Seeking Perfection (MistxVole)

[Rolo]

Volepelt sat mute, expectant, hanging on the she-cat's reply. He studied her as vigilantly as Mistpelt studied him, watching the subtle emotions and expressions pass across her face.

As the she-cat let out her blissful purr, the fur on the back off his neck prickled sending a shiver running down the length of his body, settling in his heart. How angelic her purrs now seemed... angelic and powerful. And that sound was for him! Her acception of him put him at ease, gave him confidence and determination. He no longer saw a need to look in the past, for he had a future in Mistpelt.

Yet, her purrs also unsettled him slightly. It made him... feel things he did not understand. It made a fierce fire burn in his heart, a longing almost as deep as his one for purity spark and settle in his mind. He did not understand it. Some of it, he knew, was loyalty... loyalty for Starclan and loyalty to Mistpelt, the one chosen by Starclan. That didn't unsettle him at all, he felt that every day. It was the urge underneath those surface longings that scared him... those were things he couldn't even comprehend...

He took in a breath, silently gasping for air. Growling at himself, he forced his feelings to lessen slightly, making sure his desire did not spill onto his face. For Mistpelt to know such a thing would be truely weakening... he would never be his own self again if it occured. So he hid it, hoping that every trace of it was hidden behind a sincere stare.

He listened to her pure, all-knowing words and nodded in acknowledgement. However, when she, seemingly uttered out of the blue, spoke of how she needed to tell him something, his fur prickled again. As she asked, he drew closer automatically.

His eyes widened slightly as she mentioned having a vision.

He knew it! He knew Starclan favoured her! Perhaps they had even chosen her! She was too near perfection not to have been touched and enlightened by their awesome power! He would not be surprised if she had been chosen to usher in this revolution of faith herself!

Happiness sang once again in his heart. His mind was both celebrating that Starclan had foretold that greater purification was to come and that Mistpelt trusted him enough to hear of it.

"A vision!" He mewed in calm excitement, "Starclan have indeed blessed you, Mistpelt! Oh, how I have prayed that great Starclan help us with our dirtied clan. Please, tell me what it is you saw. I shall speak not a word of it to any other cat!"

[Spec]

Her prey was willingly discarded, exiled to the back of her mind where it could lie and wait for her focus upon such simpler matters to return to her. As of now, she was entirely focused upon Volepelt. Unknowingly, she felt the tiniest pin prick of admiration, both for his joyous willingness of her new reign and his now unclouded faith, the butterfly that had shed off its filth spun cocoon of sin and rejoined her in a realm where soon there would be no such thing as impurity. It was a clear to witness those notions that darted feverishly in her eyes, the flame that flickered with passion and emotion in its rawest stage, touched by the mercy that was and will forever be known as Starclan. Her silver ringed tail lashed back and worth in feathery, hypnotic sweeps, further indicating to her companion that notions were in control of her mind, yet despite all the proceedings of plans and spiritual layout for those ideas, her chest rumbled with the constant reminder of her love, the steady beat of a thriving heart constantly uplifting her spirits and encouraging her to do what Starclan intended of her. The she-cat rose to her paws, claws flexing mutely as she stood, head bent in constant though conspiring her sudden motion. Shoulder rocking, Mistpelt began to circle her companion, pacing as she allowed herself to fill with the glory of her vision, finally succeeding to paint the vivid picture that converged upon the canvas of her thoughts, brain as well as heart pulsing underneath a pelt of pure ivory and marked with the silver tinged promise of salvation.

Her words glinted with velvety sternness, lashes fluttering dreamily as she recalled what truly took place inside her subconscious thoughts, only thing was reality, not aimless fantasy. That could only send someone so far... “It was bright and beautiful, the sounds of pleasure hanging in the air as flowers bloomed all around me. I saw a small outcrop, in the middle of a clearing where a gentle fog remained suspended over the ground. Flowers sprung where the fog touched and life seemed well, but then...something fell from the sky and I soon saw that it was a feather and I heard the cry of an owl as it descended upon the ground. When it settled, the fog receded from it as if it were cursed. There the feather stayed, void of any life, while the flowers died around it.” Only then did she dare to steal a breath, her face was somber, void of any emotion except perhaps a minuet hint of controlled loathing, not against him, or course, but for the sake that the happiness and joy had been seeped from her dream by such an abomination. The very one who stood upon the throne of Fogclan at this very moment. Biting back a self conscious hiss, spitting from between her partially withdrawn lips, she continued for fear of not trusting herself in silence. “Nothing was left. Everything good and gracious had gone and I thought that the world would surely wither and die left in decay, but as I watched further, a ghostly image sailed through the darkness, driving away the endless night. I saw that it was lighter fog, mist, that fell upon the feather and cast it away where it got caught in the claw-like branches of a striped pine tree. When I looked again, the fog had returned to the outcrop. It was dry and unable to help the flowers rise back to life, but with the mist, they moistened the ground and brought back lovely fragrant growth, restoring it three fold.” Her eyes had risen towards Volepelt even before she had completed the vision, perhaps out of the bond they were currently engulfed between. Now both of her precious followers knew of the Truth to come. Completing her circle, she sat a few strides away from him. The dust left her with a new-found sense of completion, having spoke Their word through the tongue of her own mouth. Portraying herself with a dignified stance, Mistpelt bent her head to smooth down her collar fur, each stoke caressed lovingly against the raspy swipes of her salmon pink tongue. Murmering a quick, near mute prayer, she motioned towards Volepelt, finally concluding her speech with a voice warped in a mere whisper, though like any strong ruler, one did not need to raise one's voice to prove an absolute point. “That's when I awoke.”

