PERFECT // dancing at night

[Sharpeye]

☁ Traditions were fascinating things, more so because it took more than a single individual to solidify them into being. If they made sense or appealed to those involved then they were passed along and spread, but without devoted believers they became nothing more than forgotten memories.

Creek couldn't really confirm how many back in the hills had partaken in the tradition of dance, but he knew that his parents never missed a single chance to conduct it when the snow drops carpeted the meadows. They claimed that doing so would bring their family luck when newleaf heralded itself across the lands, and that by confessing one's love for another during the dance that it would bless both across a lifetime. As a youth he had believed it and he worked hard to memorise the steps. Even after losing his parents he continued the strange tradition every year, alone, and always when he saw the snow drops wherever his paws carried him.

He might have long abandoned his former name, but Sharpeye couldn't bring himself to leave behind the strange tradition. During the patrol that morning he had noticed how many snow drops had sprouted up across the territory and he knew that it was time. So when moonlight illuminated the night-kissed territory he slipped away from the camp and headed for Tall Pine knowing that it would provide amble space for what he intended to do. With his sandy pelt turned silver under the moon's glow he began to trace out the moves that had been burned into his memory just as strongly as the clan laws. Turns and twists, light steps with precise purpose; it was perhaps hard for anyone to believe that Sharpeye was capable of enacting such elegant movements. Even with his dodgy left foreleg. But no, he fought through every flicker of discomfort that spelled forth from the limb as he clung to the need to complete tradition. Though it was clear it was only half of a dance, for there was no partner there at his side to follow him through it. The tom made do with waltzing with his imaginary companion, but it still gave an eerie chill of isolation all the same.

Gradually things wound down and Sharpeye stepped into the final position that would have seen the pair press foreheads together in loving union before confessions were shared. The tom held the pose as he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "I love you." The words came with an air of sadness, for they would never be shared with the one he longed to tell. That was a burden he was willing to carry however, he had come to accept it.

Exhaling, he then opened his eyes so he could stare down at his paws. "Well, that's it for another cycle."
​

 

[Auburnflame]

Tradition was something that Auburnflame had always enjoyed. A thing that someone thought so highly of, to practice it however much they wanted and pass down from generation to generation. It held a value that was deemed priceless, it shaped individuals and told stories. Sometimes it may even be unorthodox, but it was once something that meant so much to one person. He looks at the ways of clan life and their traditions, the ceremonies of kit to apprentice and apprentice to warrior. The way leaders and medicine cats travel to the moonstone and speak to StarClan, all of it. It brings him joy to see traditions like this unfold before his very eyes and become apart of history. Even smaller traditions shared from just one individual, from their family or wherever they hail from. It was all priceless knowledge.

A pulling curiosity gnaws at the patched tom as he happens to see Sharpeye leave the confinement of camp in the middle of the night, having Auburnflame leave his previous post to follow the warrior towards the Tall Pine. He traces over his silhouette with intense mint hued gaze, taking place by tbe edge of the clearing whike shrouded in shadow. He observes the twisting and swirling, the agile light-footedness of the sandy tom as he performed with the night as his audience. Auburnflame couldn't help but watch in awe, a smile pinching his features as Sharpeye finishes with a whisper. He barely made out the phrase 'I love you', a melancholic tone edging his words. His smile begins to drop as empathy soon fills it's space, brows crunched together. He shouldn't be here. This was a private matter and he was invading a clanmate's privacy. He begins to back pedal from the fronds, only to step on a twig that collapses under his weight with an audible snap. "Shit—"
​

[ SETTING FIRE TO THE SKY ]​

 

[Sharpeye]

☁ The sanctuary of isolation was broken with the near deafening echo of a snapping twig under one's paw. Sharpeye whisked himself round to face where the noise had emanated from with a faint bristle of fur. However, there's only the scent of a clanmate. Gradually his fur lay flat and he found himself biting back a sense of uneasy embarrassment. "Just come out already, I know you're there now." He huffed as he sat down with a soft thud upon the grassy ground with his shoulders slumping.
​

 

[proudsight]

She has always held that whoever is a stranger to loss is not a stranger for long. Though there is a sentiment that memory keeps the fallen alive, Proudsight doesn't know that she agrees. Memory is imperfect, and even traditions can become habits more than anything else if their origins are forgotten. Not all of them, of course, but they are flawed creatures— it is inevitable to forget in some capacity. With enough time, even stones can forget their sharpness to the sanding of wind and water.

She hadn't intended to spy on Sharpeye and what is clearly a deeply personal ritual, but every time she'd meant to leave, her paws stayed. And now the moonlit dance is done, the hush broken by a clumsier bystander than she. "I'm sorry for intruding," she says, stepping closer. "I won't pry, and I know it was not intended for me, but that was beautiful."

ᴏᴏᴄ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

• —
• › proudsight. loner to kittypet to skyclan warrior.
  › 30 moons old. cisgender female; uses she/her.
  › gray-ace panro & single. not really not looking.
  › very tall, willowy and scarred albino. reference.
  

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[Fireflyglow]

"Dang! You got us caught, Auburn!" Fireflypaw hisses as the tom steps out, having been peeking out in another bush not too far away. Once discovered, the tom makes himself seen and tramples over to the others with a big grin on his face. Had he been one for the dancing arts, he might have joined- but his limbs, lumbering and long, made it much harder for him to do the same as Sharpeye. Standing beside Proudsight with a smile, Fireflypaw taps at the ground idly before his lips part to speak again.

"I think your dancing is very good. But your paw.. Is it hurting?"​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

Blazestar is not familiar with the gliding, light-footed movements Sharpeye is making under the moonlight, but he finds himself unable to look away. Like his Clanmates, he does find something oddly transfixing about the sand-colored warrior's pawsteps, but it's the expression on the warrior's face more than anything that catches Blazestar's attention. Nostalgia. An old sorrow like a bruise, a tender spot.

When he stops, his forehead drops as if to press his forehead against another cat's. "I love you," he says in a voice heavy with feeling. The fur along Blazestar's spine begins to bristle. Sharpeye's gliding has made him think, inexplicably, of Little Wolf.

"Where did you learn to do that?" He asks, voice soft. Auburnflame, Proudsight, and Fireflypaw's inquiries are all earnest, just as his own is. "Something about it..." He trails off. The movements themselves are not familiar, but something about the emotion itself -- it's gripped him with a staggering lonesomeness that he can't shake.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[Sharpeye]

☁ How many SkyClanners were traversing the night? It did nothing to ease his sense of fluster in that moment as he let his gaze flit over those who had made themselves known thus far. The compliments however did move him somewhat and he offered a small smile in response to them. "Thank you. And my leg is just a little sore, nothing I can't handle though, Fireflypaw." It wasn't like he wanted to be fussed over, especially when it came to an old wound like that. He'd be fine.

Sharpeye had been on the cusp of looking for an escape when Blazestar's familiar voice reached him and made him give pause with a held breath. How long had he simply stood in silence staring at the other tom? He wasn't sure but it felt long enough to be bordering on being uncomfortable. Swallowing, he forced his stiffening limbs to move so he could replay a few of the more gentle steps from the dance. "I learned from my parents. It's... kind of a family tradition that's been passed down the generations. It's meant to bring luck as newleaf rolls in, and we... we make a confession of love at the end to the one we care about most so they will be blessed for the rest of their life." He explained as his movements slowed to a stop again. Already his ears were flaring with heat and he looked like a lost kit as he stood there with a look of uncertainty.

"May all your remaining lives be blessed..."
​