Seeking Perfection (MistxVole)

[Rolo]

((This is pretty crap -_- But I'm sure that if I don't post it now, I won't have much time to later.))

Volepelt wandered slowly through the forest, his steps light upon the lush ground. His head was held high, his back straight, as if there were some cat round to impress. It seemed that that was his eternal pose, he held himself with a rigidity which echoed the rest of this being. He was strict, dignified. He would not relax or laze around at any time, that truely was a sin.

The birds tweeted cheerily about him, filling the air with a delightful birdsong. The day was fresh and the sun warm, it was a beautiful day. Volepelt, however, only half-heartedly thanked Starclan for the wonderful day, his mind distracted with other things.

Volepelt sighed, seating himself at the foot of a large pine tree.

He had always imagined that, when he met Fogclan, he had finally met another clan with the purity to equal his old one. He had hoped greatly that this clan would become his new home... one where sins were dealt with correctly and provided a constant, stable set of rules. Yet, Fogclan was none of these things. It had fragments of regulations, an awful amount of disbelief and, worst of all, a weak female leader. This was usually a realisation that got him fired up... but today it just seemed to depress him.

His ears drooped slightly. For the first time in moons, he found himself pining for his old clan.

[Spec]

A finely slitted gaze, tampered with narrowed with perfection, stared purposefully out from the foliage. Leaves tickled her fur, brushing it in all different directions, an even lighter breeze rustling the air with it. Crouched underneath a low bent bush, the deputy – and soon to be leader – of Fogclan, waited with an eerie patience, eyes angled up towards a pair of sky breasted blue birds as they nestled together peaking at the remainder of a berry bush in front of her, occasionally serenading her in song. Now birds were a clever opportunity to make for decent tasting prey, tender flesh underneath a veil of bright feathers, prime for the huntress's harvest. A pine tree took root nearby, as a squirrel scurried leisurely atop a knots of tree limb, searching for food of its own. Of course she was hungry, but she always liked to dedicate her first catch to the clan, and perhaps even her second...the thought dawned a unreadable expression to her face, sea foam eyes glittering mysteriously from the darkness in which she cloaked herself. Ears perceptive to the sounds that they made, she barely gave them much heed, silently thanking Starclan for the opportunity of entertainment before dinner. A slight smirk cracked upon her partially opened maw, tasting the mingling scents for any other sign of prey and if they could be better than bird.

The scent she did distinguish was that of her clanmate, Volepelt to be precise, however, it made little difference. Mistpelt tensed, not of his approach, but that his motion would alert the birds to his presence, and could easily give her away if he spotted her. Hissing with a arch of her silvery tail, the she-cat refocused, pinning the birds underneath her merciless gaze. Her prey would fall from her fangs, she would taste blood, she would provide. As she suspected, as soon as Volepelt entered the clearing, the birds paused in their musical feed and stared intently upon the tom as he sat himself in front of the pine tree. Her cover remained undiscovered. Then, that's when the she-cat bared her fangs, knowing that their attention was heavily distracted in the opposite direction and would never see her coming if she darted out of the bushes to tear them from the sky. With this encouragement, the she-cat unleashed her tensed hind legs, springing her entire body forth from the foliage that once concealed her, and swiped at the two birds, now in her reach. Body poised in fatal grace, she felt feather inside of her jaws, in which promptly, she bit down, severing the spinal cord and ending the creatures life. Blood drenching her maw, she suddenly rounded upon Volepelt, swiftly turning on her paws to face the tom, eyes glittering with a moment's hostility before finally softening to their former (yet still predatory) stare. She smiled, welcoming his presence as part of her success, and equally thanking Starclan for sending him to her. Dropping the mangled bird at her feet, the she-cat's gaze once turned icy as she recognized the sort of moroseness from his expression. Frankly, she could find no reason for this behavior, and also noted that he was being particularly motionless without prey to boast. Why would a cat go into the forest if not to hunt? Well, the she-cat could dig up some reasons that didn't necessarily concern her now. “Hello Volepelt,” She curtly greeted the younger tom.”Are you making yourself useful by sitting there like a lump?” It was surprising to catch one of her companions laying on the job, let alone with such a distant look in his eyes. Her voice was solid, without pause or hesitation, tampered with somberness and a hint of...teasing jibe?

