private TREAD LIGHTLY ON MY GROUND \ dawnglare

[MALLOWLARK]

Bleached bone, his promised prize was transported with the utmost care. It was as blinding as staring straight at the sun, a colour-match with the new snowfall that had graced their lands so recently... a snake-skull, jaw joint immaculately intact. The moon no longer bled, but it hung in the sky and willed him to the meeting-place, spurring him forward; he had missed it, missed him. And he would not let this building wheeze, the short breaths and crackling coughs, stop him.

Mallowlark could not help the falter of his feet, though. Tar dipped, they stepped a sporadic path, all his balance and energy focused upon his gift. In night's embrace the sting of cold grew ever fiercer, a poison tipped down his throat and limiting his inhaling- oh, it was unpleasant! But he could not let it hold him back- he knew Dawnglare would wait, he'd said as much, but he didn't want to whittle their time together down. Delay loomed over him, but he pressed, pressed-

There, in the arms of the trees and with nature moon-lit singing at his feet, his pine-hailing ghost waited. He'd- he'd kept him waiting, and such a thought twisted his gut, sent him stumbling a little. Had his head been so heavy when he had left? Had his breaths scraped against his throat this much? He could not worry, though- no, he was in the presence of someone who eliminated all of his worry, who was the one that could make him forget. With a faltering dip he placed his prize upon the ground, wishing not to risk dropping it. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were hitched by a cough, throat-clearing and feeble. "Dawngla-are," he finally managed to choke out, eyes wide and grin wider even as another cough shuddered from him.

\ @DAWNGLARE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Pitched under darkness, he has long since settled himself amongst the gnarled roots of Fourtrees. He wills his breath steady to the best of his ability. In, and then out; motion weighted under the whole of his excitement. It's always been there, ever-present, parasite in his mind. Always nagging, nagging. Harsh tug of his fur. The dreamy glaze that'd cross his eyes when he needs and expects it the least. And it's silly, mind-rotting fluff; but still, it's there.

Waiting game. Perfect patience. He's failing, miserably.

And with the view of that slow-approaching shadow, the wide-set grin and shift to stark-white under moonlight coming to fruition, Dawnglare brightens. Though, there's a stutter in his step. A sway as he walks that Dawnglare is nearly certain was not there before. But, open mind and open heart, he tries not to care. And, why would he? Why concern himself with the teeter of his form or harshness of his breaths when he's here, always brimming, ever-bright? And with him is the promised gift, delicately cradled. Pale bone against white fur and whiter teeth, he struggles to discern just what it is at first.

His attention is rapt as the gift is laid at his feet in hopes of admiring it in full, but it's difficult, teeth-grittingly difficult when Mallowlark is like this. DIzzy, stars spinning at the edge of his mind. Mallowlark lurches, and so does his own heart along with him. His jaw parts, a giddy smile that falls into appall. Wide-eyed stare as a sputtering cough falls loose. The butchering of his name, choked by sickness. "Mallowlark?" Far from the warm greeting he has long since prepared.

Painstakingly, his gaze drags to his prize, freshly nestled in the frost-lined clearing. Pristine bone, meticulously cleaned. He hasn't seen a thing like it. Void-nothing eyes and lined with pinpricks, almost-teeth– certainly teeth. A skull. His gift. And he doesn't care. He can't. "W-what's wrong with you?"​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Concern flooded his mocha-touched phantom's face, and how horrible it was that the worry brought up warmth in Mallowlark's gut. The thought that he should be worried, that he should care and simply notice that the mist of illness clouded his approach... it made the cold that nipped at his snow-coated skin disappear, twist into head-to-toe toastiness. But oh, at the same time- it was a sickening cocktail in his gut, because it swirled with feelings both wonderful and awful. Wonderful that Dawnglare worried, but awful that he did too- how could he blight the mood? How could he ruin it, when they had not seen each other for-

Well, it had only been a moon. But each moon, each gap, grew more and more agonising. Only felt cruel to think, because the fissure of missing him was not only.

"I'm-" Interrupted by a cough, he couldn't let it stop him. He'd gotten this far, hadn't he? "I think I've got some-thing..." Wheezing, his smile grew slightly more humoured. This was a beast of a cold, more than something! "It just... got worse when I walked here..."

