private with pity in your eyes ☾ dawnglare

[DOEBLAZE]

Bobbie hisses on instinct when the heavily perfumed poultice Dawnglare has prepared touches the ruin of her face. Her lone eye watches him sharply, jittering with each raise of a paw and flick of a tail, chasing after his movements. She can't remember if he gave her something for the pain or not, but the tabby suspects that even the strongest herb in the reddish medicine cat's arsenal would fall short in face of the pain spiderwebbing across her face. Tongues of fire have turned to banked embers, a dull throb that pulses like a heartbeat.

Like two heartbeats, intertwined.

"Sorry," she mews finally, after another hiss. It's impossible to follow the motion of a white paw, to tell whether it's whisker-lengths from her face or fox-lengths, so every dab of damp moss or bit of cobweb makes her flinch. Words are thorny on her tongue, catching barbed in her throat when all she wants to do is spit them out. "We were supposed to come see you together, you know." Bobbie pauses, stomach twisting painfully, grateful for the numbness and afraid of how she can feel it slowly bleeding away. "About the kits."

// @DAWNGLARE !!

"speech"

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[DAWNGLARE]

Run - ins with rogues have left his herb stores to dwindle this Leaf - Bare. No, it had not been his intention to leave Bobbie with a poultice of dried marigold and little else. If Blazestar had lived, he too would've been left with little to heal his aches. Infection would not come to him— but wound itself would only heal more slowly.. Had it been him, perhaps Dawnglare would've relished in the chance to hide him away from the world. Away from any thorns— small, but capable of drawing blood. With anything that had even the capcity to harm, Blazestar had seemed intent on letting it bleed him dry.

Of course, if they had both lived, Dawnglare would not have had enough for the both of them. And of course, were that the case, there was only one choice Blazestar would've ever let him make.

Damned fool.

His eyes still sting with tears as he plasters web to the soon - to - be - queen's torn visage. Sloppy, sloppy; he undoes and redoes, unwinds and winds back. A benign task that's become second nature over the moons is suddenly uncoordinated and strange. There is a tremor in his paw whenever he did lift it. Wrap and unwrap, thread and weave—

He draws back his paw; allows the sheet of web to be severed, and with that tell his mind that he is finished. He stares; stares at the gossamer sheen wound across her shredded face, and forces himself to be satisfied. But sorry did not satisfy him. Sorry is a drop of blood for the ocean of what she's created.

And the kits. Stars, the kits. He swallows thick, not wanting to entertain the potential of a lookalike staring him dead in the eye. (It floods to him, already, and he makes himself react for anything else, to stave that vision off). " Perhaps... " he sounds wretched, voice croaked from all the wailing he has don't, not nearly long enough ago. " ...Perhaps because you said it would be so, he did all that he could to keep it from happening. "

" That is what he always did to me, at least, " With a heavy breath, he remarks, " I suppose you were not exempt, after all. " I suppose you weren't so special, after all. It is not as much a relief as he'd dreamed it may be.

A WISE WOMAN SAID I'M ALIVE 🍷 NOBODY'S EVER TOLD HER SHE'S WRONG

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• ( I'M AS ALIVE AS HER BEARD IS LONG ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  𓆩♡𓆪 He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  𓆩♡𓆪 Currently 61 moons old as of 2.1.24. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest. Delusional and very much stuck in his ways. The death of his closest friend has helped him none, in this
  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

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