pafp SING FOR THE YEARS | sharing tongues

[FERNDANCE]

With the sun tipped at just the right angle, almost all work within the camp had halted so the warriors could embrace what little warmth remained of the day. It was time that Ferndance, admittedly, often saved for herself, a chance to recharge her social batteries before introducing the world to her weird and wonderful mind. Yet things in ShadowClan had a way of changing faster than a raindrop, and perhaps from the new energy surrounding her home, the tawny tabby found herself unable to settle down for a nap yet. Around and around camp she shuffled, practically going in circles as she kept her ears pierced for any interesting conversations. Twice she had passed the tabby daughter of Smogstar, twice she noticed that, for the time being, she was alone. On her third trip around, the she-cat halted and leaned down, staring at Swansong's face.

She wondered if she gawked long enough into her eyes, she would see what the other saw - a vast, starry world where nothing ended and nothing began. Ferndance had her own universe too, but that one almost seemed like a forest where anything could be lurking anywhere. Regardless, there was a kinship there, a belief that sometimes, the imaginary was better than the reality they found themselves in.

Silently, the cinnamon tabby settled down, slowly craning herself to the right until she was certain she'd gotten the other's attention. A small feather still clung to Ferndance's face from a well-earned meal, but as she licked her lips, she found she could not quite reach the intruder. For now, it would have to stay. Her head tilted to one side to give the plumage better grip onto her tawny fur, a semi-serious smile upon her muzzle as she prepared to ask Swansong a much-needed question.

"Swansong... do you sleep? Or dream?"

@Swansong
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[Swansong]

⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ 　This is the time of day that Swansong loves the most. The lazy hours, sundrenched and slow. They lounge, as they often do, in a particularly comfortable spot of sunlight. They let it wash over them, this stillness. Peace. It is a rare thing, even rarer in the turmoil following their father's disappearance. They snatch it where they can, in these quiet moments. Her eyes, half-lidded, trace the goings-on of the camp. A set of woody paws passes once, twice, three times - and stops.

She cranes her neck up to blink blearily at Ferndance, not quite meeting her eyes - but tilting her head silently in question. She's always liked the strange molly. There is wisdom in her words, delight to be found in her mischief. They can understand her in a way they do not many of their clanmates, in a way that few others seem to. Written off, stripped of her position... All for what? A little laughter, a little morbidity? No, they simply do not understand. Swansong is quiet as the other settles down beside her, eyes following the movements of her paws. A question hangs on her tongye like the feather from her fur.

And it is an interesting question indeed. If nothing else, a conversation with Ferndance is never boring. "Do I...?" they murmur, considering. "Mm, I think I dream more than I sleep..." Though they do plenty of both, the dreams overtake any sense of rest more often than not. "Even when waking, sometimes... Or, ah, most of the time..." A small, almost humorous smile curls across their maw.

Her gaze settles somewhere in the distance. "It's a woundrous thing, but lonely... Sometimes I envy the dreamless sleep, the sleepless waking..." Their words are soft, rambling. "Hah... But I have little reason to complain. It is... much more pleasant, this way," she settles upon. She would not trade it for anything.

The molly beside her knows much of waking dreams, she thinks... Though her fascinations twist into a far different shape. They hum curiously. "And what of you, mm...?"

‎‎┌── WE FOUND TWO DEAD SWANS ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ AND FILLED THEIR BODIES WITH FLOWERS ──┐‎

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  "SPEECH"

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  SWANSONG　⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆　she / they, warrior of shadowclan, seventeen moons.
  ➳ a pale, silky-furred cream tabby with tired blue eyes.
  ➳ dreamy and detached, known for her perpetual sleepiness.
  ➳ halfshade x smogstar, littermate to applejaw, garlicheart, & ashenfall.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[mistmoth]

✦ True to form, the sparse moments where silent filtered through the dense fog and trees were a bright spot in anyone's day. The tortoiseshell hardly needed it as an excuse to do nothing, as the desire for complete, perfect stillness came as easily as breathing, but it's nice to have the explanation handy. There would be no sense in wasting the sunlight, after all. (The patch of warmth Mistmoth had found for herself had slunk away from her at some point, and she hadn't followed after it like some love-sick fool. It was easy to stay put, however cold.) Those with the time and space to relax would surely indulge.

She lolls her head across her paws, her sight drifting toward Ferndance and Swansong out of instinct more than any true interest. Their conversation is like a twig snapping across the glade - it draws attention automatically by virtue of existing near something else. It might be more accurate to say that Mistmoth is the party simply existing near something else, as at least the conversation or a snapping branch has some sort of action and liveliness associated with it.

A moment to stand from her cold spot, the planes of her that had been pressed to the ground colder now that she is leaving, and then she is trying to tune in to the conversation. Dreams? Fragile, breakable things couldn't be more pleasant than sleep. At least sleep was a reprieve. "Isn't that exhausting?" She asks, the romanticised vision of perpetual dreams that Swansong had presented wilting under Mistmoth's touch. "Having so many dreams that you can't rest. It sounds - it sounds really tiring."​