He did not blame this for his illness, despite what his words might inadvertently suggest. No, he thought it brilliant that he'd managed it, that the thought and the anticipation had spurred it on. It was worth it just for the sight of Dawnglare, willow-furred and sepia singed, eyes of liquid moonlight aswim, that beautiful blue. A step he took forward, though fumbled again. He wanted- something, he wanted to assure Dawnglare he was okay, he would be fine, he just needed to catch his breath.

Another cough sputtered from him. "I didn't want to- HCK, miss it-" A shake of the head like a dog rid itself of water, and he was off again- "Miss you. I couldn't- I needed to bring you-" A feeble gesture toward the skull, but Dawnglare looked at him, looked and looked and he almost fell forward into the pools and drowned. "I needed to see you." The threat of tears now warbled in his tone, that thickened sound and quavering waver. Argent eyes glittered all-the-more silver in the moonlight, glazed with the build of tears. Why, why? The sobs, he had to repress them- choke them down like the cackles, grin like he'd never grinned before. How could he not smile, in this presence? Though- with Dawnglare looking at him like that, Mallowlark was not sure quite how long he could stand it.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Worse, worse than he'd thought. The warbling speech and rattling of his ribs. Visceral reaction, he flinches with the cough Mallowlark hacks, pinched face and deep frown. He hates it. Hates, hates, that he can understand. Hates that his childish priorities inspire sun-warmth in his own chest. There's bittersweet devotion in his words, on his tongue. Devotion he could not expect from any other, and oh, his soul leaps with joy; nearly jumps right out of his throat– spit up along with his thoughts, all the things he couldn't say. Honey-sweetness wells in his throat. He swallows it down.

What returns is bitter bile. Itching at the back of his head, the nape of his neck; pins and needles in his paws. And Mallowlark, his watering eyes, glassy, bending the very light of the moon. The sight claws at his chest, splits it down its seam and out spills his innards, his stuffing. And how is he smiling still? Wider, oh, only wider. Oh so ignorant to the prick of his tears. Rebel against his own self. Childish as his mind and just as adored.

"Y-you? Why..." Sucked-in breath. And, lost, his eyes dance across the ground. The glitter of moonlight flickers along with it; to the skull. The skull Mallowlark had nearly killed himself to bring. Unsheathed claws, they flex against the ground, bidden in frustration. He wants to crush it into ash and nothingness, hear it crackle beneath his weight. Stone and bone, but it was still puny. The skull of something pitiful, nearly not worth his thought. Not at all, if it weren't for the one who'd brought it. "No, no no–" Furious, hackles raised– "What? What– What if you hadn't made it? What–"

Stops and stutters, he can barely speak. "What if y-you, you were out there, lying sick and pitiful in the snow, and I was- was not–" there to help. –Was not there to catch his tears. And heaven– earth– world above and below, they know, they all know the tyrant he lives under would provide no search or seizure. Frostbitten and alone, what would have happened? Hot head and flushed face, what then? Closed throat, barely breathing, then what? Fatality. Flesh melted into nothing. Bone withered into dust. Another of Windclan's fatal warnings. Claws raked and ripped through flesh. Everything they touch– Everything, everything–

And so suddenly, anger melds into fear, sadness, something else. Miasma of everything at once. His shoulders sag. That bristling now gone. And he can't stand the look of him. Eyes shining liquid silver, glossy and uneven, threatening wetness. The sway that he knows is unintentional. The choking of his throat and rattling of his words. And it's the only thought in his mind, that sickness gives way to death.

So suddenly, soundly defeated. Droop of his eyelids and drag of his tail. Pitiful sound. Rattling breath. "...And I miss you. And I would miss you..." He slumps forward onto him, and it's disgusting, and it's nice. Dead-eyed. Face to his chest, and it's warm. So warm when Mother only rumbles cold nothingness to him. "And I would keep missing you..." Irony, in the way that he hated, and the gesture was returned in full. Prick of wetness. Stars caught in his eye​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Sudden came the fall of his eyes, sky dropping to the ground, and how wrong it was to see. The quiver of his lip, he couldn't help it; not with this display before him! Horrible, wrong sight- sadness in each other's presence. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, and yet the woe felt welcoming, the worry warm. Awful that it should! How horrible he felt, the cause of these feelings and this sight and that face he was making- mahogany-dusted features falling into a frown.

