STUCK IN A MOMENT ♡ BLAZESTAR

[DAWNGLARE]

Unease. Or perhaps, something more than that.

Bubbling, toiling feeling in his gut. His body's way of telling him that something has gone horribly, horribly wrong tonight. And he knows it already. He's seen it with his own two eyes. Downy tortoiseshell face, the fall of a chest that would never quite rise again. Breaths heaved slow and soft, losing that battle of being so she could slip into the the sea of stars. No, she didn't go out screaming. Not crying, or thrashing. Only a hushed journey to Starclan's gates. Barely a ripple in the water's surface. It was hardly terrible. And yet, it feels terrible. And Blaise looks terrible.

He sounds terrible; wailing of a howling wraith. Had sounded terrible, when his incessant wailing had been the only thing anyone could hear. Not even his own thoughts, not the mewling of his kits. Him, and only him. And Dawnglare's stomach had turned, his face had drawn in unmovable, undeniable discomfort; wobbling lip that wouldn't stay still. His eyes had been watery as the very ice they resembled. Not for the death of the little one, but for... well, he wasn't sure. It makes him sick.

Some had left sooner than others, quieter than others; trudging back to their dens or to their work, or to start digging their own ditches. Slow, slowest trickle that had begun with thunderclan's warrior and carried on with a dull drone. All aside from Blaise. (And of course, little miss who could barely move; but all her worrying had lulled her to fitfull sleep.)

"Blaise," whipped whisper, sacred in how it leaks with something strange. Dawnglare was hardly a comforting presence; never tried to be, but his paws move on his own and his voice is low in the gloom. And did Blaze need a peep from him? What consolation could he possibly offer. Hurt paints his face beyond his own imagining, but it's there, and it's... uncomfortable. And he doesn't know what to say. He couldn't possibly. "I'm s-sorry," barely-there, ghost in his own shadow.

[ @BLAZESTAR :( ]​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

The first time Blazestar had met Dawnglare, they'd been tiny, smaller than his own kits are now, and even then, the sepia and white tom had mystified him. Enigma in his erratic movements, the sometimes sporadic yet silken speech patterns, the strange belief systems that still somehow culminate into a worshipping of StarClan. Despite it all, Blazestar's biggest comfort since forming SkyClan has been that the stars had sent Dawnglare to be his prophet, his mystic guide, his confidante.

And even Dawnglare, with all his knowledge of herbs -- even Dawnglare, who had walked in dreams with StarClan -- even he could not save Morningpaw.

Blazestar has never heard the low, blue note in Dawnglare's rasp before. The way he apologizes, but seemingly isn't sure what for. The leader looks at him with anguish stark on his features, unsure of what to say. It's not Dawnglare's fault Morningpaw is dead, though, and the Ragdoll finds he holds no anger towards his friend. No... nothing but reverence...

"Can you speak to her?" Blazestar says, licking his lips like a cat who has not tasted water in moons. "Val... Val, when you go to the Moonstone, can you--?" For the first time, a light begins to glow in two dark, anguished blue pools. Dawnglare can see her, can talk to her, can ask her-- he can ask her anything, he can talk to her for Blazestar, and it'll be like she'd never died! "I could tell Little Wolf..." He trails off.

- ,,​

​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

"Um–" He doesn't know what to say. Hardly, hardly is he ever troubled by talk of the stars, talk of the earth. It came naturally, flowing from a honeyed tongue. And his devotion was always true, his belief never a lie. But so slowly do his thoughts crawl when Blaise is looking at him like that. It feels like too much– too much hinges on such a question. And truly, the gods are fickle. The stars are difficult to predict. What would be worse? A promise now, only to let him down later? Or to do so while he was ahead?

Blaise had been the quickest of all of them to take on a new title, a new name, hadn't he? Called him Dawnglare before he'd even begun to think of himself as such. But now, it's forgotten. So soon, he feels like they're in twolegplace again. They're lying in too-green grass, or maybe perched atop a fencepost. Before he fully grasped concepts of the stars and the moon, mulling half-realized theories through his mind. "They- They send who they like to me," he says, and it's barely an answer. It's all he has, considering– considering the first time. He chews on his lip. "I have no say so." And he's secure in this. No matter how beloved you were, you had no say in how they loved you. He knows this. He's always known. So why, why does it pain him to say and admit, as if he should have more?

And his face spells out the amount of faith he has in such a theory. Not to think ill, no. There was a reason for all that they did. A reason that he believed in, but it's not what Blaise wants. Who even knew if Sootstar would let him pass to test such a theory? Without the others, without Blaise lain in the dirt, would she really? (An excuse.) Who's to say? (An excuse.)​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

( * ˚ ✦ ) The light in Blazestar's eyes dims and fades. Dawnglare looks troubled by the suggestion, taken aback, and his immediate response is only an Um- followed by skipped heartbeats of silence. His friend is rarely rendered speechless, even in the face of all things mythic and strange that he experiences as a medicine cat--

"They- they send who they like to me." Blazestar knows this to be true. Dawnglare is powerful, but he cannot command StarClan, can he? No mortal cat can. "I have no say so."

"But next time you go..." Blazestar trails off again, words soft, muffled almost, "You'll-- you can ask, can't you? Ask them... if she's there... if you can see her..." He begins to tremble again. He's never been so infirm his whole life. He feels like a cat twice his age, quadruple. "I need to know she's there, Val... I need to know she..." He tries to say forgives me, but nothing else comes from his mouth. He bows his head.​

( AND EVERY TIME IT RAINS , ALL THE ANGELS CRY FOR ME )

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He doesn't give up, oh no. And why would he? Wouldn't he do the same, were he someone like him? Stuck to the ground, so far from the stars... And shouldn't he adore it, being the one to tell him what's what? It only feels... wrong, though. Oh, it nearly feels cruel. Sad and tragic... (And maybe, truly, he did not know). He's never not known before, no.

"I... can," Careful, and it's technically true. For what can't he do? Not much, and a simple sentence certainly wasn't outside that bubble. He felt it sacrilege, certainly; a blasphemy to ask for more than he was given. A lamb begging for a drink, even if he hadn't earned it. (And why wouldn't he? He's above and beyond, a mediator for the living and the highest. Why wouldn't he be deserving of all they have? It's foolish, but still, he fears, he fears.) But it was Blaise, not just anyone, anything... For him, it was a matter of what he could, and not what he should. He could beg... he could pray...

Blaise shakes; shakes like it's freezing– and, he supposes it really is, but not like this. Never like this. It reeks of sickness, and yet not at all. He looks sick, even if his body is healthy. He feels like he might fall. But he's on his four legs. But what if he falls? He wants to hold him up, and so he does. At least, he tries, presses close.

Another half-moon. "...Would you like me to?"​