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[Rolo]

Volepelt blinked, his ears twitching slightly as Mistpelt sprung out of her hiding place. It surprised him, he hadn't noticed her presence at all, nor scented her. The wind was blowing the scent away from him, yes, but normally he was sharp enough to pinpoint a hidden cat in those conditions. Was he really that distracted? It disturbed him to think about it. Starclan would definitely not approve of living so solidly in the past, letting the day pass him by as he dwelled in his memories.

He stared blankly at the she-cat as she killed her prey, feeling nothing. He was not one to get embarrassed, nor one to greet or praise a cat warmly. He was completely indifferent to her, although her sharp hostility awakened a slight curiousity within him.

Still, Mistpelt's jibes did make him bare his teeth, his eyes narrowing slightly at the she-cat, for a moment before he acknowledged her properly. She was right, of course. He was sitting there, sinning blantantly in his idleness. Yet, Starclan was forgiving... it was only through coming to terms with his clan's dissolvement that he could move on, and that could only come about if he stopped and thought about it.

"Hello Mistpelt. Congratulations on the catch." He growled, voice dull. He turned to face her.

He paused for a moment, looking down at his paws. His image was a strange one... one that mixed a great sureness with an unmistakable kit-like quality.

"Sitting and pondering the day can be productive." He answered calmly, looking at her dully "If you do not sit and appreciate the day sometimes, you forget that it is there. If I forget that it is there, that I have a future even when all seems hopeless, then my belief will fade. I will become as useful as I was as an apprentice, questioning everything. So, I will help myself to believe first so doubts do not arise, then I shall hunt and help my clan whatever way I can."

His voice was sincere, lacking the usual bluntness he had. In fact, strangely, his words were more like the ones he used as an apprentice, soft and lacking power. He had conviction, yes, but his voice held little authority.

[Spec]

As much as Volepelt's appearance was familiar, his outward sense was strange upon her eyes. She had no idea what could be the matter with him, since she knew that he placed a wall around him, giving off cold airs and a balancing side of concise curtness, often times a bit too confident for her liking. But in that sense, she supposed they were a similar pair, belief wise, or all least, she hoped with a great a sudden surge of vigor that he spoke the very truth considering his faith. She had never known him to say anything but the truth, however, so she knew no direct reason to cast upon him her unwavering, even famous suspicion. As she suspected, though, it seemed Volepelt took an immediate response to her provoking words, meant to spark a flare of something she recognized – that being the kicker. The thin white lines of her lips curved into a sagely grin, brow arching elegantly as she settled her arrow tipped gaze upon him, against the silver markings of her face. It tickled her pelt when he addressed her promptly, lyrics dragged out from his jaws as if forced, barely rising to her alert and cocked ears. Whiskers twitching with sparse hints of amusement, she momentarily left her feathered catch to pad closer to the tom, tail smoothing out the air in her wake in wide strokes. “I see you're as enthusiastic as ever.” She muttered lightly, a dry sarcasm lacing her voice was she stretched out beside him, first addressing her front paws and arching her back accordingly to relieve the stiffness from her body from waiting over twenty minutes in such a demanding position. Turning her head back towards Volepelt, she cast him a wry sideways smirk, more out of habit than one of actual sincerity.