Sudden, Dawnlare's voice twisted into anger, a heaven-bound pyre that flared up and everywhere, crackling toward him. But despite the tears in his eyes and the wobble of his paws, he kept himself there, kept himself looking, kept himself listening. His concern- that was the warmth, unwelcome and adored. A stammer of a sob squeaked from him, and- what if? What a horrible thing he would have done, die out in the cold, left him here, left him...

What sour sweetness- he would miss him. Honey poisoned, devotion he didn't want him to have, because it would only hurt him. If he missed- if, Stars forbid, he waited-

A surge of a movement, ice-cocoa blur pressed against his chest, and another sob left him. He couldn't help it- knee-jerk reaction, instinct. But given a moment to think, to settle upon those words, Mallowlark adjusted his paw, night-glove disappearing into the gossamer willow of Dawnglare's flank. Placing his chin atop Dawnglare's head, he stood frozen in the embrace for a few long moments. Missing him- the words hung in the air, in stasis too. He had to compose himself, stop crying- the shudder of his weeping jostled his form, but he tried to keep them steady, keep them close. "I'm sorry," he said, croaky words whispered through frayed chords. Breaths staccato, he tried to ground himself, tightened his grip, drifted his cheek across Dawnglare's head.

"I don't- I don't want you to miss me, I don't..." It sounded wrong. It sounded like he didn't want to see him, didn't it? That wasn't right, that was furthest from the truth it could ever be. Like this, pine-scent, floral- softer than sheep-pelt and warmer than sunbeam. "I don't want you to be sa-ad." Shattered to shards from his sobs, his words still escaped him by some miracle. Her influence was forgotten, considered not. He moved his head again, the next words spoken into Dawnglare's fur. The vibrations of his words buzzed through the spruce-hue, electric current. "I only ever want to make you happy."

Another hiccup of a sob leapt from him, and that coaxed a cough- spluttered into the air, face aimed away, because he didn't want to... make it worse. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Insolent in this moment. Face buried in fresh snow. So cold it burns, neverending warmth in his face. The plague settles deep with the first touch of fur, instant contagion, but unlike any cold or cough; his own special sickness, undeniably chronic. The chill of leaf-bare is nearly forgotten; driven away by the flicker of flame between them. He refuses to look up, to see Mallowlark snot-nosed and dripping with tears. He refuses to hear the sliver of a whine that escapes between his smile. Because it's makes his heart leap. Because it makes his heart cry. And he feels–

A surefire touch that brings him nestling closer, weight atop his head that's so, heavily strange. And it's nice, just to be like this. Moment of silence, aside from the crickets' chirps and Mother's ambient drone. The cold silence has lifted into something warm. Ground-shaking, night-defying, and he can't breathe. Sudden fear then, with the shuddering the sobbing brings. A breath is sucked in through teeth and eyes squeeze shut; petulant child. The apology is stuttered through unsteady breaths, and Dawnglare is stubborn, stubborn. Always stubborn, him. Rarely does he accept anything less than groveling repentance. Simple sorry's were nothing in the eyes of god. Mumbled in vain, and oblivious to the punishment ever-encroaching despitr it. Foolish thought, that a phrase could free you from your well-earned future.

But here, it isnt do pitiful. Here, he could forgive. Because his cheeks are wet and his breaths are shallow and Mallowlark is unbearably, unbearably warm. Puff of shattered vapor. "Sss...S'fine," punctuated with a sniveling breath. Bleary-eyed, he lifts his head– just barely, lest he loses that grounding weight, the snug security he lies under– (Right now, he could barely think it, or he might cry.) Starsilver gaze is kept away from his own; and instead, Dawnglare looks to the moon. Terrifically boring, it's bright-white light. The wound has long since healed shut, and left is only its blue-silver spotlight. His gaze remains fixed, but his mind isn't there. The moon would always be here, out to play with each dip of the sun and curtain pull to reveal the stars. Always here, always watching; bloodied seam or no, the moon. There was no such luxury for him, no such wealth of time with Mallowlark. Whispered words and gilded breath came as rare as the moon was full, and really, "I– I would have looked for you. You wouldn't die. Mother would– would tell me, and I would come find you. You wouldn't die, you... you wouldn't" You can't.

