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In the dim lighting, it wouldn't be all that easy to miss the fireflies, but with Duskpool pointing them out, it's nigh impossible. Even without any urgency in his tone, the sudden break from silence is enough to send Luckypaw's head snapping up, any brewing drowsiness banished as he searches for the next threat, only to be met with - bugs. He can't help the wrinkle of his snout anymore than he can help the softening of his smile just after, watching the lights blink in and out of existence. Once before, he'd seen these insects; they'd stumbled into camp, for some reason or another, and found their way to Wolfsong's den, wreathing themselves into Cygnetstare's fur. Cygnetstare. What was his mentor up to, he wonders? Is she alright? Have they gotten sick, too? Even now, is she waiting with bated breath for him to return, lungwort in tow? The idea of such scrutiny makes him squirm, his chest tightening, though his smile doesn't falter.
There's discussion about the fireflies - when they're most around, and what they might mean. A sign, Mouseflight suggests - good things are coming, Greeneyes adds. Could they really be some sort of sign? As far as he knows, they're just bugs, but StarClan works in strange ways, he supposes; that fishbone Wolfsong had found is proof of that. Such talk is almost enough to distract him from another memory tied to the blinking insects - it hadn't just been Cygnetstare there to observe them, not even just Wolfsong, either. Another hulking figure lurks in the back of his mind, black and white and sturdy and traitorous, his mind supplies, even as he can't help but remember the way Badgermoon had followed after him, watching over him that day. They're like stars, he had agreed, Duskpool points out, and seeing the gentle blinking now, a frown tugs at Luckypaw's maw, smile flickering just like the very insects they had gathered to watch.
Like stars - like Little Wolf, somewhere up there among the real stars. Like Badgermoon might as well be, if he's not already gone up there to meet with the departed. Suddenly, the gentle glow of the insects doesn't seem that inviting - not when there's so many thoughts tied to them that he'd rather not focus on, not right now. Are they a sign after all, he wonders? Whether they are or not, there's no denying that they are pretty, even if their glow strikes home in his torn heart. He'll just have to - he'll have to focus on the good, focus on the positive tied to them. Luckypaw can do that, right? That had been the first time he'd met Cygnetstare proper, hadn't it been? Or, at least the first time he'd actually approached her, too off-put by her...well, off demeanor before. They're certainly still strange, he won't deny that, but the thought of being scared of them now just feels silly, having spent so much time relying on her in the tunnels.
"I've only seen them once - they got into camp, landed right on my mentor. Made her look all, glow-y, y'know," he adds softly, not yet willing to tear his gaze away from the gently flickering lights even to join the conversation. It feels right, to recount the memory aloud - and yet, it also feels strange, speaking of Cygnetstare to these cats, whether by name or only by mention. Like...like the two don't belong together, the WindClanners back home and those before him. It's a strange feeling, and one Luckypaw finds he doesn't particularly like; instead of investigating it, wallowing in it, he instead watches a firefly drift lazily across his field of vision, moving with no sense of urgency, as though it has nowhere to be. Or, maybe that's just the best it can do, ill-equipped for strenuous circumstances. Regardless, it's enjoyable to watch its journey from an outside perspective, huddled near cats that were complete strangers not too long ago. Funny how things work, he thinks, his smile smaller but still clinging on, determined.
