then, there was the matter of that extended stay... Perhaps to judge the injury alone would be unproductive. Whether he sleeps peacefully or not falls in the paws of that who is afflicted... Out of his control, and oh, how he detests that... He's exercised what little he is allowed to, having banished Slate from is den the moment the care he needed was no longer intensive.

It reminds him of Figfeather, his only other charge that has ever kept with him for so long, besides, perhaps, Honeysplash... Dawnglare would find her at sunhigh, ears snug to the back of his skull, though whatever annoyance he held was not intended for her like... The formality of hello is forgotten as he peers toward her leg, in this moment harboring a medicine cat's lack of care to ones personal space more than he did his own sensibilities. With a wrinkled nose, he asks her, " How is it? " ...And obviously, the answer was good enough, otherwise the sight of her face would make him sick, he's certain... What is that he's asking for? Dawnglare feels that overlooking presence, no doubt that grand Eye... The position of the sun frays his nerves, suddenly, and Dawnglare finds his breaths coming out thin. He has the mind to not betray himself to wholy, though the movement of his eyes is wide and erratic. Oh, how he longs for shade...

Fine. It is all fine. Brittle truth, that was. " I-'ll have you know... your stay with me had not been the... insufferable jaunt it is for certain others. " There is a scrunch of his eyes, and comes a clipped, self - satisfied tittering. " ...was. " And what if, from now on, he did not obligate himself to extra time spent with those he did not care for ( -with those that did not care for him )?

OOC: @FIGFEATHER

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[FIGFEATHER]

At the break of light, Dawnglare approaches her with ears pressed against his skull. She braces herself for his tongue to lash at her ears; presuming that she must’ve done something wrong for him to appear like someone had made dirt on his fresh-kill so early in the morning. Figfeather has lived within the same clan as Dawnglare all her life, by now she has learned to ignore any unwarranted irritation he rubbed off on her.

Her time spent with him as her medicine cat since birth is also why she knows he is not all that bad. A fume always ready to ignite the moment something struck him the wrong way, yes, but without his wisdom and unique knowledge SkyClan would’ve died off a long time ago. Figfeather could attest to that first-paw, she would’ve never made it to warriorhood if it had not been for him and his miracle work.

Figfeather’s time with him in the medicine cat’s den so many moons ago had allowed her to find appreciation she had not known she had for the Tom. She liked him, SkyClan wouldn’t be SkyClan if it didn’t have Dawnglare’s eccentric presence floating around.

That doesn’t mean she wasn’t relieved when it turned out he wasn’t here to berate her, though. He looks at her leg with a wrinkled nose, something that would’ve bothered her once upon a time, but it was an insecurity she’s moved past from.

”As good as it’ll ever be.” She meows with a shrug, ”It hurts more now that it’s getting colder. Sometimes I wish you had just ripped it off.” Figfeather quips. Even if Dawnglare could’ve done that, she knows after the bleeding it would’ve been certain death. Still, sometimes she wishes the leg would just fall off. It’d be another adjustment having to learn to walk and hunt with no support from it at all, but on the bad days, which were many, it hurt so bad it ended up having little function.

Figfeather bears an amused grin at Dawnglare’s compliment. She’s learned praise from the tom is a rare thing, and this might be the closest thing to a compliment she’s gotten from him her entire life. ”Well, I’m glad. Sharing a den with you hadn’t been so bad either. You and Fireflyglow don’t snore nearly as loud as some cats in the warrior’s den.” She purrs before taking a glance at the warrior’s den as if she’d spot a certain shadow. ”How is Slate’s stay with you both going? Is he one of these… ‘insufferable jaunts?”

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[DAWNGLARE]

The answer satisfies him enough. In reply comes a short nod and the straightening of his spine. A blue-lagoon gaze settles on her in full. He'd sooner swallow the sun of her eyes than brave that which lay outside of them... He'll seize the distraction; vague familiarity that is Figfeather, in itself.

