private THAT HEAVENLY MELODY \ dawnglare

[MALLOWLARK]

Dusk's shadowed hands had earlier enveloped the earth, leaving him in a cradle of darkness. Him- them, perhaps. Silver eyes glinted in the translucent veil of moonlight, searching for the gossamer figure of his ghost. This night, this moon, was the same that they had met under before- they'd not mentioned whether the checkup would be monthly, but there was something within Mallowlark that knew it. Inky paws prickled with an apprehension never before felt, a sickened rise in his gut. In the crowd, smog-choked, their parting had been rushed by arguments of murder and borders, things the snowy tom had never before the last few moons had to think about. Guilt, a stranger of a feeling, gripped tight his gut the congregation home and refused to let go for days. What? had been his parting word, too small and faraway to answer.

Tippled slightly by the bandaging of his side, unsteady paw steps felt around with caution. He did not want to wake her before the one who truly knew how to talk to her arrived. This walk, short as it had been, had brought the sting of strain upon the muscles that carpeted his ribs- so, with too-sideways too-perfect balance, he lowered himself to a seat, ears attentive. Glowing in starlight's spangle, there, ahead- was it yet again a dream?

/ @DAWNGLARE !!!!​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

The buzz of anticipation covers him like a thick miasma, never relenting, only growing stronger as the sun set beyond the horizon. It was an odd thing, something he's never quite experienced before. A buzz in his paws that'd spread up to his legs, seeped through skin and bone and crawled into air-heavy lungs. It gripped his heart in a vice, pleasantly tight, snug, a warming embrace that cradled his very soul. Dead-ahead, he'd stared, sprawled within grass that grew duller by the day, roots and sprigs preparing to slumber for the oncoming seasons. A gentle wind had wipped at the fur along his spine, and within it, a song was carried through his ears, a shallow noise, a whispering. She was telling him something, surely.

It has been awhile, hadn't it? Since he saw that ghostly figure, brought together by Her will, and ripped apart by the teeth of another. Stormy blue expanse, ugly green peaking through, the eye of the storm. Who was she to decide anything— when he left, when they ached. Another feeling settles in his gut, then, buried beneath the well of warmth within him. Today was the day, tonight the night— it had to be.

Brisk gaze through clouded vapor, he strides atop snow-soaked paws. The moon hangs longingly over his head, guiding his way through the expanse of darknest. Past the pines and the lesser-oak trees. It curls, decisive over the heads of those greater few. It's a place he's become all too familiar with lately. Here is where its least sickly, not tainted by blood or the spitting of furious spirits, only... him.

He stops when he sees him. Something catches in his throat— and it's pointless. There's a shake of his head, scrunching of his eyes, push forward. Listen, listen, he hisses to himself. He draws close. "—Mallowlark," the name comes out strange, but welcome; pleasant weight on his tongue. His gaze drags over him. It's the same, but not. Something is wrong.

And who was here to care? Far from a doting mother. Mallowlark had a medicine cat of his own ( A molly who spits venom and reaches out with curled claws, unforgiving, unkind. ) Who is he to care? He shouldn't. He doesn't. ( Sickly, aching feeling. ) He stares for too long. "...She's been expecting us," he says, and a gentle pat is offered to the ground. It seems to tremble beneath his paws.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Mahogany fur lit moon-pale, white cloak wraithlike, his phantom did approach. "Dawnglare," he murmured, returned greeting through a grin- a name he did not think of before it came tumbling out of him. Honey-sweet with relief upon his tongue, the word lingered despite its flight. They had both been called, be it by the moon or by the slumbering matron- he found that he hardly cared by whom or what, just that it had happened. Why was it that this solace sprawled so fiercely through his blood?

His meeting with Dawnglare before had simply been... assistance, to commune with the maiden beneath. The other was a conduit between them, insisting upon knowledge mystical and cryptic; being a medicine cat (for now he knew that) was likely the reason. As thoughts that his words had outran began to overtake his mind, Mallowlark's gaze stayed still, nary a blink obscuring them. Silence seemed eternal between them, fragile- before the shuffle of paw-on-grass, the knowledge that they had indeed been called to commune not simply with each other rearing its head to the moonlight. A mimicry overtook his muscles before he could stop it- tap, tap.