[Rolo]

Volepelt's eyes fluttered closed naturally, I sigh leaving his lips silently as Mistpelt began reciting her dream. He let the words wash over him, feeling as if a soft light was beaming upon him from above. The words were smooth, soft, loving, caressing. Perfect words spoken by a perfect voice. The words seemingly touched his very soul, even before his ears had time to register their magnificance and beauty. It was the work of Starclan, there was no way it could not be. The purpose, message, voice and words had united to make something pure and wonderful without a doubt.

As he inhaled deep and slow breaths, he could almost taste the subtle components that made up the air. A soft, comforting familiar taste was combined with an underlying bitterness. The feeling of Starclan's power was so real he felt as if it were almost a physical presence in the air, and, even though the message was tinted with worry, there was an added sweetness to the entire thing. The message contained hope and that was something that overrided his fear of taint in his clan. In fact, it made him praise them with joy, setting a deep light in his soul that displayed itself in his very form and stance. It was a marvel that Starclan had come through for them, although he knew they would in the end.

It was only when Mistpelt finished reciting the prophetic dream that he opened his eyes, fixing his warm gaze on the she-cat. He smiled at her, completely at peace and unquestioning. Why, it was quite obvious what this dream meant, for to him it was blindingly obvious. He had been trained by his wise and beloved mentor Honour in understanding the fickle things. He knew all the hallmarks of them as well as how to figure them out. Truth had also often shared such dreams with the clan, seeing as he was highly prophetic and spoke the 'truth' as his name indicated, so he was well-practiced in applying the theories he had learnt.

"Why, Mistpelt," He exclaimed, his eyes glowing with love and awe, "You are indeed a gifted cat! Starclan has blessed you and honoured you... they obviously see you worthy of a great task."

There was no hint of jealousy, he was purely joyous that Starclan had announced their wishes. If it had been he they had chosen, he would have honoured their decision and carried it out without complaint. But they had not, and he could comprehend quite easily why. He was not a leader, he battled to escape his sinful past... Mistpelt was as pure as a cat could be, seemingly without effort. He was happy for her, in awe of her. Starclan had confirmed his ideas that she was angelic, and that made him respect her even more.

"Do you understand what the vision means?" He said, not missing a beat. Excitement displayed itself in his every move as he padded closer to her.

He hesitated slightly about telling her his own interpretation straight away. After all, he could be wrong and he didn't want to seem over-confident, for that was both a sin and disrespectful to Mistpelt herself.

He dipped his head slightly in mutual respect, before stating a little more calmly, "Because I have some ideas. But you may have already worked it out, so please share your thoughts first."

((Hope this doesn't seem too... sue-ish here. I know most cats wouldn't work out this prophecy... but Volepelt's clan was led with a mixture of discipline and lies. Truth would make up prophecies occationally to get rid of cats he disliked or to gain more power and to make this more effective, he had other cats analysing his dreams to make it seem more realistic XD))

[Spec]

The whole time she had spoken, allowed the truth to seep into every pore of her speech, the vision that had assaulted her senses and readied her for rebirth, she watched the fires dance in Volepelt's gaze. Due to his unquestioning faith, she doubted he would meet the conclusion of her vision with a spark of hope for the true Beginning, as she had when she first experienced it. The scent of sweat hit her glands, recalling the night when she woke in a cold sweat, drenched with Starclan's blessings while a dull beam of light shone down from the moon above upon her – although the moon was not visible, she still glowed, still remained with the mark of Silverpelt upon her own ivory marked coat. This all was such a blessing upon itself, hundred times over, what honor, what glory! How her clan would thank her with all the breath in their newly purged bodies, lest their demons devour their soul! His obvious excitement gave her the flare that echoed it, reflecting from her sea foam pools her own eagerness, albeit a bit more controlled one, for after all, she had to regain a composure more than ever now. Before he blinked away the last lingering flicker of paradise mirrored from her vision in his olive green eyes, she breathed in his scent, comforting and warm. It was as if she was an apprentice once more, smile from ear to ear upon her maw, yet this was only a fragment of her happiness, she dare reveal to him. Emotion could easily lead to weakness and – She chuckled, wallowing in the pride she felt. Inwardly, she scoffed, knowing that she was acting in a uncharacteristic ridiculous fashion, and stiffened her composure once more, donning a look of impassive, yet slightly bemused look upon her features.