He's– lightheaded. Floating above the ground, hanging off every word. His agreement comes in hushed tones, and he revels in the fact that Mallowlark is alive. Flesh and blood, stuttering breaths puffed in and out beside him. And Dawnglare is compelled to match them; to be something, together. His head tilts with the press of Mallowlark's maw. Eyelids fluttered shut. "I know. I–" What does he want to say? He can't place it. Words for the frogs in his throat and the butterflies in his chest. The coffon-fluff filling his mind or sun-warmed pool simmering in his chest. "You make me happy." A job well done.

Only once– twice before, he's felt this. Swooning adoration. Such strong desire to take, keep, hoard to himself. His very own piece of heaven, kept between his paws, against his fur, atop his head, against his cheek. Bliss-soaked sigh, and yet its strained, all the same. There's nothing he'd like more than the very stars themselves. And it's that realization–

"M-me too, I– I want to... to make you happy." Copycat. He'd unknowlingly captured his mind. Shaking breath, "And I want to keep seeing you... I want to keep seeing you." Repeated for no one other than himself. Declaration carved in stone.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Breath of relief, icy vapour through the gaps of his grin; he never realised how much he held his breath in this heavenly company, under these heavenly skies, on these heavenly nights. Seldom, and yet so, so cherished. Last time he had spoken desperately of not wanting to leave. He'd- he'd really been desperate then, so what did that make him now? Clawing, grasping, gasping- but with all this flurry in his mind he was perfectly still, save for sob-shudders in the embrace. He could not lose balance, could not let go. If he did- no. He would not dare to think of if, for he would not it would not be so.

Looked for him. He would have looked for him, rather than waited, rather than let him die in the cold. It seemed heartless to think otherwise, and yet Mallowlark still felt the silvery wave of relief wash over him, bring his breath out again. When he said he would wait- when he said he would help. That he would not let him die- that he would fight against the natural order, that the Mother favoured them in such a way. All thoughts were deified in his presence. A sound left him then, staccato and sweet. Not a sob, not a laugh- neither, between, both. Yes, both, laughter twinged with a tear-blandished whimper.

You make me happy. Relief, again. Giddiness. Mallowlark beamed in hold, bowing his head to press his cheek against Dawnglare once again. Perhaps he would feel the curve of his smile as he nuzzled- they could not look at each other, like this. He hoped the other could feel that with those simple words, he had lived up to their shared wish. Whenever he said something like that- it was purest joy and nothing less that Mallowlark felt. "You do make me happy," he murmured, voice still shredded from the spill of tears. He did not care, aware only of his sincerity.

And oh- that divine repetition. The reassurance of his point, doubling down. If he wanted to keep seeing him- he would, no questions asked. He would never stop stepping into this clearing. Never, never, never, for as long as he wanted to keep seeing him. "You wi-ill," broken again, but he kept going, wading through the shards of his words. Dawnglare would feel a deep breath. "You will. As- as long as you want." His own repetition. A vow, yet another- it seemed all they spoke was promises. But would he want it any other way?

Oh-so-warm, oh-so-seeking. Still against his chest, he felt as if every breath he took was sacred. That if he breathed too harshly- if he dared to intake a wheeze- Dawnglare might break in two. He might shy away, he might- shrink back. Better than fire-light, better than raw sunbeams on the moor-tops, better than the warmth that bleached bones. Pine, flowers, him- just the sight was warming enough, but his ichor slept beneath his skin, and so did Mallowlark's, and they held and aided each other in protection against this frigid night. Something once in twain had come back together again. Against his chest pressed a piece of him that had always been missing.