No more could he shake the feeling that this was no longer simple assistance. They had met at the gathering, talked as anyone who shared a Clan would, unaware of the conflict between their homes- and even now, Mallowlark cared not to think about it. Beneath a peaceful moon, with no darkness of cloud or hint of disapproval covering it, they met- somewhere, someone approved. Perhaps the mother- they had made a promise, after all.

"I'm glad you're here. I dunno if I could have managed to hear her without you." Whipped up in an excited whisper, Mallowlark crouched to bring his head closer to the ground. Without Dawnglare's help in understanding her, he would never have known to continue regular visits and that he was grateful for. Beyond that, there had been the gnawing ache of worry- though he did not understand why it was so insistent- that news of conflict would have spurred the other tom to sever the red string of their vow. Yet, no- he was here, bone and blood before him. Breaths fleshed his ribs, very much alive- Mallowlark hardly noticed that he was still staring. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He can't help the smile that threatens the planes of his face. An upward twitch of the lips; starlight in his eye at the utterance of his name, so much sweeter on his tongue. His shoulders sag with the release of tension, tranquil passing subtle over his form, a change that seeps into his very self. Here, alive, flesh and blood, waking breath. Assurance. He allows it for a moment. Calm the weary heart and lungs. He settles, tucks his paws close.

And he's surprised by what he says next. At what exactly— which was it? There's a flutter of his lashes, an inhale of breath, stranger than the rest. He shifts his weight to another side. "Me too, I’m… glad,” he tells him. And what was his reason? His excuse to indulge in things like this? And… "You—” No, of course he’s heard her. He's here, after all. ...Despite it all. Of course. "Of course. You... you're here.” It's a reverent whisper, dawn-soft and heavy-lidded. And what would've happened then, if it hadn't worked? If he weren't so receptive; If his mind werent so supple; if She hadn't take a liking to him. Would they never see eachother again?

A thousand questions float in his mind, more thought than he could afford for much else. Holy messenger, gateway between two worlds. He was serving his purpose. It was a wonderful thing. Why not celebrate? Ignore the rest, turn it to dust— look at him. Eager to listen and to learn, voice lilted in an elated chime. Dulcet, chirping bird. Intent, he's staring. And endless pool of silver starshine, his eyes—

Dawnglare moves with him, crouches to the ground in a dragging motion. His eyelids fall shut in brief respite. Something is nagging, tearing away at his mind. Look, listen, help me please. He swallows the rising bile, shutters at the feeling of it all. And he frowns. It's too loud— his own thoughts are too loud to hear her. He hisses between clenched teeth, gnaws wary at his lip. His breaths are shallow, frantic. He listens for Her guidance, but without it, he cannot listen. It's a viscious cycle, acid tang in his throat, he can't listen. Listen, listen.

His head rocks upwards, a snapping motion that leaves an uncomfortable crick in soft muscle. His jaw falls open, at a loss for words. Something is wrong. His throat is dry. "Are you okay?" the question falls unconscious from his lips. Flickering, his eyes can't stay in the same place, frantic, wide, his face turns despairing at the sight of his injury, wound tight in fine silk. He snaps his eyes away— but its back so soon, so soon. Inhale, exhale. "She- didn't do this, did she?" The one who lead the group of them, slashed at their chests for little more than fun. Snake-bitten, venom-spitting...

Blasphemy. Was this this blasphemy? Interrupting Her like this— for him? She deserved it, love and care. She was more deserving than any other creature. But She would always live, be it in health or in sickness, in a state of wear and tear, She would survive.. Mallowlark was mortal, woefully alive. His bones were fragile and his skin quick to give. Vulnerable, he could lose it. The— the life he had.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

You're here, and his tone was reverie-caressed, as sweet to ears as birdsong- sweeter. The finches always sang the same tunes, accompany to the sunrise- the lilting bell-chime of Dawnglare's tone was unpredictable, unique, spellbinding. Almost as if he was chanting some unheard-of bewitchment upon all who might hear. He nodded, assurance given- he was here, of course. Despite the fears, he was glad that between them stood not doubt. Really, it had been stupid of him to worry.