But, her gaze was not met, not when the tom averted his eyes to staring absently upon his paws. She was inwardly very taken aback by this behavior. Volepelt, in which she knew little flaw, seemed to lean towards the foolish, hesitant appearance of a newly named apprentice! How she wanted to laugh at such a notion! But, wisely, she held it at bay, even toning out the otherwise apparent amusement in her stare. His next speech also fell upon questioning ears, the deputy of Fogclan, sorted the truth from blabber, for that was what she deemed it to be. Of course, nothing of his words were highly out of the ordinary, it was how they were withheld, dejected with less sureness. Starclan knew, this wasn't something to dawdle upon, and her decision to aid this poor soul out shined her instinctual mocking, and often cruel responses. “You are to do whatever your superiors tell you to.” Unlike his, her voice was painstaking sharp, and quick to the point. She grinned softly at this, more self consciously knowing that he would have to do as his deputy desired. But then again, she quickly addressed her other thoughts, this time, with a more ponderous, almost uncharacteristically softer tone. “Starclan never lets me forget something so important as Their creation. Production in general, however, can only be encouraged by thought and pondering, but as of everything, it has it's time and place.” She paused once before continuing, a bit more lax. “I must say though, Starclan favored my hunt today by sending you to me.” Behind her, her silver striped tail tapped the ground mutely, glancing over her shoulder at the tom while she remained less that a stride beside him, offering him her presence and spiritual aura, to lend him strength perhaps.

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[Rolo]

Volepelt ignored the she-cat's jibe about his enthusiam.

"You asked me to do nothing, dear Mistpelt." He mewed clearly, gazing straight ahead at the landscape. His eyes flicked to hers, holding no challenge. "I cannot comply with your wishes if you do not place them upon me. After all, I will always obey my superiors if their wishes do not contradict Starclan's."

He stood, not moving his eyes from hers. They were certain of themselves but they held a definite dullness. It wasn't unusual for him to hold this look, seeing as nothing but talk of Starclan placed light in his eyes. His voice was frank and honest and, though he challenged Mistpelt slightly, he was not at all rebellious. He only spoke against her as he felt differently to her.

Volepelt felt like sighing. Why had Starclan cursed Fogclan with female leaders? Surely the stable paw of a male could lead the clan better?

"Besides," He continued, "I have told you I was being constructive by sitting and thinking. Surely as a cat of faith, you understand that we must sometimes do something to reaffirm our faith?"

He paused for a moment, realising that Mistpelt would think this was just an excuse. It was not. Mistpelt, though a Starclan believer, had a set of much different beliefs to him. She did not see that every believer was different and that they had different ways to praise Them. For him, appreciating the day every now and again was not only something he liked but had to do.

"And we differ, Mistpelt." His voice was low, but strangely calm. "I must reaffirm my belief as and when the need arises. Once I have helped myself, I will help the clan. I have been prone to forget that the day exists in the past... and it had disasterous consequences for my old clan. If I were to ignore my need to help myself believe now, I'd go backwards. After all... my sadness drove me to become one of the unpurest of them all before, I would rather not taint the clan with becoming it again."

[Spec]

The day, despite all its beauty was going by too slowly. Action could very well dominate thought with the pauses she was witnessing in this conversation, this mental confrontation. It was clear that he could very well possibly defy her, but then again...all of her ambitions ran alongside Starclan's, so no defiance would be announced. But any and all opposition would crumble into the dust. One voice, a single voice could forfeit the entitlement of her inheritance of Fogclan, to be intrusted into her paws, claws unsheathed or not. Mistpelt was not a cat of violence, but of correction. Not a hair would be harmed if she was met with a friendly willingness and a docile acceptance as this were her children, with one in question as being...something more. Absently, she licked her maw, catching the stray traces of crimson that dotted her muzzle from her hunt, which had previously been unwashed. With a soft note of a snicker, the she-cat openly responded to his stern appraisal of her not commanding him to do anything – as well as his charming namesake, a real she-cat charmer without any doubt in her mind. This, obviously though, was sarcasm. Though, with all possible intention, a smile tugged along her lips. “Naturally.” So he was already assuming that she had orders to give? Why, he was on his way to deputyship sooner than he though!