"I love you." Voice singing with his smile despite the tears, it was a sudden admittance. The look upon Mallowlark's face was as if he had just been struck with something, and really he had been- the realisation of it, and the urge to say it. How else could he explain it? The ravine of his absence, the buzz of his blood when they were together again? The urge- the willingness to promise that he would keep seeing him for as long as he wanted, always being his own intention. "You know that, don't you?" Oh, he hoped he did. The question lingered in the night, and Mallowlark let his eyes flutter closed, waiting for something. But it was not simply waiting, was it? ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Oh, never has he trusted anyone more. Never has he been so willing to rely on only a word. Wholeheartedly, he leans into it, dreamy-eyed. He shudders with the ghosting of breath he feels. The good kind– the kind that warmed his heart with sparks of inner friction. Happy at the thought that he'll have him for as long as he lived. Giddy grin at the promise, no matter how fractured, a promise all the same.

Love. What did he know about love? Not much, except that he was it, loved. Except that he felt it swell in his heart for the earth and the moon and the stars, ever-reverent. That heat in his face and dizziness of the mind was it, love. Clawing to spend time with the object of your desires, your treasure. The overwhelming ache to hoard what is yours. That was Mallowlark, wasn't it? And... sudden giggling at the madness of it all. Wingbeats in his chest, rousing hiccuped laughs alongside the prick of tears. Joy that creases the turn of his lips, because he was the one to be kept. And if love to Mallowlark felt the same way it did to him, there was nothing else he'd rather be than loved.

Snowy expanse of Mallowlark's chest serves as a muffler for his own laughing. Bitten down, they do not last long– gradual sizzle into heavy breaths. It's like he hasn't been breathing all this time. ...And maybe he truly hadn't been. So excited he could barely breathe. Struck through the heart, lungs ripped aside, it's like he was dying– in the best way he possibly could. All at once, oh so dizzy; he huffs eternal greatness for the body that supported him. Shuddering happiness. A swallow. Then, at last, a word. "I do..." Lovestruck, sigh-laced drawl. His face dons an impossibly wide smile; close-lipped, but insistent on pressing up into his eyes. Bell-chime giggles, and it's wrong, part of them caught in his throat, but he doesn't care. "And I love... y-you! Did you know–?"

He swallows down honey-thick bile. "I h-hope you do. I'm letting you infect me, you know?" Not like he really cares, not like he could. Not like he could do a thing but laugh and nestle closer. Not now when he could barely even stomach the reality of their circumstance. Soon to be ripped away once again. But– he can't be greedy, can't take more than he's meant to. He wants, oh, he wants; because truly, he is selfish.

"I'm going to... f-fix you," he promises. He laments the distance of their homes and that they must come here to meet, oh so far away. Things wouldn't be so simple as a quick trip to his den and back, jaws full of catmint; that mouth-watering scent. Of course they weren't that simple, because they couldn't be. ( And even if they were, who knows if he'd truly be inclined to leave the warmth he finds himself in. )​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Monarch wings took flight from Dawnglare's throat, a chitinous giggle that Mallowlark mimicked. Against him his phantom tippled, laughs leaping from his maw, stopping only for an even more wonderful sound. Joyous reciprocation that brought from the receiver more laughter... incessant, blood from a gash, giggles from a grin. The silken slip of Dawnglare's tone, whispered into the ivory of his chest fur. Mallowlark thought it not possible to press closer, but he did then, needing equal support. The cackling- it shook his shoulders and bowed his head to bury his nose more into the soft chestnut of Dawnglare's cheek. Always had he thought his laughing was something to choke down when it got to this point, uncontrollable and gasping, but this- this was all his happiness, and it could not be contained in the mere iron-grip of his grin. Why should he try and stop it? He dared not seem less happy than he was, and he was more joyous and alive than he had ever been before.

Even as his laugh collapsed into a wheeze it continued, and it joined a tango with his words as he finally gave his answer. "I didn't- didn't know for certain, but- but now I do!" Voice slightly muffled, it was hardly devoid of vivacity. Inky paws rooted themselves upon the ground. He kept laughing, kept going... even when Dawnglare spoke of infection. What were they doing- letting it happen? And yet- Mallowlark too was selfish. The warmth, the joy- if he pulled away he risked falling separate, and why would he want that? So he laughed too, giggling in unison, a harmony that danced around the moon.