Though night had seemed enchanted only moments before, in the lull of their silence now it seemed... heavy. Marred, burdened by something unspoken. Unable to cease his curiosity, Mallowlark's gaze snapped up to his companion's, watching the twist of his maw into a fang-baring frown, serpentine hiss flitting from clenched teeth. Though he ridded his features not of the smile that he had vowed to spread, it grew sharpened, the light of concern in metallic eyes.

Dawnglare- his gaze was widened, fixed in franticness, flitting. Blue, the bluest- even in night they were daylight-hue, usually cloudless clime now troubled by tempest. A charcoal paw fumbled forward, lingered for a moment- stayed. And then, abrupt, came fluttering forth the question that answered, the alabaster tom stuck in silent contemplation for a few long moments. His web-bound wound, blood no longer visible but still dooming his steps to discordance. The stagger of pain that overtook him if he stepped too hard on one side- and the sting of sundered skin seemed all the more prominent now that lagoons looked upon it, concerned.

Even with the weight of the question, Mallowlark found a twinkling laugh leaving his maw. No- she who clawed at her subjects had not yet dared lay a paw on him! Perhaps she knew, in his kin's numbers, that she would be foolish to do so. If none of them wanted a mark, they would not receive one! A shake of his head accompanied his reassurance. "A hawk. But I'm okay. I was..." His grin quavered for a moment, teeth clenching in an effort to hold back an outburst. "I was pretty lucky."

Such was not a lie. Some had split spines, lost eyes. A scrape in the ribs was fortunate, if not inconvenient. "I was worried I'd be late," he laughed, tapping the ground with his paw but not otherwise twitching an inch. Perhaps it was sacrilege, but he had all but forgotten to listen for her. There was a... lift, wispy and cloud like in his chest, lightening his breaths and his stomach, seeing that disquietude in the pale moonlight of Dawnglare's gaze. More than he wished to hear her, he hoped his answer would bring tranquility back to the oceans, reigning in the waves.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He laughs. The sound locked tight behind clenched teeth, but it slips out regardless, a bright little chirrup in his throat. He doesn't– he can't understand, but it's so very him, isn't it? A hawk, he regards it so casually. And who is he to care? (But he does, anyways.) It wasn't his business, whichever birds poked around his insides. His face falls blank, this thin-lipped gaze. The rearranging of Mallowlark's guts– it plays on a never-ending loop in his mind. But, but...

I was worried I'd be late, the admission falls with a laugh. It's met with his own answering coo. Isn't that...something. A strange worry to have. "I would wait for you." It wouldn't be fair, otherwise. Wouldn't be fair to begin without him, leave Her lacking a precious follower. Dusk till dawn, he would be here. He would stay here. At the least, he's okay, it's spoken from his own lips, fine. ...And what would he do then, if he wasn't? Too bloody, too battered to drag his way here. Would he wait for an eternity then?

He shifts closer, eyes trained on where his fur lies uneven, residual web, clinging at his stomach. Scrutiny is all he offers it, ears pulled back and nose scrunched. It seems... fine, even as his eyes probe for any issue, any error. Unconsciously, His paw reaches out to him– stops, just short. It is... web woven by skillful paws. "Your... your medicine cat did this?" he questions, the conjuring of her face only coming with an association. Cinnamon-tinged fur, thick swirls and crisscrosses of color, milk and honey, vile breath. "I saw her, a few sunrises ago. I do not like her."