Mistpelt was not a stranger to his beaming gaze, increasing every second with awe, and...something else? She couldn't allow something so trivial to pester her now, and nodded once, rather curt to his reply. A great weight lifted from her shoulders, knowing that Volepelt had completely devoted himself to her vision, and to herself and the task ahead. Not that she ever doubted his faith, or his loyalty...At least his response was a bit more satisfactory than Rowanheart's was, not an ounce of question in his voice to hinder her judgment at all. A brief smile flashed along the thin contour of her lips, only to fade when he mentioned if she knew, or thought she knew, what her vision meant. Her tail lashed once, but once to show her discomfort, stirring up the emerald blades of grass in her wake. She managed to gently clear her throat before his voice cut through the air, halting him in his step as he further approached her, adding to their spiritual bond. She turned her head a fraction of an inch, eying him lightly as he advanced, proceeding to don a more lax expression. Well, of course, being that who witnessed the vision, would know a bit about it. As a intellectually rash she-cat like Mistpelt, his question came out as a sort of insult to her senses, against her subconscious perspective, but it wasn't nearly enough to shadow the general mood of this conversation, so she allowed it to slink passed her without more than a second glance. Grinning faintly, she inclined her head to indicate that she had. The grass rustled beside her once more, silver ringed tail flickering thoughtfully in the low bent foliage.

“Meanings are very cryptic, but I believe I have sorted this out...Let's see.” Modesty was always favored by Starclan, so she found no fault in the way she interpreted her own fortune, her own fate, knowing that boasting would only be black marked as a sin in the eyes of the faithful. With a steady, flowing voice, her lyrics sounded out, almost melodious in speech, and feathery in word. “Yes. The beauty and prosperity resembles a time of purity, or at least bliss and peace within the forest...The fog is obviously Fogclan. The omen from above that came in the form of an owl feather is apparent as well. Owlstar is to blame, which is why the whole clan lost faith and withered, curing the whole forest with it and invoking those Pineclan heathens!.” She visibly shivered, eyes narrowing with a dangerous tinge of her mouth being forced to utter her great enemy, the destroyer of Fogclan indeed. “The 'ghostly mist' indicates myself, while ghostly could mean unseen...falling upon the feather indicates that I must rid Fogclan of her and her evil reign. Only then can the prophecy be fulfilled. The owl feather got caught in a pine tree...Pine-tree, Pineclan.” She asserted promptly without any need for thought. Such a thing seemed an obvious sentence fro someone reeking of filth as she. “But as you were...What are you're thoughts, Volepelt?” She glanced questioningly in his direction, the softest of purrs rising from her throat and vibrating through her entire body. He was a fine sight, so drunk upon faith as she as she had never met her equal. Inwardly, she never really realized how handsome he was. Despite the blood that hardened along his pelt in jagged slash marks, she found a smile had crept onto her maw, almost flirtatious, as if she were exchanging friendly banter. Indeed, let the tom speak, let her be graced by his own words...he possessed her attention, so let him strive to keep it.

[Rolo]

Volepelt was somewhat surprised by Mistpelt's interllect. It was a pleasant surprise, of course. It made him beam yet more, a joyfulness radiating from his form even more.

He had never known such a bright she-cat. In his old clan, every one was either lacking in sense or too rebellious for him to respect them. He had never known a female could be so colourful, or one who could truely embrace the light of Starclan. Mistpelt truely was one of a kind.

"Well, Mistpelt," His voice was low as he gazed warmly at her, "You deciphered that so expertly, I could swear that you had heard the teachings on how to do so from my old clan."

He paused slightly, wandering foward until he was stood in front of her. He sat down a mouse-length away, seeing no reason to keep is distance. Raising his head to the sky, he continued;

"Mind you, Starclan does give divine knowledge to those they touch, so I should have guessed you would know it's true meaning. Besides, you're a very gifted cat anyway..." His eyes flicked to hers, "Special, even."

