WEEDS IN THE ORCHARD ; dawnglare

[ThistleBack]

Lumbering like an overworked mule, stiff muscles and uneven steps make for a pausing warrior making his way to the madman’s den. Grinding teeth, and a wound on the mend right near the bob of his throat. While he had paused his battle training, he was restless to return to duties- agitated.

He stops once more, breathing in the cleaner air before the stench of medicine smothers him. He swallows down the threat of throwing up as he walks in, over and over as he grimaces. " Dawnglare. Good evening.... I’m not here to do my mate’s bidding " he jests, he knew Dawnglare had some strangely decorated dislike for Deersong but unless that was a threat, he’d pay humor and lighthearted comment where it was due until or if then. " It itches, and it still bleeds sometimes. " he reports on his wounded neck where four long slices painted above a nicked collar, suddenly feeling rather awkward. If there was anything that made his jaws clench, it was having to ask for help and being close to another who wasn’t his mate or children. One could blame the former life of a selfish criminal stray, however.

" I have two apprentices to attend to. Any setback in their training is critical. Such as the wounds you have tended lately.... which is, much appreciated " he quickly follows his formal greeting. He stands stiffly, feeling like a burr among florals. The scent of herbal poultices already driving nails into his skull. He hadn’t been in here since his kits were born, and before that? He was attacked on the ear by Twoleg tricks. Suddenly this brings the memory of Coyotepaw’s small voice declaring vengeance. Suddenly, Thistleback is further agitated by glimpses of the past.

He tunes against dark thoughts though, instead- focuses his attention on the strange man. A question always on the tip of his teeth for the mysterious and occasionally vexing, Dawnglare.

​

OOC INFO REF

• — @DAWNGLARE
  
  
• 
  
  
  ✧ T H I S T L E B A C K
  thirty-three moons
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan
  — taken by
  Deersong 9.29.22
  — mentoring quillpaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
  OPEN for Dice battles | stine#3004
  
• 
  
  

​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Oh, he's amongst the last of the voices he'd like to hear. Amongst the last of the faces he'd like to see. Thick-boned along with his skull. In the wake of the raid, he hardly wanted any old soul within his den. And, so close to its maw, Dawnglare whips to face him, breakneck speed. His eyes blaze accusing, but this one does not seem aware of the inherent tension. Casual... even though his injuries clearly wove pain into the cracks of his face.

Near-immediately, Dawnglare dismisses him, though the first words from rubber-black lips catch him quick enough not to. Icecap eyes lie upon the warrior, jittering as he... searches. It being in nature, a joke, is lost on him completely. So he was hear to spin tales of piece... Their interests would never be aligned. So much is true, but he may resolve himself to a treaty. Long bout of silence, before Dawnglare resigns himself with a low acknowledging hum.

He makes his case, though it's wholly unnecessary. The circumstances surrounding his injury were unimportant to him. Only what the problem was, and what it would cost. Dawnglare regards him like a strange piece of prey. And its... amusing how he addresses him. Exchanges that so far, had always been little more than in passing, was now framed in satin curtains. He makes sure his prophet knows he is grateful. (And oh, he should be.) Smarter than he seems, this one. More of a mind than many others. Dawnglare smiles, just slightly.

Perhaps another day, the notions of still suffering would please him. But for now, it remained only irritating. Especially with Blaise's wish that any soul, good or no, should be healed with Her blessings, Dawnglare hardly wanted to deal with this, nor the dwindling of his stock. Mother provided a bit too-apt, an executioner. Wonderful, wonderous on her end; but for these nagging ants... not quite so. With a resigned click of his teeth, he beckons the tom closer.

Making for the cobweb– dutifully bundled around sticks by his apprentice, which he must admit, is convenient– he muses aloud. "Perhaps they had been freed from their silken prison too soon..." Marigold nearly seemed a miracle worker in these times. But when it was already so limited, he didn't wish to waste it on days-old wounds... If he were someone more deserving, maybe. The job would be swift. He'd nearly lament bringing him in here for something so small.

"You're awfully dedicated," suddenly, he says, and his head tilts toward the piebald just so. Enough to gaze at him out the corner of his eye. Downturned lids, his gaze is... assessing. "And you're sure the ones you dedicate yourself to are deserving?"​

 

[ThistleBack]

Being beckoned over by the willowy flamboyant, it gave Thistleback time to wonder why he was even seeking such tedious attention to his wounds. Though, he can easily vouch for the timely effectiveness as opposed to healing on the streets. He was just, uneasy in close quarters with anyone really. How long had it even taken to grow close to Deersong, the lifetime of a kit to apprentice. He wasn’t, so easily beckoned. Not out of fear, that’d be a laughable notion- but out of pure, bug under the skin crawling feeling.

He speaks, seemingly to himself. Not an unusual act, the comment and side-eye however lead for the warrior to assume he was now the object of this madman’s rambles.

dedicated, Thistleback had never been anything but, only his dedications got significantly less selfish and kinder. " we build habits, then they build us " he rolls his muscled shoulders, hackles flipping with the rotation like stacks of black thorns.

you’re sure the ones you dedicate yourself to are deserving, " not in the slightest. " a low laugh rasps from his lips and his barbed tongue toys between his teeth. " once they have become resilient, disciplined, and able warriors, then they have proved themselves deserving. Although, being a father has taught me- a certain patience " he brandishes his truth as if it were a weapon, grimacing after the word patience. He hated admitting his tolerance.