Yet, all good things come to an end, and with this happy ending, it shattered into a million pieces as he continued. Reaffirming her faith? Her faith? There was simply nothing to reaffirm, as simple or as complex as that. But, if he desired to placidly himself aimlessly, then she prayed for his soul safe transverse through Starclan's judgment. Every cat, even as he so bluntly spoke against, must act as one, one set mind and belief without contradiction or hesitance, with included idleness. Very much, Volepelt and Mistpelt differed greatly in this mindset upon opposite shores. This however, was not the cause of her sudden anger. As he spoke of his confession, she couldn't help but allow her casual grin to melt from her face, a frown forming at the mouth. Indeed, she applauded him for his truthfulness, but again, she could see flaw in his character, or his passed sins. He himself did not seem completely detached from them, and because of that, couldn't forget and allow Starclan's forgiveness to grant him new beginning, or at least, a whole one. If that were the case, then sadness was not an option. He wouldn't have the chance to corrupt her clan, not when she still drew breath into her body. Only a great surge of self patience held her from turning away from him and leaving to go back to camp. Instead, she swallowed her anger and morphed into a haughty calmness, glancing at him severely before allowing her voice to escape in honeylike folds, yet surprising curt and laced with winter.“See to it that you don't.” Turning her back from him, she sniffed at her catch, glaring at it coldly. “We're going back to camp.” Before scooping up her catch and padding (slowly) through the forest, in which to allow the tom to catch up to her. Perhaps then, they could continue the conversation further into the grip of Starclan's divine creation. Breathing in deeply, she willed Their calming breath through her lungs and listened to her surroundings in turn.

[Rolo]

Volepelt smiled back, nodding placidly at Mistpelt's agreement. He still felt a 'warmth' that lightened his soul whenever he was accepted by his superiors or experienced friendliness. He felt it was Starclan's indication that he was doing right. He had learnt that when he was younger. Do wrong and you will invoke pain, do right and your life can only be filled with pleasure. Of course, this wasn't his old clan, so a cat being nice to one who didn't deserve it was common (and a practice he hated with every fibre of his heart), so it didn't quite work that way these days. However, with Mistpelt, a cat of high faith, he knew she would treat him only how he deserved, whether that be nicely or nastily.

So, he grinned at her, his face full with happiness.

However, when he continued his speech... he could sense the chill in the air. He had felt this chill before... many many times, so he was completely prepared for the rush of emotions that overtook him. A pang of remorse, a bitter sadness that grew in his heart and made him unable to think of anything else. This emotion was something he dreaded wholeheartedly. The cold realisation that he had done wrong and that he had gone backwards set a chill in his heart. It made him want to yowl in anger, for letting himself slip so horrendously. He was a sickening being, one full of sin. This made him hate himself.

Yet, at the same time he felt an icy calm. He knew he had done wrong, now he could better himself and become an even purer cat. The feeling of knowing he had done wrong set a deep fear, of Starclan's wrath, in his heart, yet was so comforting too. He liked knowing he'd done wrong. He loved it even. He hadn't known when he'd done wrong in moons, there had been no strong believers to do it, but now he did. It was like being in his old clan again, a place where strict regulation and predictability was paramount.

Perhaps there was hope in Mistpelt?

It took Volepelt a little time to realise that Mistpelt had started to move, caught up too much in his own sudden and fierce desire to hear her cold words. When his eyes finally focused back upon her, he enjoyed her dismissive stance and he wasn't in the least put off by it. No. He loved it. In fact, it only served to drive him more.

In a flash he was on his feet, dashing forward wildly. His usually dignified manner was gone, replaced with a frantic air and a look of utter desperation filled in his eyes. Without even a second's thought, he rushed in front of Mistpelt, crouching low submissively.

"Mistpelt, Mistpelt!" He yowled at her, his entire body moving with the force of his words, "Tell me what I have done wrong! Please, I beg you!"

He barely held back the tears. His calls were a cry for help, so unadulterated and lacking in dignity he sounded more like a kit than a warrior. His entire body yearned to feel the pain of a guiding paw, the sting he would feel as the sins he had committed were repaid. Mistpelt was the only one who understood... who would give him what he wanted. He craved it so much.

"Punish me! Punish me!" He hissed, his voice low. He gazed up at her, unflinching, "I beg you, Mistpelt. I need your guiding paw. I need a ruler. I need someone to keep me on the right path. Owlstar is inadaquate, sinful even. I've spent so long not knowing when I have sinned... so long not paying for them. It pains me. You understand. Please help me! Hurt me! Purge my soul of sin!"