The breath he lets out is heavy, his shoulders sagging along with it. The thought of her treating him proves rather... unpleasant. He shuffles his paws. Pale alabaster mimics the motions of ripe black tar. "I thought her different. She didn't– didn't bear any of Sootstar's marks; but she lashed out with her own. Sent her running... Spoke only drivel from then and there on." What hope was there for the little one she brought with her too, then? He'd been unassuming, but then... so had she, once upon a time. Her sins had come to haunt her, and so would be the case for him too, eventually. "Is it only you, then?" he questions. Lidded eyes still linger on the gossamer wisps that part his fur. "...Who is worth anything there?"​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

His tone crooned assurance- I would wait for you. Expression ever-frozen in a grin, there was a shift upon Mallowlark's face at the words- divine as they were, sugar-sweet song in his ears. He would have been here regardless, and the white tom's worries were wasted... yet, that waste felt not like a loss. His eyes met his smile, his grin grew larger- his shoulders hunched with the shift of his grin. Truest joy conquered his face. Something small fled from his maw- a laugh, maybe, or an exhalation- the pain that stung his stomach all but forgotten. Even through agony he was sure then that he would have gotten here. Spurred on by- that call, that pull in his chest that brought him here, kept him anchored... he would have made it no matter what. No matter how late he had run, there would have been star-crafted company. The thought was... boundlessly assuring, brought ever-more starlight to the gleam of his gaze.

Wide and intent, he watched as Dawnglare's icecap paw drifted toward him- and felt just as intent the dive his gut took when it stopped. A breath skittered from his lips, a quick relief. How long had he been holding it? Swallowing, he nodded his wordless answer, ears swivelled to attention as Dawnglare began his tale. Ah- yes. He was the medicine cat of SkyClan, wasn't he? So- Honeytwist would have met him. Vice-versa.

The details of his woven tale were difficult to believe, but he had no shred of a desire to question him. Not in- that voice and its staccato rhythms, ran with starlight and dreams. How could he dare to doubt? Imagining Honeytwist with an expression of fury, laying claw upon someone else; a cat whom, in the midst of the moor's wrongdoings, had tried and tried to steer all away from harm... it was difficult. But she had been despondent recently, and... "She was so nice... I don't know what happened to her." His smile remained, but had long grown hollow. Its intention was encouraging, reassurance to the other as he recounted such a tale, but provided no joy for the bearer. It wasn't... pleasant, to talk of Honeytwist this way. All WindClan seemed to do was wear people down- she had been another victim. Was Dandelionpaw next? Was his mother next?

Features shifted yet again at the question- who indeed! It must seem strange among this sombre atmosphere that he should bother staying there. "My family," he began, sincerity soaked in every word he spoke. If not for them, he'd not have many connections! "We lived on the moor before WindClan ever showed up there!" There was an unwelcome twinge in his gut, one he resented every time it appeared. That... gut-strike, that poison that made him wish that Sootstar and her followers had never laid claim to his home. It was tough luck, now. He was not the type to tear people apart over territory, even though he could have. It would have been easy- but they couldn't, now.

Silver eyes, moon-touched, found the pale waters of Dawnglare's pools. He was... peering, gaze hooded. Pointedly he did look- there, at Mallowlark's wound. Still covered with gauze, he wondered what it was that his companion could possibly be searching for. And then came a thought- one that seemed obvious. "You can poke it, if you want." A laugh twinkled in his tone, heaving the place where the cobweb settled. "It doesn't really hurt anymore."​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

The way he brightens at his words– oh, it's contagious, brings a special light to his eye to see his face lift in such a way. Ever-widening cheeks, the crinkle of his eyes, glimmering with star-silver. Selfish creature. He wants to hoard it for himself, find joy in it knowing he can drag such a thing out of him.

And it shatters his soul, to see it disappear so quickly. It shifts into something dull and devoid of light. Sorry, comes unnaturally to his mind. A hurried apology, for what, for what? To mend what is broken, isn't that his calling? It's all he wants to do– to mend his smile, make his face burn with its ferocity. Dawnglare purses his lips. Perhaps... all are doomed to fall to sin under Sootstar. It's a thought he keeps to himself, for once. He would not entertain it, for both of their sakes.