He did not think of what was impending. What always awaited, and was more terrible each time. Woozy laughter still trailed from him, unashamed and flooding. And then came another promise, one that coaxed another laugh, another, another. He felt as if he'd never stop, he'd never leave, which was by no means a fate he would fight. But a vow was tied between them- to fix, to be fixed. As much as Mallowlark felt as if he could die right there and know nothing but happiness, could die loved and loving and in love, he knew that would be a selfish reality. And he knew he did not want Dawnglare to die- so death would separate them in that world, and Mallowlark could not take more separation. They already lived so far away- separate planes of existence would be too far.

"You will," Mallowlark assured Dawnglare and himself, nodding his head and moving again to rest his chin atop Dawnglare's head. Another breath, long and deep, crawled through his maw. He too had never trusted so much, had never known anyone he thought more of. "You will, and then- 'n you'll keep seeing me, 'n I'll keep seeing you." Reiteration of earlier, but he meant it- he had never meant anything more. "You'll- you'll keep safe in the meantime, won't you?"

Perhaps hypocritical to ask. He had not managed it himself, but- but what Dawnglare could do for Mallowlark, the latter could never do in return. He could only be there- be here, and be loved, and be warmed.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

A voice he would never tire of, he laughs and laughs, grin curled beyond the bounds of what he'd thought imaginable, so wide he only needed to feel it. And, comfort, sun-touched warmth, cloud-cradled softness in the thought he does this. In the thought that Mallowlark is happy. Knowing that he was not a fool in dreaming for this time again; when it was only them. His own snickering joy is not a lesser mimicry, but rather, a compliment to the chorus; undertone of something sweeter to the ring of his cracking laughter. And the wheezing– with it comes Dawnglare's own worry. Tucked within their own slice of the sky, he'd nearly forgotten the conditions that had brought them here. His breath catches at the thought of him suddenly toppling, him suddenly breathless, the last of it escaping in his time of need.

But oh, he keeps laughing, and his shoulders shake with joy, not weakness. Joy that lit up the blackness of night. Joy that outshone the very moon itself. And it doesn't make sense. Blasphemy. Sacrilege. But his mind thinks it so, and it is so because it is him. Moon-bright, starry-eyed, snow-faced– Mallowlark. Always him and only him. He could never deny it. His breath shakes.

Huffs at the reassurance, because it was foolish to think he ever doubted himself; to think that he didn't trust in Her ability to keep him singing, even if his body shakes and the tears still prick at his eyes. It's foolish, nonsensical; but he doesn't say so. He hardly notices how his breath catches when Mallowlark shifts again, again. His lungs remain unshaken, breath held to keep, and it'd be silly to think that Dawnglare had worried the gasps between laughs would be his last. Long, long breath top his head, and that's how he knows Mallowlark is safe. He breathes acknowledgment along with his words. "Mm...hm," a hum. Because he knows, doesn't he?

Genuine surprise, with the next thing he says, because when, oh when, has he ever implied he'd be anything less than safe? That he was anything less than looked after? ...Though maybe now, he felt it more than ever. "Ff... o-of course" He means it. He does.

"I should tell you. I-I am telling you," suddenly, he asserts. "Y-you will not die... before I can reach you. Y-you won't, or I'll..." Scream, maybe, certainly. "I'll d-drag you right back..." He swallows. There's anger at the thought that the lost cause of a medicine cat couldn't hold Mallowlark back. Further still, at the thought that the one before him left him in such a sorry state. But how far could it really go, knowing it allowed for a moment like this? This moment.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Warm, ever warm. In the ichor stashed within his ribs he knew he would forever hold this warmth, despite the temperature of the outside. However frigid the air insisted on being, he would make no attempt to fight it ever again knowing that two hearts were joined and would forever keep each other safe. Their giggles sang, insistent melody- kind, kindest. The joy that leapt free from him- he wondered if it would ever stop? So too did he wonder if he ever wanted it to stop... with every closer nuzzle, he reminded himself that this was real. The weight against him, weeping-willow fur and ribs trembling with humour was his to love, his to be loved by.

Ears swivelled to the bubbling of Dawnglare's words, to his honeyed agreement. And then, that assurance of his own. Safety. Not that he thought for a moment that the Mother would put in danger the one who knew the most about Her, but he wanted Dawnglare to know he cared more than...

