- Jun 9, 2022
- 551
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Nostalgia tints his memories red. Bathed in blood, he walks the clearing... Smells the heather, the moor. Sickness so potent it has festered, and now made itself immovable. It is worse than an infected wound, oozing things that are rheumy and green. Worse than a bone that is shattered rather than cleanly cut. The time for it to be pieced together came and went moons ago... Atop this rock — within this clearing, the Clans present themselves with the open sore that is WindClan. Here, along borders, bleeding deep beside Mothermouth, threatening Her with sickness and bile... it is a spot of web they had refused to patch, and they all did suffer for it...
It is... hard to imagine that they could serve any purpose that is good. What did they do but bleed? But kill? Why — they drove things away with their madness. If there was anything Dawnglare could thank them for, it was this... And suddenly, with paws moving on their own, he seeks to do just this...
There were few names he knew outside of SkyClan. Sootstar had been one of them, and now she was in the dirt. Its not too late to thank her. With a held breath, he knocks an ear toward the ground. Then to the sky... but then... this incessant chatter... The next best thing, then...
" Sunstar, " it is a name he is surprised he knows, but it falls from his mouth like prophecy, when he sees him. Burnished and golden, false mimicry of something larger than him. Something that blisters, burns, blazes... sudden disgust at this fact draws him to a stop. Moonlit eyes trail elsewhere, and to no one, he remarks. " I'm not certain it belongs to you... " That name. That name. Pearly fangs begin to grind together, just barely hid by the jut of his lip. WindClan's leader is scrutinized thoroughly, the striking planes of his face and eyes deeper than his own. Sootstar had been a bite - sized wretch of a thing. This, somehow: the very opposite — spells only further misgiving. A bubbling cauldron of emotion has his tail tip twitching, the subtle flick growing to a full lash the longer he lingers.
This dialogue — one silent to even himself — is ended suddenly with a snap of his head. A tongue peaking at his own teeth reminds him of grinning fangs, and he is suddenly pliant, softening without subtlety and self - ordained to smile. Lazy, languid. " I should really thank you... " Irony etched into the purred word, for shoulds were not something he has ever been chained to. " Your endeavors made you easy to abandon. "
His smile stretches still, teeth filling pink gaps. Further, vile closeness is sought with the tom, if only so he may jeer low and honey - thick, like a secret exchanged: " I'll have you know... " A pause between the bat of his eyes. " I benefitted greatly from your wretchedness. " Would such a revelation disturb him?
It is... hard to imagine that they could serve any purpose that is good. What did they do but bleed? But kill? Why — they drove things away with their madness. If there was anything Dawnglare could thank them for, it was this... And suddenly, with paws moving on their own, he seeks to do just this...
There were few names he knew outside of SkyClan. Sootstar had been one of them, and now she was in the dirt. Its not too late to thank her. With a held breath, he knocks an ear toward the ground. Then to the sky... but then... this incessant chatter... The next best thing, then...
" Sunstar, " it is a name he is surprised he knows, but it falls from his mouth like prophecy, when he sees him. Burnished and golden, false mimicry of something larger than him. Something that blisters, burns, blazes... sudden disgust at this fact draws him to a stop. Moonlit eyes trail elsewhere, and to no one, he remarks. " I'm not certain it belongs to you... " That name. That name. Pearly fangs begin to grind together, just barely hid by the jut of his lip. WindClan's leader is scrutinized thoroughly, the striking planes of his face and eyes deeper than his own. Sootstar had been a bite - sized wretch of a thing. This, somehow: the very opposite — spells only further misgiving. A bubbling cauldron of emotion has his tail tip twitching, the subtle flick growing to a full lash the longer he lingers.
This dialogue — one silent to even himself — is ended suddenly with a snap of his head. A tongue peaking at his own teeth reminds him of grinning fangs, and he is suddenly pliant, softening without subtlety and self - ordained to smile. Lazy, languid. " I should really thank you... " Irony etched into the purred word, for shoulds were not something he has ever been chained to. " Your endeavors made you easy to abandon. "
His smile stretches still, teeth filling pink gaps. Further, vile closeness is sought with the tom, if only so he may jeer low and honey - thick, like a secret exchanged: " I'll have you know... " A pause between the bat of his eyes. " I benefitted greatly from your wretchedness. " Would such a revelation disturb him?
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