His tone lifts again. Less heart-breaking, still not quite right as he mentions his family. Family. That was something he couldn't quite relate to.. Parents were mere static in his mind, siblings... who knows? Lost to the aether, dotted across acres and acres of twoleg homes. Such a thing has never bothered him, but how fond the bleached warrior sounded, he almost feels like he should be bothered. Dawnglare tilts his head, blinks curiously at what he shares. "Before Windclan?" What sort of sense did that make, then? That this puny marsh-thing would take what was rightfully His? Bring along with her a band of brutish things, willing to bear her claws for her. Did it not make him angry? "I'm sure they're lovely..."

His mind supplies him with the image of Mallowstar, what a thought. A heavens-blessed leader brimming with new life and a clan at his beck and call. Wouldn't that be something? The thought brings ta muted giggling to his lips, even as he gazes blankly at the web stringing pale tufts together. He perks at the sudden assertion that he may poke it, eyes rounding with more than an ounce of shock. Had his gaze been so intrusive? "Huh?" comes the smooth reply. Blue gaze fixes on Mallowlark's own. They're dazzling, in the moonlight. Star-studded steel–

He's waiting. Dawnglare blinks. "I– You wouldn't lie to me, would you, now?" Truly, he can't imagine why he would, but oh, he'd never forgive himself if he hurt him. His gaze lingers for a moment. It's otherwise blank aside from the pursing of his lips. Maybe, just maybe he'll take up the offer, reach out with a tentative paw. The touch is gentle, to accomodate tender skin and pliant fur. It– it's more than a poke, probably. "I'm just..." worried. "I'd have her head if she made any mistakes." He means it.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

His tone leapt in tender ballet, a faraway dance. Curiosity, interest- Mallowlark failed to remember the last time someone who was not family had listened with attention this raptured. Pitifully he wondered what it was he had done to deserve this apparition- this moment, this figure before him who tilted a kind ear toward him. It was not that he minded particularly being a shoulder of support, giving rather than needing- it was what he had always felt he was meant to do- but he couldn't deny the crackling campfire warmth ribbon-dancing in his ribs at the gesture. Had his karma finally come? The good kind, blanketed in golden fortune- no, not golden, but white and chocolate and blue.

"They are," came his affirmation, quiet though his chirped voice was still swept in the pleasantness of this attention. The fixation of his steel-shine gaze stayed, refused to move an inch. Why should it? What out here in the darkness was worth looking at, other than him? The breaths that moved his flanks, the flicker of an opalescent gaze with moon-wide blinks, the mark between said gaze a unique splotch, love-like on his silken features... he was staring, again. Strange that he continued to look for these signs of life, knowing him now not to be a ghost.

He knew from the brush of a snow-caressed paw, reaching for sundered flesh. Cobweb-dressed ribs fell with his exhalation- yet another that he did not notice until it had escaped him fully. As gossamer as the silver string of stars above them, his breath plumed into wispy, barely-there mist. He shook his head, a little too late for such an answer to be given- but his sincerity was ever-tangible. "Couldn't if I wanted to." Words lilted with his grin, he knew no poison in the form of a lie had ever slipped from his tongue, not to Dawnglare. It really did not hurt- strange, since it had hindered his walk here. Yet now it was numb- pleasantly so.

Before he could stop it, the dissonant ring of a loud laugh leapt from his throat- discordant, scraping, it clawed from his throat at the sensation. "S-Sorry!" he stuttered through the peals, swallowing them down with a theatrical gasp for air. It felt- funny all of a sudden how close they were, and he had suddenly become aware of it, and it had for a moment made him feel so giddy he had not been able to hold in his outburst. And- the idea of him having her head! "Just- her head, you- getting it-" Though clenched teeth and closed mouth, his giggles came woozy-sounding, like the hum of a song. "Thank you. For checking." As if Dawnglare- who was surely endlessly more intelligent than he- would not be able to understand what his gratitude was for! But he still wished to make it clear- even to a tom who understood the workings of the bones in the earth, heard the whispers of the stars, knew bad web-weaving from good. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Startled, his touch flinches away. Worry flares in his soul for a moment– an outburst at by his paw? A touch too harsh? Too grating? But it's only– it's only a laugh, mirth bubbling forth from a severed maw. An apology soon follows, a hasty stutter after an intake of breath. Dawnglare blinks wide in his surprise. It lasts a moment, only a moment, before the signs of shock fade away. His face mellows into something softer, curl of his lips plastered against the white of his jaw. Dawnglare scoffs, feigning offense (though a small part of it was very real.) "You think I couldn't?" he gapes. A mental note is made there and then, a skull, a prize, a trophy, for his eyes only. Eventually... he'd bring one to him.

