WOULD YOU PUT ME, OUT OF MY MISERY ✿ dawnglare

[Daisyflight]

"SUREFIRE, YEAH, THE SETTING SUN WANTS COMPANY"​

She had to contend with the facts. Her shoulder was dire, and no snow-poltice or fresh air would cure it. On the streets, Daisyflight might have simply accepted her fate and fallen in dignity. However, she had her family and clan to care for- and a ruinous scratch would not be the death of her.

Said wound crackled in pain, welding heat tight to the bone of her forepaw. Pride had held her aloft for days now, but the blistering- unsightly- thing slipped its hooks deeper. Strict grooming could not help when there was no fur to tend to. And this wretched cold! Waking to a limb so numb it felt lost to the snow tail lengths away certainly wasn’t helping.

So the warrior clambered, gingerly, to Dawnglare’s den. Cats fled from that hazel bush with frivolous herbs still staining their teeth, snouts aghast at the bitterness. Yet they healed. Ailments that struck down spritely cats in her old home were roaming the pine forest soon enough. Perhaps, it did wor- Daisyflight wrinkled her nose, puffing a frost-soaked breath along her whiskers. Starclan was such baffling business.

Seeking eyes, steeped in venom, waned with every moment upright. Begrudgingly, she admitted it was time to try whatever could be tried. Once his mahogany shape sullied her view, the calico justified her limp stance with a breath.

"I, need your-" Unspoken words, static, taunted an irritated flicker from her pewter-wrought tail. She could not ask for help from this star-smoked fanatic. "-advice. My shoulder." Daisyflight bowed her stiff frame, stifling a murmur as ache burnt fiercely to agony. The medicine cat’s eyes were no doubt cloaked in some concoction of zealotry, self-satisfaction. She could not meet them, the energy to do so was simply better spent elsewhere. Perhaps a slow death beside a twoleg-nest would have been cleaner…

/ @DAWNGLARE
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[DAWNGLARE]

Who was he, but a humble healer? Sent to spread his wisdom in any way he could. Someone who brings life at their very heels; someone who indulges in the fragileness of mortal-kind, no matter how taxing, no matter the work. He spits his word no matter the reception. Hardly shy, no. He always speaks. What was he to do really, for those too foolish to heed his words? He would not chase. He would not pry. Their deaths would only be their own. Sunken in this leaf-bare, season of chill; the purge weighs upon them chill. Lingering, enticed. It wraps cleanly around the shoulder of a few poor unfortunate souls. For some, his service denied... That was fine. They would die cold and alone.

Never has he needed to live in this cold. But Mother speaks to him, nonetheless, and with Her guidance, he thrives. A fool would only choose to submurge themselves, nestle knee-deep in the ashes of the fallen. Tucked private, away, there's no need to make such a sacrifice. An idle tongue makes work lavishing over downy red fur. The quickest way to stifle a chill.

Though it's certainly there– Oh, it washes over him thick, a blistering cloud of sickness. Tongue peeking between teeth, he turns and looks. It's a feat, she achieves, looking more sorry than she did on any other day. Begradgled, begrudging; he could rip her apart. His claws drum where they dig against sunken peat. It isn't until she bows, that he takes the time to halt his progress. Eyes widen a fraction. Thin-pressed lips lilt; slightest of smiles. "Advice?" he repeats it to spell ridiculousness. What non-death advice could he give through word? "You need more than advice," he tells her, though he makes no move to offer. Perfectly content, perfectly prim; he does not move so much as an inch. Does not shudder against the cold.

And his smile only widens. Not consciously, no. Swirling, swirling glee. The tip of his tail twitches, sweet anticipation. "You can't even look at me," he remarks with a coo. One left unseen, but there nonetheless. Was he so cruel as to force her to? To deny her service until she lifts her sullen face. Bothersome, pathetic; he didn't even think he wanted to see it.

He would do her a favor. Closer, closer, he lins. A days-wide grin betrays heaven-bound bliss. "I th-ink... There's something else you nee-d ♪" He keeps her on the edge, never quite breaches the offer. But it hangs, it hangs. No, her salvation was not an impossibility. Her salvation was and would be garunteed while her soul was far from the stars, but that didn't mean he couldn't drag what he wanted out in the process. "And I want to hear you say it." Patient, ever patient. Oh, he could wait all day.​

 

[Daisyflight]

"SUREFIRE, YEAH, THE SETTING SUN WANTS COMPANY"​

He was mocking her- the spirit-rot tom was singing spite amongst his ‘hallowed’ den, insufferable tone, raven-like… Claws, sharp with fury, cored the earth below her, perhaps so deep as to kill his ailing mother. Daisyflight could kill him- she could! No doubt his spine was as weak as hazel wattle, he’d be mewling after a single strike. That fraudulent confidence of his, built of smoke and constellations, could be stricken at the sight of a spider. She could do so much worst. A wound-web, every mark her own…

She met his cornflower eyes with deceptive calm, betrayed only by the odd roundness of her own, smashed-glass-green. The warrior saw a mosaic of fantasies in that half-breath, the medicine cat’s head sloughing off, his paws split into flame and ravens ladling ichor from his sockets so enthusiastically his herbs grew slick with blood. Oxygen hissed between an ominously parted jaw before seeping back in, bringing with it some sense.

Daisyflight blinked, snake-like, and her loathing mellowed to a measured disgust. She did not want to kill anyone, as tempting as it might be. As much of a service it might be. Scaring him was not an option either, Blaze would not be pleased. And she did- she did need his help.

The calico unwound from her position, the cotton-throat tom seemed to get far too much enjoyment out of her condition, and sat with as much dignity as she could afford. She let the silence sit, let him stew in his own sour satisfaction, before unquestionably granting him more.

"I need your help." If it didn’t hurt her shoulder so much, she’d be staring at her unsheathed claws. Daisyflight did not like how easily he riled her old self, the one that spat words like they were arrows- because she feared their bite on her own back. "Your healing… or whatever inane word you use.” He was lucky Blaze liked him, that she had a family to care for.​

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