Hah! That was likely blasphemous, the most blasphemous he could ever be. To imply that he could be more than the power of nature Herself in any way, when they were simply the servants of their destiny, crafted by natures vine-woven paws. But he felt in that moment that he cared for Dawnglare more than anything else ever could. Holding him this close- holding each other. It gave him strength he hadn't possessed on his journey over.

Another laugh, but- not at him, never at him. It was simply the purest expression of his overwhelming joy that he could offer. "It won't take m-much dragging, if you're the one doing it...!" A joke at a time like this, but all jokes had truth to them. He'd rise from a hundred layers of muck and dirt, shatter the confines of his very own grave, if it was Dawnglare who called for him. But he took the assurance, burying his nose again in Dawnglare's fur, whispered gratitude into the gossamer. His own ward from death... his very own respite. Warmth in the cold, grin in the moon-

"I feel like I c-could take a bite out of the- the moon," laughter continued to interrupt his sentences, fracturing them with giggles. But no lie left his lips- he could flood this clearing with claret again and bathe them in the light, and with the moon immobilised from his blow they could stay here forever. The inevitability grew worse each time. More clawing- more grasping- more tearing. "I'm cured, I think," he chimed, ignoring the still-there wheeze that dances a mist upon his breath. But he cared not for the physicality of it, for it only mattered that he felt cured. In this presence, he would never feel the barbed touch of illness again. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

The moon smiles kindly upon them. And to her, he smiles back. Wider than he's ever dreamed. Bright, ever-shining. Dayglow and moonset. He would never forget. No, never. Always and forever cherished would be this night under these stars. Forever echoing, the laughter and the tremors of joy. Sweeter than any birdsong. The prickles of his fur in nothing other but delight. Shiver of the spine as Mallowlark laughs with and for him. Sweltering cold, freezing scald, warmth he couldn't pull away from. He's blinding. So bright, and he's his.

Dizzy mind. His world spins it the best way it ever could. Even when his throat is scratched and his breaths caught, the laughter only lulls into an easy purr. Hiccups, now. Choking on his own joy, but its hard to help. Oh, he's tired, and yet he buzzes to life with every howling word. His giggle pitches high at the very implication. And what was it, exactly? That his own will alone was strong enough to pull souls from the earth? To rearrange their bones, weave nerves into being and blood into skin? Or that Mallowlark would come bounding for him. Would sew his torn body back together at his word. However he takes it, it implies something wonderful. A power only he held. The branding of something special. Silver-strung breath he would never let go of.

The moon beams, benevolent indeed. Overseer of their union, and yet he speaks of ripping into her, the same. He can only laugh; marvel in what he's given him, and what he himself as received. (For, it's mutual. Something he would never say. High in the clouds. Weaving between mountaintops– the two of them. Bounding over the very sun itself. He feels like he could conquer heaven and earth). And oh, he hopes not to be stricken down, but at the very least, it would be the two of them, together. Mallowlark's proclamation then, bounding from surely-aching jaws, is met with his own stark amusement, poorly stifled. "Y-you are not," he corrects, and his tail curls to hold them both. Strung up, the two of them. Even acknowledging this– the sickness– he wants to be that much closer.

Oh, the poor skull. Now it lies discarded in this wasteland. He bets its eyeholes burn into them now, dissatisfied. And Dawnglare sighs, long and deep. "I lo-ved it you know. The skull," he tells him. "And I lo-ve you," sweetly, he drawls the word as if he hadn't repeated it a thousand times in his heart and in his mind. Another hiccup. "M'gonna keep it." declared devotion, and further sinking into Mallowlark's warmth, as if he wasn't already close as could be. "Gonna take it back..." home. Where home was supposed to be. And Mallowlark wasn't there.

So suddenly, the giggling's behind him. His throat eases, at last, and he sinks with the weight of the realization. His eyes flutter shut. The cold encroaches before they've even split. "Don't wanna go," he laments; whining breath. He wishes Mallowlark would come with him. But the tom is not blind. Had he a problem with his home, he would have already left. Dawnglare would not make him do anything he did not wish to.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

The correction- right as it was, it brought more laughter from his maw. Could you run out of laughter? Incessant sprint of breath it was- you grew tired when running, so surely joy could grow weary of its marathon. But oh, if there was a limit, he had never been surer that he could defy it. A half-tail moved to return a gesture that it fundamentally could not match, distance impossible to be made; but the ghost of the other half of his tail was there, in the breeze and the breath. It held Dawnglare too, even as it rotted beneath the earth. Part of nature now, he supposed...