The fit of giggles peters out into something quieter, poorly concealed behind gritted teeth. He sounds... dizzy, and Dawnglare has the sudden urge to support him, prop him at his sides as if he were on the brink of collapse. It almost seemed like he was. "Sure," comes the answering purr. It comes with a brush of warmth– mahogany against stark white, a supporting weight, lest he falls down, down. That's all it is, isn't it? The desire to help, to mend. Nevermind the tingling in his spine or the clutch on his heart. Keep him afloat, keep him alive. Alive... dreadfully so. New warmth comes with each and every breath, persistant despite leaf-falls oncoming chill. He can barely feel it now, feels no need to bear against it. It feels like the season's never changed.

It's almost as if Mallowlark's dreamyness has overtaken him, leaves his own paws unsteady, his own balance ever-shifting. His chest heaves with too-heavy breaths, uneven rise and fall. A few moments– he needed–

Steady, steady. His eyes flutter shut. Dreamlike, "I could check on someone, at the least" Shame– he thinks so– It burns hot at the tips of his ears. Ever-neglectful, ever-fleeting attention comes with this new variable, Mallowlark. There wasn't enough time in the day, in the world to tend to them both. He sends a quiet apology, curls his tail against the earth in hopes that it will soothe Her. There's still time, isn't there? But he can't find it in himself to tear away. Heavy breath. "You keep... distracting me," no bite, only... observation.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

"You definitely could," he affirmed, the aftershock of his outburst still permeating his tone in the way it lifted, fell, lilted, dove with the humour of it. Who was he to doubt? The thought- Dawnglare bursting into the sandy hollow, tearing Honeytwist's head from her shoulders in a typhoon of tendons, swift and just like that- it was such an impossible image to imagine that he had to find himself believing it. But it was so... oxymoronic that this tom, who was so placid and soothing with his touch, with his check-up, could wrench a skull free. He could, though. He believed that! How readily he believed everything that came misted from Dawnglare's maw- what reason had he to doubt?

Dizzying, the breaths of his apparition matched his own- warm, felt. They were close again, but flank-on-flank now. It was true he had been toppling on his paws a bit, laughter often dazing him when so sudden and intense. Muffled now, quietening, his chuckles shuddered on, forging forward despite his efforts to stop them- yet they carried, carried at the joy of his received gratitude.

Moontouched eyes fluttered shut- for a moment Mallowlark felt Dawnglare's weight grow heavier on him, and he had pushed slow like tide's entry in an attempt to offer similar aid- but the healer soon steadied, so soon that he wondered whether he had even toppled at all. Check on someone- oh, right. They had been here for something, hadn't they? As he remembered their goal, a soot-socked paw tapped the ground- quietly, quietly.

And then- you keep distracting me. Spoken as fact, not bitterness- it earned another laugh, for in this company that was the only sound Mallowlark felt he could make. That chitter of joy- had he ever meant it this much? "You're distracting me, too!" he chimed, tone skipping with light-heartedness and humour. He dared not pull away, though ears and attention swivelled from the tom's mahogany-plumed face to the ground for a moment. He gave the sense, even with eyes still set moon-silver, moon-wide, that he was glad for the distraction. "But, hey- we promised a check-up and we did one!" Though, perhaps not the one intended. Optimism shone sun-bright, and his grin widened at the next thought.