He called to her, pleaded her. Though the request was a strange one, though not in his own mind for it was his norm, he called as naturally to her as a kit might plead for love. Indeed, pain was his own love. If someone hurt him, they cared enough to help... he only hoped Mistpelt loved him enough and felt him worthy enough to be cleared of sin.

[Spec]

Her mind was elsewhere, more important matters, of the uprising. It all made so much sense to her now, this lunging churning sensation that sloshed around in her gut, burning a fiery trail down her throat. Her heart beat robotically, goal blazing in her mind, picture clear as Starclan's glorious dawn – and what a dawning new era it will be. Everything else seemed so trivial, so distant, prey gripped in her jaws trickling a trail of thinned blood mixed with her saliva as she padded forward. Truthfully, she was still unaware if her companion had intended to pad after her shadow, bound ahead defiantly, or remain frozen and slothful in his ways beneath the oak in which she left him. Even now, her judgment, clouded with darkening ambition, sorted Volepelt as weak, more fragile than ever. She tasted blood when her jaws clamped down harder on the bird's body, bones poking the inside of her mouth as she shook off the feeling of being filthy, as if her entire body, beautiful with undieing faith, was dripping with mud or dirt, probably both. A gust of wind assaulted her back, making every hair on her pelt prick with irritation. She had only begun to glance over her shoulder, when a blurry outline of Volepelt sailed through the space beside her, barely avoiding a rather uncomfortable collision. The she-cat recoiled with subtle disgust, glaring down at the tom as she silently demanded why in the name of Starclan was he growing more vexing. She was about to shoulder passed him, but the angle of his frame inclined in such a way that ultimately forced Mistpelt to remain where she was, without any further need of motion. As if time itself were suspended upon the air surrounding them, the fowl dropped from her jaws, momentarily stunned by his outburst. Her mouth, kept partially parted, had increased traces of self satisfaction, and swiftly recovered from her previously , albeit mildly shocked state.

Needless to say, his pleas did not go on deaf ears, blinded senses, or otherwise an unworthy feline. Yet despite his most passionate beseech, she bit back her tongue, patience and seeding anxiousness guiding her as she waited for this immense and painstakingly cultivated confession to cease. He was on the verge of collapse, and it left a queer feeling in the pit of her heart, a quivering...yet not something of loathing or guilt, but of excitement. There she was again, a learning apprentice awaiting her first hunt, her first kill underneath a jaw full of unyielding teeth. Now, cowering and demanding for the rapturous relief of sin, she felt a growing pity, an overwhelming need to quench his thirst. How could she, in her right of heart and soul, witness such heart-wrenching pleading for absolution and not feel a shred of remorse? Her chest leaped with the opportunity that presented itself to her, love threatening to burst through her shadowed core as every emotion she ever felt for this pitiful tom reigned over her senses. All she wanted to do was set him free. “My child, you are tainted by impurity...” This was her first speech, lyrics choking the air with an eerie aura of sincerity, bitter truth that seeped like poison from her lips. “I shall send those infernal demons to the fires of judgment, purge you of sin and save you. But you! Press with every fiber of your being! Liberty must be earned!” With every word, her tone increased, urging the flames that would devour all his unrighteousness with in her blazing gaze, stretched wildly as they seared a smoldering path to his soul. Claws twitched from their ivory sheaths, raking the ground where she stood poised to deliver the blows that would save him from his demons. Yes...he needed to be punished, and as her paw arched, she knew that this was only -only- the very beginning. A sickening lurch forced a stream of blood to burst through Volepelt's flesh, jagged slash marks visible through his dark pelt. Yet, the merciful she-cat did not halt, not ever in mid swipe. Alas, so much was her love that she battered him constantly, elegant paw drawing trickles of burning ichor into the air, drenching her claws in the his purged blood, leeched by her own desire. Blow after blow rained down upon him like exalted judgment, tearing into shoulder, flank...anything she could distance herself to reach. So great were his sins...so great the suffering, but her anger only increased, towering over a motionless and willing patient, knowing that he himself would be saved. Only when the she-cat nearly collapsed from lack of breath did she finally cease...breath raking her chest, heart pounding wildly as she regained her composure, stiffening and staring down at her handiwork. Her very heart was moved by her gift, so careful and precise her blows fell to rid her dear friend of his ills. It was times like this where she truly scolded herself for having such a gentle and gracious spirit.

