- Jun 9, 2022
- 602
- 408
- 63
For the both of them, their duties remained more - or - less bound to camp... and yet her path crossed with his less often than his did the path of warriors. Perhaps she was the most sane of all, hunkering away from danger rather than leaping toward it with lolling tongues and cotton heads. ...Then again, her chosen path was a different deal of delirium, drowning in droves of daft, drooling nonsense. For the sake of their very lives, cats need seek him out. Whereas Butterflytuft has little need for him, and Dawnglare has little need for her, in turn.
...Always there, though. She has always been there. Perhaps it suggests too much attention, to say he has watched her grow... but seen it, he absolutely has, out of the corner of his eye. At what point had she gone from a sniveling little thing, cowering at Blazestar's side, to a mother? Dawnglare cannot quite recall. It's a sudden thing, that he finds himself pondering the likeness between them. As Dawnglare has come to loathe where he is, has Butterflytuft done the same? Had a part of her died with him too? Or was the problem all him? The problem all... No, improbability. Impossibility.
He has dragged himself here, at some point or another. Through a stupor, he thinks, is the only time he would bring himself to the nursery willingly. He is gazing in — and in... was not where he found her, after all. A puzzled gaze drags back across camp, only to find Butterflytuft lingering by its walls, rather than within. Small mercy, that. Dawnglare picks his way forward, fur prickling uncomfortably against skin. Bone seems unfit for the body; soul seems unfit for the eyes. Dawnglare gazes down at her. He does not know what to say. " ...Hello, " Just so, he leans forward; observes the reality of her life. " Tell me, " he demands, pinched. " Are you... happy? "
...Always there, though. She has always been there. Perhaps it suggests too much attention, to say he has watched her grow... but seen it, he absolutely has, out of the corner of his eye. At what point had she gone from a sniveling little thing, cowering at Blazestar's side, to a mother? Dawnglare cannot quite recall. It's a sudden thing, that he finds himself pondering the likeness between them. As Dawnglare has come to loathe where he is, has Butterflytuft done the same? Had a part of her died with him too? Or was the problem all him? The problem all... No, improbability. Impossibility.
He has dragged himself here, at some point or another. Through a stupor, he thinks, is the only time he would bring himself to the nursery willingly. He is gazing in — and in... was not where he found her, after all. A puzzled gaze drags back across camp, only to find Butterflytuft lingering by its walls, rather than within. Small mercy, that. Dawnglare picks his way forward, fur prickling uncomfortably against skin. Bone seems unfit for the body; soul seems unfit for the eyes. Dawnglare gazes down at her. He does not know what to say. " ...Hello, " Just so, he leans forward; observes the reality of her life. " Tell me, " he demands, pinched. " Are you... happy? "