MISERY LOVES COMPANY \ dawnglare

[MALLOWLARK]

Upon these grounds there had been a bloody battle. History written only down the road from his family home- it was fascinating! From the whispers of his clanmates he had heard that these grounds were the birthplace of StarClan, the mystical group that had yanked Sootstar from falling down the ravine of bloody demise. How wonderful, truly, that beneath this earth lay enchanted bones that whispered to those that they chose! Footfalls fleet and surprisingly deft for a feline of his size, the familiar clearing of Fourtrees befell his owlish grey gaze, grin unmoving even as he seemed to lose his place.

Here, he would stop. A mound of earth lay raised, just slightly but noticeable enough, and with the swift suddenness of sky-burning lightning Mallowlark's attention snapped toward the ground. The dead were dead, buried in respect... he would not dig them up. But flesh would now have been worm-devoured, right? That only left more space for these star-spangled souls to whisper, no skin or fur to block their voices. Ear flat against the ground, dusty earth dirtied fur as pure as nouveau snowfall as the tom made shuffling baby steps, prepared to track any murmuring skulls as he closed in on them.

/ @DAWNGLARE ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

The stars had brought him here - had sent him a dream, fleeting, but clear. A picture of this wretched place - he couldn't imagine why. He held no sentiment for it, no care for the war that had rained down on this very soil not-so-long ago. The first and only time he'd truly seen it was that thing - the gathering - surrounded by whispers and screeching song, locking eyes with dreary excuses for healers the other clans had received. Yes, he'd certainly rather forget this place more than anything else; but when the heavens call, he answers.

He's met with open air once he breaks from the forest. The branches of those grand oaks are now free to admire, unhindered by clutter that belongs to Thunderclan. It looks so strange like this - cleansed - clear of the ants that typically gathered in this place. Perhaps it was deserving of the claim to be holy.

And like a star in the night, something stands out: a lone figure, bright as the sun, paws dipped in dark nothingness. His smile stretched wide, even with no one else present. Preoccupied little worm, listening to the ground and all it has to offer. Did he know the ground breathes? "What are you doing?” before he even realizes it, he's drawn closer, observing the stranger with wide eyes. He smells of something strange. Warmth radiates from him - sun-bleached. "Are you listening for her?”​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

For a moment, the nearby voice had wound its way into Mallowlark's ears under the guise that it was a voice for the dead, the many corpses settled in the soil finally freed from their days-long silence. But their whispers had not rose muffled, as he had expected- the first clue. The second was that, before him, stood a mocha-painted tom whose eyes were as wide as his own, as blue as a cloudless sky, river painted moons staring right down at him. Was moonlight blue? Straightening himself impossibly quickly, he locked attention with that gaze, knowing eye-contact was important upon first meeting. Not even an eyelid flickered to obscure his vision.

"I was listening." A chiming answer, he gave it with a nod of his head- a head that tilted sideways, too sideways, at the other's cryptic riddle of a question. Her. Was she buried here, the one that talked? Perhaps she had spoken to the other before, and that was why this cotton-chocolate feline, fur weeping willow, had befallen Mallowlark here. "Who is she?" Enraptured, his murmur widened his grin. A voice usually cheery and loud left his maw in an enthralled exhalation, a wisp of silver breath beckoning the other to give his answer. If he knew of this place, knew of a her who spoke, he must be someone important.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

As soon as he's noticed, he has his full attention - good. Many failed to see what he did, someone worth noticing, who threaded through the future with his wisdom. Maybe he wasn't as knowledgeable as once hoped - no, not a forest dweller could ever hold up to such an expectation. It's a thing he's learning steadily, never expect too much, but there was something strange here. He wanted to learn.

He's impossibly still for a moment, only a moment. The rapture in this stranger's voice is unmistakable, carrying light across the wind. He too tilts his head then - mimicking him, and perhaps this one truly deserves such a thing. For once - for once - he smiles. It's contagious. Maybe not quite as wide...

"The mother,” Dawnglare explains. He brushes the earth with his tail, feather-light. "Fickle, but she watches us, helps those who believe in her...” He sits, deciding - perhaps too quickly - that he is comfortable here. Blades of grass peek between his toes, she's something.

The tom wrinkles his nose "The bugs here take her for granted, often...” he adds, a low drawl that threatens something sinister. His eyes flicker to the other's, clouded skies. Their strange dullness almost made them more interesting - almost distracted from the ugly blandness. He can't help but blink at him kindly, though. Genuine. "...You seem to treat her very well,” he says, nodding slow.

"I interpret her signs, but I have never tried listening so... directly,” he muses, angling his ears forward. He wonders if she compelled them somehow - why else would he listen, and not know? With a glance over his shoulder, he micmics their movements from before. His face pulls into one of concentration, skeptical as he presses an ear to the ground.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

A mystical voice, delivered with the crypticness of the stars, trotted a tiptoed ballet dance toward him as prophetic words spilled silver from a snow-framed maw. Fickle indeed, to pick and choose only those who believed in her- though Mallowlark supposed it was no different to healers picking berries that would not induce bile. Eyes, as though they could, widened yet more as this wraith before him, white-chocolate and dressed in swirling sweeps, spoke more and more of the myth he had hoped to uncover upon entering this sacred place.