"Do you think- if She was unhappy, She would have said something? Because I'm..." A pause- a swallow. For a moment his throat had dried up. "I'm having fun." ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

A satisfied hum follows the affirmation, good. It was, wasn't it? His agreement brings a certain lightness to his heart. Towards no one else, did he feel the desire to be agreed with, liked. He's soft in Mallowlark's paws, against his side, in his own heart– tingling sensation.

Mallowlark laughs, the shaking of his breath almost too real against him. Dawnglare pouts at the accusation, good-humored (partially guilty), and the reassurance he offers... is that really quite enough? A check-up of any kind, not listening to the shifting of the earth but instead to flesh and bone? Who was he to turn his attention away, to put anything else above Her well-being... All this, and he couldn't find it in himself to anger. The ground doesn't shake, it's only...

His head lifts at what he says next, a voice of reason amongst the blossoming panic. And it's bright, said with a wide-set jaw. I'm having fun. Warmth in his chest. "Oh, I'm–" he stumbles, gets caught up in it all. There's cotton in his throat, It's mutual. "Me too," the words finally escape with a breath, and he inhales. "I think– Yes, She would..." comes his answer, heavy inflection, dip of his voice. At first it's uncertain, but then grows solid with his resolve. She communicates when she feels it necessary, not by the petty wants or needs of mortal soul. Quiet, so quiet as of late... and with that he can only assume... Assume that he is doing well.

And there's a shudder as he thinks this, a gentle sigh on the wind. The branches groan overhead in their agreement, rumble of the earth. Dawnglare hums low in his throat. "She's pleased with us ♪" he sighs. Silence spells happiness and honey-sweet contentment. He only wishes it could last for longer. His eyes drift to the moon, hanging overhead in its omnipresence. He nearly wishes he could pluck it from the sky and store it away for safekeeping. Maybe then, the night wouldn't end, unable to fly past without its precious moon. He doesn't want to acknowledge it, the passing of time. His jaw ticks. "How badly would we be missed..." the beginnings of a question rises, and then fades. Delaying the innevitable.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Gossamer words given in a sigh- it was reciprocal, the fun they were having. Oh, and that was wonderful! The joy he felt knowing, knowing for certain that his company was not misery but instead vivacity- fun. Again his expressions brightened, the moon peeking from behind a cloud, silver eyes aglow with his grin. Smiling always made him feel better, but usually it was something he had to think about, something conscious- but here, now, even if he wanted to frown he could not. Not that he would dare! Dressing his face in a storm would only give the wrong idea. The movement of Dawnglare's lips were watched, forming the answer- she would. Relief washed through his chest, like a rainbow after a storm. His mahogany-clad companion continued, wisdom woven in his words.

It seemed he had hear something Mallowlark had not, for suddenly there was a shift- and gladness became all the more obvious upon his face. Again, he found it impossible to argue- the thought of it barely crossed his mind. No, mere awe simply overtook his face, eyes widening from their smile-creased crescents. Vision set to the star-written sky above them, the moon making more progress through the sky than he had thought it might have. His gut twisted- or it might have been his heart, throwing itself against his ribs in dread- but either way, he felt that slightest drop in his chest. Why was it that he dreaded leaving here? "She's pleased," he repeated, affirming it in his mind, joy lilting his words. They had done right by Her, by each other and the promise they had made.

There was... finality about Dawnglare's words, just skimming them... Mallowlark thought he could hear it, anyway. Being missed implied there absence, sooner or later. There was that dread again- shouldn't he want to go home? But he didn't, he didn't. "Well- we'll be back, won't we?" Optimism again shone from his voice, an excited whisper. That was what he needed- that next time, the affirmation of next time. They would see each other at the gathering, certainly, but... there was something different about these nights under this moon. There was no chatter, no smog. They could listen to each other- and listen to the mother- in peace for as long as they liked, no Sootstar to tear him away. Time was the leader, now. "She won't have to miss us for long." There was something- something on the tip of Mallowlark's tongue, words he wanted to find but could not. It was not just her who would miss them. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