The skull! Oh- in all this, he had forgotten it. Many times had he forgotten where he'd left something, discarded a crow's head on the moor and left it there, never to be seen again... but never this quickly. When there were better things to think about- scarce as they were- it was easy to let trinkets slip your mind. This, this was the most wonderful scarcity of all. Never had he known this feeling- this closeness. Close encroached the time where they would be apart again, but- not yet. Not yet, and as long as it was not yet, he would not think of parting. And then- repetition. Something they'd already said, and yet unlike everything else, love bore repeating. He laughed, laughed, laughed at the admittance. With it. Song like, soft, a ballet from his throat-

"If you say goodnight to it," he murmured, "I'll hear." A little connection, far apart as they were. As they would be, but were not yet. And he felt it looming, the moon- an eye that had cherished them for so long, but continued her silver march, and conquered the sky too quickly. Now, at least, a gift would lie next to both their nests. Red string connecting them, like the one that they had tightroped upon in order to meet.

He would be the villain this time, even bearing his smile. Last time, he'd- waited, cruelly, for Dawnglare to pull away. It was only fair- so with one brush of his nose to Dawnglare's own, one murmur of "Neither," he put that first footstep of distance between them. More than ever he felt like he'd ripped a limb off and left it there. More than ever he felt as if he should stay and freeze to death, make his cold worse, for just a moment longer. More than ever he could anticipate the abyssal longing that would strike him come the dawn. "But- y'know," his shoulders dropped with the slightest sigh. "I'll see you. And- I'll miss you. And I love you!" Said hurried- alight with all the joy he could feel, and all the sadness at parting at once. Quickly- quickly they should embark, lest the temptation to stay keep them forever.

And yet- again, he lingered. Just for a moment. He'd wait for good-bye, at least. And anything more. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

A giddy gladness comes with his words. His promise. A piece of him that he could have no matter the clan, no matter the time. Something so precious stored within something so fragile. Soul within bleached bone. It's foolish, he knows. His voice stutters a half-aborted trill, sound that catches in his throat. He knows the ridiculousness of it all. A skull could think none. It's mind and body since dissolved into Her being. It's nonsense, but he finds himself believing all the same. He's hanging on every word. Mallowlark would not know, but he is, and his own heart skips with Mallowlark's very breath.

He pulls away all too soon. Even if moon high readily passed within eachothers presence, over the hills and through again, sewing the sky shut, it would not be enough. Dawnglare allows him to slip away with a rumbling whine, a petulant sound. There's an irony in it all, that before, it had been him to tear away. His throat rings an unenthused but acknowledging hum. At least he could always find comfort in that mutual feeling. Selfish whim on a mortal mind, but he could not help it.

Here they are, then. The distance between them so suddenly gaping. Never before has he felt so strange, just being alone. His chest rises and falls with his own sigh. Breaths matching his. He's lingering for too long. "I-I'll miss you too. And I love you too," he can't help but say it again and again. A torrent from his lips the moment the dam was broken. No, he doesn't think he'll stop saying it anytime soon. He'll shout it to the high heavens, sing his own song to the birds. Tonight, he's gloriously alive. And so is Mallowlark. And so he would continue to be. Wouldn't he? Shaking exhale. "I'll see you." He would. And he would keep seeing him. For as long as he liked.

Cherish it, he would. He reaches to cradle his treature between gentle jaws. It would make the journey, he swears it. The journey, along with many moons more. There's space to be cleared; wedge of lifted ground beside his nest. It would do fine, perfect, he thinks. And it'd rest along with him.

He lingers without much else to say. Without much else to say at all. Lingering, still. Maybe he just likes lingering on him. Maybe. "Buh-bye." Not the last. Oh, don't let it be. One last drifting look, before velvet slips into moon-lined shadow.​