The bones below had their flesh devoured by larvae by now, their rapacious appetite never satisfied by the blood of the dead. That was surely the taking-for-granted the stranger pondered on, voice dipping to a sinister sliver and warming back up to kindness upon his conclusion. Black paws tightened their grip upon the earth, claws springing from ebony sheaths, as if he might fall off the earth if he did not hold on. "I try my best," he hummed, no trace of a lie in the discordant cheer of his windchime tone. When it came to the dead, he did. It was assurance to their spirits that their deaths, the sinking of their bodies to the dust and ground and the sparking of their souls to the spangled skies meant something, and was carried forward. "She deserves it."

He was glad someone who knew so much about her approved. And it seemed he was knowledgeable, revered even, by the rumours that had beckoned him to this place. Signs- she sent signs, too? How clever he must be to interpret them! How would one know a sign from a natural occurrence? Was it some starving instinct, scrabbling and raving, a striking desire that refused to let up until fulfilled? As the stranger dipped to the ground, Mallowlark's mimicry silenced him for a moment, attempting to listen in the same manner. She slept beneath the soil- someone who knew her, the voice of the stars, had told him.

Still, he heard nothing but dirt and the reddened rush of his blood, a hoarse roar. Slate eyes settled upon the phantom yet again, body backlit by afternoon's golden light, mahogany auburn-burned. "Do you hear anything?" Pupils unmoving, his whispers rattled along the ground, a current of electricity aimed. "What does she usually tell you?"​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

The purr he lets loose is unconscious, for once falling uninhibited from his paw. No need to fret over the thoughts of the many, vitriolic things - so quick to dismiss in disprove. It's only them here - and the one who lies beneath. She's strangely quiet. A whisper is just there, but it's sweet, a gentle rasp that cradles his ears and soothes his head. He can't make out the words, he can only feel.

This soul - it speaks, and he listens; locks eyes with gilded silver as he does. His voice is dawn-soft, quiet in his reverence. It sings louder than the rest. "Usually she...” his voice trails, odd. He's unused to this quiet, little more than whispering on the wind. Her voice is a gentle coo beneath it all. "She will whisper warnings, truths, secrets... and yet, she stays quiet here.”

His lips press into a thin line. A wary gaze tears itself from those pools of gray - looks to her, instead. The earth is still beneath willowed paws, docile, but not gone. He finds himself uncertain in a way he hasn't been before. At the very least, it was not... bad. His throat bobs with a dry swallow. Jitters - his tail sweeps across the warm ground, anticipating - just what? "Perhaps... there is nothing for me to hear right now.”

Why stay then, with his head low to the ground, listening for something that would not answer? There was something he liked, he liked this. His neck suddenly jerks upward, mind swirls with all the musings of true and false. His eyes are blown wide as moons, bright blue gaze that bores into the other. Love hangs bright between his eyes. His jaw is slack - "You - what is your name?” What did it matter?​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Unlike his apparition Mallowlark did not purr- though he could not suppress the quick giggle that bubbled from within him as he looked between the stranger and the ground, the stranger and the ground. Black paws kept steadfast balance, his form statuesque as he listened for any sliver of a whisper, any bell-toll of the dead, however sing-song or hollow. There was nothing, not even the scuttling of bugs- and, from the contemplative look on his phantom's face, the way his voice slipped away for a moment, he figured even someone with great experience in this field could not hear anything either. He laughs again at the answer to his question, but it was not a mocking sound- no, a joyous ring, though whisper-quiet still.

Nothing for him to hear. Then, perhaps one had to pick their moments to hear the souls here sing, to hear the mother. He didn't mind that- it was something else to do, a weekly-check-in or however so long. Teeth bore still in a fanged grin as he shot up, similarly quick in the burst of his movements, balance kept flawlessly despite the swiftness. "Maybe another day she'll have something." Perhaps here, no news was good news. If her words were sometimes warnings, then it may indicate peace that she had not spoken.

He asked a question that would have been normalcy and nicety at any other moment, but in this ethereal quiet, in the blessed arms of the spirits, it felt strange to be confronted with something so real. That second, as soon as the ask left his wide-eyed expression, the ivory tom realised that before him was not some spangled spirit or wayward messenger but in fact someone entirely tangible. "Mallowlark," he said, words lilted with his smile. The answer came with his breath, one he did not realise he had been holding. "What's yours?" If he had not heard this stranger's alias before, then that would prove this was not some exceptionally vivid dream. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

His smile is strange, bright as the very sun, as if it simply belongs here. He smiles too, a far cry from the other's, weighed down with the thoughts of today, but present, nonetheless. There was a reason, wasn't there? The source of that echoing song. She was with them, he knows. Ever silent, ever still, but perhaps she didn't see her meddling... necessary today. His chest heaves with a quiet breath. It fills him with something strange. "Maybe,” comes his soft reply.

