private WOLF IN RABBIT CLOTHES 𓆩♡𓆪 "DOEBLAZE"

[DAWNGLARE]

There is a witch amongst them, one that's been allowed to wriggle too - deep into SkyClan's skin. A stray, that's what she'd been. Dingy and unsubstantial and laden with kits that'd grow up to be leeches alongside her. Nothing, no one, and yet she seized the heart — swallowed it whole, emerged a wreck and thought herself worthy enough to wear its name. The cruelest of ironies; poison that has steeped and steeped and they cared not to hide it any longer. What did she put her up to? Orangestar, that was. It was his first thought. The second: Orangestar would be fool enough to bestow it without coercion. Birds of a feather, two insignificant, twittering things, the both of them thinking they were above the world simply because they bore wings. The sky stretched so much farther than they could see, the stars was worlds away from them... Compared to the very worms in the dirt, he supposes they were the closest any soul could get to that high up place... But he was no worm. Not any soul.

" You " A single syllable knee - deep in malice. He does not dally upon his intensions, does not hold back the clench of his jaw or irate rattling of his tail... A small eternity of holding his tongue has left his itch unscratched; the need for resolution... Divine wrath rained upon her swift — that's what she deserved, and patiently he waited, waited, waited, waited... ( Did Blazestar have no care in the world, up there? Did he relish in how safe it made her feel? In the anguish it made him feel? What show of goodwill would it be, were the heavens to strike her down before his eyes... He'd absolve it all quickly, fall to his knees and breathe a prayer... ) An exhilarated twitch crosses his face for a moment, but he dares not up his dull hopes...

On a whim, he untethers that restraint. Doe eyes on the horizon send him into a blustery rage. As her clanmates mill aimlessly elsewhere, Dawnglare surges toward her with a quickness, coldfire eyes flaming with intent. Would she buckle the way she ought to – an oppressive forward looming ought to goad her a few steps back. The corner of camp is devoid of sunlight, shaded by towering pine. " I have no... respect for the name Orangestar has given you. " that word — respect is spat like a curse. His hiss drawls his words and presses against bared teeth. " Should I – Should I say that it was a name she even gave, or should I say you had her do so? " The accusation is made with a lash of his tail. " Neither of you — it is a permission neither of you have. "

OOC. @DOEBLAZE

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[DOEBLAZE]

She has not spoken to Dawnglare much, in the great sprawling after that has become her life. There had been no great friendship between them, forced by their shared proximity to Blazestar's light—no, it had been the opposite, in fact. From the day she had termed the great golden tom friend, she had made an enemy of the vulpine medicine cat. Not quite a rivalry the same as the one she splits with Slate, one defined by muttered arguments and levelled glares—no, this one is all silence. It's crafted in the way she avoids the medicine den unless absolutely necessary, the way he, too, abstains from her presence when he can.

Often, she wonders at how he had raised up Fireflyglow into the medicine cat he is—for the pointed tom is as understanding as they come, kind and with a heart as gilt - dipped as his father. A polar opposite to Dawnglare, with his dead - wide blue eyes and pointed disinterest in the well - being of his rotating carousel of charges.

He finds her name undeserved, then—if he did not say it, he would show it in the frost of fury that lines sky - blues, the way he roils like a tempest with each intruding step. And she would agree with him, but she would not give him the satisfaction—she does not falter as he charges forth, even as discomfort twines serpentine down her spine at his proximity, the nearness of rime - blue eyes and drawn - back lips. Her own white muzzle buckles, tabby - stained bridge drawing into a rumple of displeasure as she steadies her taut forelimbs, stares up at him with her jaw set in a grim line.

" It's good I feed on prey and not respect, then, " she retorts, letting her pearl - gleaming fangs peek from the scarred cream of her muzzle. Grief is a squall in her chest each day, bleak and blackened, but it does not breathe of understanding—not for him, anyways, for the reason driving his displeasure - dripping tone. " I asked she honor him with my name, " she concedes when he has finished, hoarfrost splintering her hoarse voice into shards of ice, lining each syllable in rime.

" It's a permission not yours to give, " she replies, frostbite burning in her chest, compelling her to step forth until they are nearly muzzle - to - muzzle if not for the yawning chasm of height between them, a returning challenge. She keeps a handle on her temper, today, but barely—tufts of lilac twist into wolfish hackles, white - crescent claws sinking into pine - carpeted earth. " Tell me, do you think he'd be opposed to it? I'm all ears. "

OOC : —

♥︎

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[DAWNGLARE]

No respect for her place, one well - trodden, low beneath the dirt. For the corpse that they buried should have been hers. Nothing, no one, when compared of that of her leader, her mate. Fool that he was, he has done things that she could not hope for. For as long as Blazestar would be remembered, revered, spoken of with sighed soft word, se would only ever be pitied, remembered as only one of the pitiful shadows he had left behind. She meets his gleam of teeth with her own, sickening audacity gleaming in unclean eyes. There goes the admission: I asked she honor him with my name; and he cuts in swiftly: " You have no right, " and ruddy hackles rise. " And Orangestar... " should have never given in to such a demand. What privellege it was to walk among them, and still she takes and takes and takes.

" Never— Never once have I claimed that permission is mine, " he rumbles. And what should he have expected from day's killer, but sacrilege in defiance, the step into his space. The attention she demands is like that of a maggot, only left to feed off of those with more purpose than she could ever hope to have. Dawnglare sees her as such, spells it clear with the cruel narrow of his eyes past the bridge of his nose. " I know precisely where I stand. " word pressed thin with a hiss wrought in bile. He breathes hot through his nose, seeks to tell her of her utter insignificance with a blistering look alone. A set of claws slip free from their sheathes, tempted by that prospect — justice, retribution. She ought to have more taken from her. Eye for a corpse — just what sense had that ever made?

" I think... " He swallows, and so suddenly, the fact rushes toward him: that Blazestar had not died his friend. Whatever had been left amongst the rubble... it was not rivalry, not a thing between enemies, perhaps not even bitter distate had lingered... but it had not been friendship, not been that thing he'd always figured. No — never figured, because Blaise was never supposed to die. None of this was meant to happen. Did she know that? Did he know, watching from his star - crossed throne?

He lurches, but he speaks, warbled out with owl eyes and teeth that feel loose in his maw. " I think Blazestar was a fool. " A curved spine pulls him closer to her feeble face, though it was more than proximity that made her dirt, and that made him saint. " Whatever he opposed... made the mistake of caring too much for him. " he breathes. " Whatever he did not got him killed."

" Are we not long past the point of believing he knows best for himself? " he breathes. " I suppose that blindness is what he chose you for. "

OOC: umm ignore how late this is

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