[Rolo]

Volepelt allowed Mistpelt to strike every blow, making no effort to move. His face had visably calmed when the she-cat had uttered that, as he was impure, she would help him, yet as she raised her paw his face became muted of emotion.

Though his heart was screaming with joy, he knew that grinning at a punishment was sin in itself. Smiling at such a moment was inappropriate, could be seen as devious and would indicate that he felt no remorse. Of course, that wasn't the case. Nope. He didn't like getting hurt, for that would truly be insane, but the prospect of becoming purer always lightened his heart. If he grinned now, it wouldn't be from insolence but happiness that there was now someone to guide him, for that was something to celebrate in itself.

As Mistpelt's blows rained down upon him, he remained motionless. His feelings were hidden once again, the only indication that he registered the attacks was a slight flinch every now and again when the faithful she-cat's claws went particularly deep or hit a sensitive spot. He bore the punishment as a warrior should; with honour and acception.

Soon his body was stinging wildly, his breathing halting as he attempted not to yowl. It was agony, he registered every blow and, with each surge of pain, he fought to keep his face from contorting wildly. Yet, in this pain, he found bliss. With every strike, he could feel his happiness returning, his need to turn to memories fading. It was as if his heart was becoming lighter with each stroke, Starclan's blessing filled his soul.

When Mistpelt finally drew away, he finally dared to breath. It felt as if everything stilled, every aspect of existing serving to help him feel pure. The blood running off of his brown pelt caressed him, the stings of his wounds broughy the beauty of reality to the front of his mind, the scents of the forest, as it mixed with his own blood, soothed him. His mind was serene as his body cried in pain.

Volepelt raised his head, taking in Mistpelt properly for the first time. How mighty she seemed now! How filled with grace! How could he have been so blind? Starclan had filled her with it's glory, giving her the power to see sin almost as well as Truth had done. He should never have doubted her. How he loved Starclan, sending him the one cat who could help him in his time of need. He thanked them profusely.

Perhaps there was hope... perhaps... perhaps...

He dared to hope.

Volepelt exhaled, slowly moving his body into a seating position. His dignity was back again, his stance was powerful once more. There was no more weakness. He would show no more weakness. He had become pure again, and that way he would stay.

He dipped his head and shoulders sincerely in a low bow, "Thankyou, Mistpelt. I am unworthy, you are gratious indeed. I shall not sin again, and if I do dirty my paws I give you permission to punish me again." He spoke the traditional reply required when you had recieved a punishment from a merciful cat in his old clan.

He looked up at her, letting a smile cross his face. For once, it was not forced. No, though he was unused to smiling, he found it naturally forming on his features. He loved Mistpelt. She was strong and worthy of praise... he was only sad that she wasn't completely in control of the clan. If she was, he was sure it would be pure in no time...

"Dear Mistpelt," He mumbled, subdued, "You are indeed right. Liberty must be earned. I did so in the past, as I said, but I have been slipping without my old clan's regime. I cannot know if I am sinning if no cat tells me." He spoke frankly, more like his old self. "I am in your debt. If there is any thing I can do to repay you, do let me know. I shall perform it without question, as long as it is in line with Starclan's wishes."

He almost added more. He nearly spoke of his switch of loyalties, from Owlstar to her. On the tip of his tongue was talk of love and praise, but he let it stay unspoken. He would follow Mistpelt, yes, but he would not pledge his loyalty to Mistpelt verbally lest he became trecherous and sinful to his clan in halting his faith in Owlstar.