And he waits - aches to hear his name. It's something he cares for, for once; the title attached to this wayward thing. Lost soul, fluttering into his line of sight... "Ma-llow-la-rk,” he repeats, and his tone is careful, as if he may sully it otherwise. It tastes sweet on his tongue - he'd like to keep it there. Tuck it somewhere to be kept safe - a beast and its treasure, a kit and their sweets. Honey-sweet, feather-soft. Why - why -

He's speaking to him. Dawnglare startles. Swiftly, he steers away from uneasy thought. This was much easier to understand - him. Soft blueeyes remain impossibly wide. Empty air, cloud-headed fool, thoughts buzz about mindlessly. The question - it's barely there. He nearly gets it wrong, nearly tells him Valentine. "Dawnglare,” he finally answers. It's unnatural. He doesn't often do this, now does he? He inhales a sharp breath, there's a flare of the nostrils before he's standing impossibly straighter, the kinks work themselves out of his very being. And this pale thing - it hovers in front of him, in it's right place. Someway, somehow... He clears the air, catches a dry noise in his throat. "Perhaps... a check-up is in order,” or somesuch.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

There was the echo of his smile on the other's face- contagious. His mother and her bright, infectious grin had always been his model and here, now, was proof it did work. A simple smile made others content to do so as well. The pronunciation of his name, deliberate and melodic upon each syllable, blandished from him yet another giggle, one that curved slate eyes crescent with his grin. Twin stars, if stars were blue, still stared- he met the gaze readily, sky and storm meeting as one in the duet of their gazes. The silence between the ask and the answer seemed to stretch on forever; he could feel his bones threaten to turn to dust, crumble into a mess, should he not find out.

Dramatic, really. Relief came with his discovery, shoulders dropping slightly in relaxation. "Dawnglare," he repeated, a bubbling laugh following. What a pretty name- it suited this tom, fur gossamer and weeping-willow, mahogany-rippled, eyes cryogenic in colour and yet aglow with ember warmth. He found his head dropping slightly to one side, dead weight, in contemplation. At any angle he was still unlike the harsh edge reality often brought with it. No wonder he'd thought him an apparition.

Standing upright, Dawnglare spoke another riddle, and Mallowlark's eyes glazed for a moment in thought. "A checkup..." Like a kindled candle the light soon appeared back in his gaze, silver-shone, sun catching a bell-collar. The bones beneath had not whispered today. Checking on them- that must be what his lyrical suggestion had been. "For her." A night-painted paw tapped the ground, assurance sent to those below that he would return.

"Will you be here, too?" Next time. Mallowlark was not one to extensively ponder what leapt from his maw, honesty a cherished thing. Though the question had soared from his throat as just that, a question, he could not deny the appeal of having someone who knew what to look for. And... company, simply. Company unlike any other. It was strange. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

His laugh rises and falls like a feather on the wind. Not grating - a sound that from so many would have anger curling deep in his gut; unpleasant, unworthy - no, it was something else, wasn't it? New life breathed into his veins, fresh air, new blood, it coats his insides with sickly-sweetness. It spreads like a disease and fills his lungs with air; a short burst of amusement It's like his skull lies heavy, tilted like the head of a palm. Stems holding too-heavy seeds.

He straightens up quickly, and his stare seems to drift with thought. It isn't long until clarity lights upon his features, and he's tapping out the ground. Dawnglare follows suit, an affirming hum rumbling from his throat as he does, a dulcet sound. Smart thing, something worthwhile. "For her,” he says. It seems far away.

Mallowlark pulls him away before the stupor truly settles in. A question chimed in earnest. Too - he says. For some reason, it makes him startle. A pleasant kind. "I'll be here,” he says, and swiftly, it becomes a promise. He can feel Her eyes on him, silently watching, waiting. For what, he does not know. Perhaps he won't for a while. For now, she sticks to her whims. Fickle thing, fickle soul.

He turns his head. Skyclan lies in the distance, past the groves of vibrant oak and sap that clung to those unwilling. It was always strange to him, now stranger. He purses his lips, catches a tooth on worried flesh. "Until then,” his tone dips low. Crystalline eyes narrow against the skylight. Uphold your word.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Finality flittered upon each of their words, light as butterfly-wingbeat but there. Shoulders made heavier by reality's keening strike, he found for a moment that his gaze dropped the the floor. Eye-contact, eye-contact. It was friendly, necessary- he forced his attention to snap back up, to meet Dawnglare's peering moonlight, in time for his agreement. His promise- that when it came time for another check-up, he would be here. In forest's cradle, in quiet ephemera, there would be someone to meet. Not just someone- Dawnglare. The name was alien to him. He was not imagining this encounter, he resolved to think, and that brightened an already-wide smile.

The looming finality- it arrived, finally, hungry jaws clamping down and bleeding their meeting dry. Still, with the promise of another- somehow- he did not feel solemn. Dipping his head in goodbye, he turned- looked, lingered a moment. A moment longer. "I'll see you, then," and that was his promise, in case it had not been clear he was making one before. "Bye," the ring of his voice grew louder in farewell, though not a shout that rattled birds from their nests. He knew much better than that.

Back to the moor, then. His home all his life, teeming with swarms of cats that only moons ago he had never seen. Strange, how quickly things could change! ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​