" you’re awfully dedicated yourself, tell me. Are we, deserving? " he cracks a smile, eyeing the light-catching silk of the cobwebs. He suspects not, had he ever seen Dawnglare close with anyone beyond Blazestar and his son?

​

OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• 
  
  
  ✧ T H I S T L E B A C K
  thirty-three moons
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan
  — taken by
  Deersong 9.29.22
  — mentoring quillpaw & snowpaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
  OPEN for Dice battles | stine#3004
  
• 
  
  

​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Dawnglare hums dully in acknowledgment, grasping the cobweb-wound stick in his teeth simultaneously. He makes his way to the other, stepping over the litterings of his own den (messes that were not messed properly. Violated, in regards to recent developments... To be replaced and respun... well, it would have to be done at some later date.)

What he says nexts surprises him, maybe. Dawnglare's brows quirk, just slightly. Such an admission he had assumed would be far out of the warrior's league. Self-awareness was hard to come by in these forests, and in its presence, Dawnglare cannot help but pause. Perhaps for the first time, he is an individual in his eyes. More than a force to be tampered with and controlled. His methods were madness, but a madness he knew. Dawnglare regards him strangely.

The pause is now screeched to a stop, with his final question then. The operation was simple, to reapply web to a wound, but perhaps he is not so keen on ending things, just yet. The puff of laughter is muffled around his bounty; and, not wanting to splinter his tongue, he sets it beside the other, just barely allowing the bark to brush against a midnight-thick pelt. Dawnglare cocks his head at him. Something strange, to be acknowledged for once. Pitched frost, his eyes narrow to the fool. "Hardly," he answers. It is the only world for awhile, as if he was content to leave it at just that. Certainly, he could, but his mind presses him further still. "I am bound by other orders and the goodwill of those demanding." He would be long-gone, otherwise, so long as Blaise and his family came with...

Would they? He was the one who ran into this place to begin with. That family would not exist without it. Foolish.

He lifts his chin, allowing ruddy willow to curl around the expanse of his neck. His stare says to follow, and with that compliance, he would apply the extra web. The solution to something would not always be more, but in this case, he would certainly like it to be. "If there is anyone to thank, it is them." Picking up from an old thought. And mumbled, onto the new. "If it bleeds again, we will try something else." Deal with the itching, is left unsaid.​

 

[ThistleBack]

The untidiness of the herbal fray digs at his visuals, having little to look at unless you wished to stare at the wall or watch a beasty lumber in his tomb of secrets and rambles. The conversation thus far, however, lit a torch in the darkness that seemed to cocoon them as the hazel leaves shift ever so audibly above pointed tattered ears. He felt like this place had survived the chaos of the large medic, and it looked as such.

Thistleback was the last to consider or prod the ribs of Dawnglare’s reclusive nature. Perhaps they were both spiders that spun this web for themselves. Only this man, was like a black widow in that respect. Venomous and tucked into the darkest corner.

Hardly, Thistleback’s tongue flashes as he smiles, licking his teeth in the way he does when he hears something that tickles him. With a pointed tilt of chin, following wordless orders seemed so oddly natural. Where had a man such as Dawnglare, truly sprout from? What consequence. He wonders as his neck itches furiously with the intrusion of touch. His throat bobs, and he growls lowly to soothe.

The medic is taking time, perhaps for once- unbothered by the presence of another but unlike the curious noses that sniff about. Thistleback clung to the edges of camp as a scarecrow is planted within the crops. The last time he had been in here, his children were brought into a cold world.

Reason should often be riddled, and most of the words expelled from him were often just that. Only this time, Dawnglare speaks quite plainly. " admirable " it’s fueled with aged humor. " I believe you and I, share some roots then. " It’s no secret, the only creatures alive deemed worthy of Dawnglare’s small mercies had Blazestar blood in their veins. Thistleback owed his life and family to that man too. Would rip and tear the flesh of any enemy of the bloodline for it.

" Fireflypaw looks up to you, practically imitates you. He’s good for you. " he tests, " I can tell he’s worth it for you. Maybe something else, but I hardly think that’s any of my business " Thistleback tilts his neck side to side, testing the strength of the new wrappings.

" I’ll get that son of a bitch back one day. " he murmurs, clearly talking about the culprit of his wounds. The face of the tabby, the liar’s tongue flicking like a lizard.

" we should be rolling their heads down the rabbit hills for trying to steal our herbs- they have no place under these stars anymore " he doesn’t move to leave just yet. " Perhaps that’s why I’m not deputy " he chuckles darkly. Thistleback would simply wage an endless war that’d stack the forest with blood and bones, Starclan knew that, didn’t they.

" what would you do ? what are your... thoughts. " it’s an open question, not daring the specifics but purely curious. If anyone had brains worth picking-

​

OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  Thirty-three moons EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan since 12.22.22
  — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22 | polyamorous
  — Father of Coyotepaw, Pricklepaw, and Eveningpaw.
  — mentoring Snowpaw graduate(s) Quillstrike
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
  OPEN for Dice battles | stine#3004
  
• 
  
  

​