[Spec]

Claws still wet with streaks of thickly mattered crimson, the she-cat stared reverently upon her newest creation, the being she had personally molded to be her perfect soldier, enforcer of her will. As much as she donned a ferociously noble stance, air still racked her body, jaws panting from behind a wall of bared fangs. Her whiskers twitched in a vain attempt to cast the blood from her face, the tiny pinpricks of his life blood placing a scarlet hued touch against her predominantly ivory muzzle and chin, while the color was bold enough to penetrate the darker rims around her intense eyes, the color of a sea after a storm, now serene and adamant. Self satisfaction brimmed from every crack of her face, the sunlight casting dappled shadow across her frame as she bore herself regally, upholding herself in Starclan's heated gaze, caressed with blessing as it washed over her. How she longed to cling onto this feeling of self worth, the pride that burned trails of silver and love throughout her entire body, welcoming the immediate sense of relief in knowing that she had saved her dear companion from almost certain damnation. Cranium held high, she reclined onto her feathery haunches, physically exasperated and at the same time, spiritually lifted and rejuvenated. A small, barely recognizable smile graced her lips, eyes narrowing fondly upon Volepelt as he followed suit, seating himself gingerly in front of her, bathed in his blood ; a eternal testament to her own affection and love for this brown pelted tom who so keenly attracted her interest like moths to flame. Could this be a sign from Starclan that Volepelt was finally worthy of her teachings, to entrust the valuable information and prophecy of her vision? A airy chuckle wove its way up into her throat, subsiding mutely from her jaws instead replaced by a ethereal purr, the gentlest coo. Two strong hearted cats sat vigil in silence, steeling eyes sharpened in the Truth that was just witnessed.

Oh how sweetly he spoke, as she watched his whole body melt into one of extreme gratitude, inclining both skull and shoulders in a elegant arch as much as his marked body would allow. There he stayed, chanting a melody of thankfulness, dipped in submission. His words were one she would remember to recall for future events. It rang pleasantly within her head, thoughts corroding the possibility of encouraging the others of Fogclan to also recite such a traditional spoken hymn of their abolished passed sins and promise of rebirth. She barely had time to recognize that dear Volepelt had risen his face in joy, lips tugging in a smile. Yet it wasn't what she was used to at all, at least, not from this tom. So when the full blow of his intended sincerity hit her, there was no use in trying to conceal her own happiness. Her eyes blazed with victory, nodding once to acknowledge his oath, head remaining frozen for a second more before she allowed a faint outline of what could be argued to be a smile dipped in earnest. What potential he held, it was indeed a shame that she could not properly show him her approval of his new found faith, though that wouldn't erase this growing need to simply be with him, as spiritual aid and loving, firm ruler – as she knew she soon would be. She tasted succession upon her lips, cursing that cursed Owlstar for her faithless, spineless control...a mere illusion at best as she now was wise in Starclan's desire for her to purify her clan with asserted quickness, as soon as she could gather enough followers loyal and devout to Starclan's will. Sight lay heavily upon him, her eyes judging him where he sat, confined and tame before her being. With every new second confirmed her plans, and replied to his speech. “Volepelt, it would be a sin upon itself, an even greater sin, for me to ever deny you the simplest gift of my truth.” It was as divine presence drove her words forward, into the air in which they remained suspended in unison. It was a fruitless attempt to conceal any feeling in her words, for even though they were edged, her lyrics were those of angels. Her only sign of slight disapproval was evident when she shook her head to his offer of repaying such a debt. “The morning is wiser than the evening. Your debt will be repaid in good time, though lend me your ear...draw close to me.” With her words, she leaned in, shoulders broadening in power as she angled her frame to lean closer to that of her companion. “Starclan has sent me a vision, something I'm sure that is only the beginning of a grand new era of Purification....And I am entrusting you with this precious information.” It was always such an honor to be offered Mistpelt's trust, knowing that she was filled with suspicion of her clanmates, but Volepelt had little to fear of her cruel assumptions now. In her eyes, she had given him the privilege of a lifetime and demanded the respect, loyalty and admiration acquired with her image. Only then would he now Truth and with Starclan willing, Mistpelt would accompany him through it.