A cruel joke comes to his mind, then. What if he were to say no? He can't properly describe it, how Mallowlark looks when his grin is widest and his voice whips up into an excited whisper. What would it look like to ruin such a thing? No less than an act of complete and utter cruelty. Something that would inspire only self-loathing in the deepest pits of his soul, he's sure. A giggle slips past his lips at the thought of it all, he doesn't think he could ever sleep a peaceful night after doing such a thing. That is, assuming it was something he'd ever want to say or to think— "Mm-hmm," an affirmative hum, accentuated with a bubbling laugh, just because Mallowlark was so— so—

And the zeal, he wholeheartedly believes, wholeheartedly wants... They're not so different, they wish for similar things, it's nice, so nice. And already, he yearns for their next meeting. He hasn't even left, and yet his paws itch to return where they belong. Tapping— he's tapping at the ground, unintentional. He's almost, almost, too distracted to apologize, soft whispers in his mind amongst the cacophony of.... something else. And he realizes: Mallowlark as it bad influence.

Yet even as he does, he can't find it in himself to be angry. A smile still stretches wide on his features, close-lipped and tightly-wound, but there. It was there. And his voice lowers into a purr. It threatens to stutter, from the tapping and the whispers, but he doesn't. "I'll be holding you to your word then," Giddy, his cheeks hurt so, so suddenly. And he stares for another moment. Momentary panic. He had not come with a thing, and yet he feels as if he's forgetting something. A glance at his paws, to this side, to the other—

Bad, bad influence. He's going mad. Abruptly, his gaze snaps back up to Mallowlark, eyes wide in- in something. A puff of breath. "Gooood - bye. Goodbye," he repeats with finality. He scuttles away, and already his paws whine in protest. It was so much colder than he remembers, and...

He flashes a smile, all tooth and gum, perhaps a mimicry of his own wide-set grin. He could only hope to do it half-as-well, but for some reason he's... compelled. He nearly trips, not looking—

And with the stilling of breath and push against the ground, the forest swallows him whole once more.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

There, here- another promise made. Being beholden to tasks were just part of every day life, never something Mallowlark particularly opposed or enjoyed... but this, this was a task that was hardly such a thing, never a chore with all the joy that glowed within him at the thought of it. This promise meant another meeting, another appointment, another checkup- of him or the mother he could not tell. He could not care, either. Perhaps he should- was it sacrilege to think of anything else, in her presence? Yet, his mind- it kept wandering...

His laugh- whose was the contagion? Contagious was a funny word- it implied disease weeping from their lips, but felt like anything but. A silly name for bubbling joy, and yet the infection was not one he was keen to fight, for it came skittering from his throat too in similar rhythm. Smiles caught on- laughs, too. Though this laughing, this smiling, made him feel as if he had not been doing it right before.

Another promise, though- his mind snapped back on track, as quickly as his eyes focused. Focus- for he was leaving soon, he should not waste time away with his thoughts. His word, it was given, held. He, they, would return beneath this same moon and starlight, this same spot, again and again. Forever, hopefully, or at least until they joined the bones beneath the dirt, whispering with rot-razed voices to those who might dare to listen. He smiled back, grin set upon them both, white on white in both cases. Similar.

Shadowed paws prickled with a peculiar urge, one to follow- but willpower and what little sense he had in that moment stopped him. Foolish it would be to set foot on SkyClan land- they were not fond of his kind, however much he knew that the savage they thought him of was far from the truth. They did not know that- he could not blame them. All he prayed was that no more blood would split their borders by any means other than natural. The urge was pushed away, stashed, stored. He was saying goodbye, and Mallowlark let not his smile falter, the knowledge of next time keeping it firmly in place. "Bye," he bid breathlessly, sighed through the nook between dog-sharp teeth.

And away his phantom floated, fled, fleeting yet oh-so-permanent. Pale blues burned into his memory, Dawnglare offered him one last reminder- one grin, wholeheartedly offered in return. He noticed not the falter, or did not care- just smiled, gazed after. Parting was cruel, but there would be another day. There would be the Gathering. Back to the moors, then- to WindClan. Home, he supposed. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​