Sometimes I wish you had just ripped it off. It rips a sudden bark of a laugh from him, eyes flaring wide. There is a cynical note as he eyes the limb in question again. The curl of his grin is fox-mawed, as if contemplating the tear of meat there and then. Were any other soul to offer him such — he would take it upon himself rather eagerly, he thinks. What burden, to to take guise of wildcat and be so vehemently denied the linchpin of blood spatter... but here, for once, does he refuse to uphold her word as anything more than jest. The outburst dies into a giggling. " Hmm... I prefer you alive, I think. " Has he admitted that, before?

Sharing a den with you hadn’t been so bad either, she says. Dawnglare snorts, but shockingly allows her this audacity. As for the lung-clogged culprits, he had a few guesses... Each time he passed by that rotten den, he uttered his thanks for never being made to stay in such a dreadful place. It seems their minds lead them similarly. No, Figfeather had never been quite as stone-headed as the others... The shrivel of his expression at Slate's mention would be impossible not to notice. " Would you believe: the most insufferable? " with a scowl, he says. " On my last nerve, the brute — I cast him out just recently, in fact. "

No spectacle he had meant it to been, but a spectacle it had ended up being... An unfair thing, it was, the collaboration between him and He who rested above them all... Perhaps Slate's place on a certain council had been no error, after all. A ways away from the chittering laughter he had held to her moments prior, his frown suddenly pinches deep. Figfeather's gaze is found with a quickness, his own rime-ladden and searching. " Do you think me wrong for it? " ...Not to imply that her word mattered any, of course.​

 

[FIGFEATHER]

His laughter shocks her ears. Figfeather had expected a scoff or a half-amused snort, but full out laughter from Dawnglare? A rare sound that she’s only heard in the twilight when he and Mallowlark shared tongues.

’I prefer you alive, I think’, she grins ”For now.” She remembers the time he had almost wanted to re-break her leg after she had tried to help him organize the medicine cat’s den. Apparently the chaotic mess he had going on was exactly the way he wanted it, she wonders if Fireflyglow had ever gotten use to his system… Had to of, Dawnglare wasn’t the type to budge.

She gives an amused smirk when Dawnglare exclaims he is the most insufferable. She doesn’t find it hard to believe, Slate clashed with a lot of cats… but Dawnglare? She could only imagine the bickering matches they’ve had during his extended stay. The news that Slate has been kicked from her den recently had reached her ears though admittedly she had thought that would’ve blown over by now. Dawnglare asks if he’s wrong for it, Figfeather doesn’t have the slightest idea. ”…Well… he’s healed right? Just needs to rest more?” Her whiskers twitch, ”I think you were fine for it. The space will do you both good. Slate doesn’t appear to be falling apart…”

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[DAWNGLARE]

He snorts, and he does not deny that his opinion may be subject to change... Whatever premonitions he did have were of things grand and world-shattering. If Figfeather ever did decide to become a thorn in his side, he would see it coming only by virtue of expecting that from all... and... even now, he could expect it, couldn't he? Even if her words tinged with humor. Even if she met him with smiles... Come next sunrise, she would probably be poking her head in for Fireflyglow's expertise... To say it was nonexistent would be a slight against himself. To say it was very real would be the same, only a different brand.

His smile is far away now, and suddenly, he feels as if the entire world hinges on this one question. A ridiculous notion, of course... Figfeather was no one. She was as much a wildcat as the rest... Did it not speak sermons about his downfall, how large the eyes he looked to her with are? An effort is made to blink the gaze away, wide-eyed and watching into withdrawn and waiting... Was it worked at all? The warble of white whiskers warned otherwise, perhaps..." More or less, " he tells her, and its true. The bone has long been jammed back into place, moons of frustration sunk deep into that push... Ah... if anything else, a few doses of poppyseeds, some comfrey lain around his nest...

Yes, oh yes, she understands... His face tics, and there's an odd fluttering of a giggle. " R-right you are. He can handle himself... Away from me, most im-portantly." Strange slip of enunciation. He ought to feel his shoulders ease, and yet comfort and satisfaction both evade him so... " I ought t-to do it more often. He's never even thanked me, you know. " And sudden flare of frustration has his paws tapping against the ground. "Never. Not once. Is it so forgettable? Do I not deserve as much" Not rhetorical. No, it isn't. Intensity glistening crystaline demands an answer. Sudden insistence; a full-bodied forward lean. He listens for what he wants to hear.​