He gazed at her with admiration. A slight urge to nudge his head lovingly into her soft pelt, to show his true appreciation in actions as well as words, took him suddenly. He almost did so he yearned so much to feel her against him, to know she was there and to show her he was on her side. However, he dare not scare the she-cat or give in to this strange feeling that threatened to overtake him. He did not know what that would spell for him or her, he would much rather keep things uncomplicated.

He shifted slightly, unable to stop his akward feelings from showing in this small movement. His gaze shifted to his paws.

"So, I have nothing to add to your interpretation." His voice was a little choked, "You are right, you have a great task ahead of you. I only hope that Starclan give you the power to perform it."

He dipped his head gracefully in respect, "I shall try and help you in your task, if it is your will and my destiny. Do know that you have my unwavering support, dear Mistpelt."

[Spec]

Luckily for him, Mistpelt didn't notice the subtle flash of shock that erupted from his features, or he would've had another swat to the face to add to his multiple of black wounds. Such as a feminist as herself, she was oblivious to whatever practices his old clan spoke about and what traditions they held dear, including the duties of she-cat and tom. But here, in Fogclan, she was the new leading superiority, donned by the mask of the powerful she-cat. Life and all of its mysterious could be naturally interpreted by the feminine mind, as life in its most raw and glorious form coursed through their veins, gave birth to kits, with only a meager seed to spare from the less fairer sex. It was impossible for her not to observe and witness the heat resonating from his form, his eyes, basking in the light of her truth. As his were warm with love, hers was heated with a desire of something more – and not always exactly in a suggestive, sensual way either. It slithered like ichor in her veins, possibly poisoning her mind, but she was a genius, a strategist in its most cruel and devious form. She was Fogclan's savior, and what a savior they had possessed. In reference to his old clan, or perhaps the compliment that illuminated from them, a light chuckle drifted into the air, liquid honey with the slightest ring of amusement. Spoken like a true warrior of faith.

Again, his pawsteps drew him closer, thinning the air in which surrounded them until he remained still as winter, halting just beside her, merely a mouse length away. He was so close, so close...If she bent her head, his intoxicating maleness of an aroma would engulf her senses. But alas, Mistpelt wasn't that brand of female. Oh yes, she'll hoard his compliments, steal away his flattery and admiration all for herself, but she was a hard one to please. Nothing compared to the privileged of her good graces, especially in this hour of need. She'd make him sing for his supper. It was obviously clear what feelings were conspiring against him, in turn being embraced and welcomes in her favor. For a split second, he caught her in a very rare moment, momentarily softened by his speech, yet all too soon, they regained their corporate coat, and glistened in the purging rays of the scorching sun. However, his words did bring a response to her lips. “Why Volepelt, I've never known you to be a cat of flattery.” She cooed pleasantly, brow arched in a fine, precise arch. As this was all in good humor, she expected him to humor her in return, exchange the friendly banter she was accustomed to, but never was given when talking to her dear friend before he was purged and escorted into her guiding light, into the light of Starclan.

She felt him shift beside her, growing uncomfortable in her presence, at such close proximity. Her breath, scented of fresh kill and Starclan's grace, exhaled from her body in and out like a drug. Of course, she eyed the action dubiously, as if she had expected a warrior of his statue to behave with a bit more maturity. This was no child's game. Flames of amusement flickered in her eyes, but their was promise of a creeping anger as well, always in slumber, awaiting fault in her stare. With his gaze angled towards the ground, he continued, proclaiming that he had nothing to add, that she was correct. Hope was another thing that was kindled, brought to her attention. She was mute, however, and forced back another purr lest it become too frequent and overused, casting aside its value. Only when his oath was uttered, did the contract fully form, connecting the pair in a sacred bond ; a promise that peace and prosperity would follow, as Starclan willed it to be. “It is Their will, your destiny, and my desire that you be with me.” Although her words were edged with conciseness, there was also a lighter note, one of acknowledgment and acceptance. As she had done to place upon her blessings with Rowanheart, her head hovered over Volepelt's own, finally settling the subtle weight of her chin upon his brow. They were finally touching, just allowing her weight to imagine the subtle brush of fur between them. There she remained, sea foam gaze fading as her eyelids slowly dropped, both anxious and ponderous of his reaction, and his response to her blessings.”Loyalty. Loyalty always, my dear warrior.”

[Rolo]

Volepelt smiled as the she-cat became notably less indifferent with his remark. It pleased him immensely to see such a warm gaze, so he almost felt like frowning as she hastily covered it up, disappointed to see he hadn't really made any progress with her. It made him feel as if he was failing, unable to make a positive mark on the she-cat's mind. The remark she made worried him further, striking a genuine note of anxiety in his heart. He didn't understand her comment. What was 'flattery'? He had never heard the word before. It was completely unknown to him. Was it good or was it bad? He could, of course, sense that flattery was some kind of a good thing from Mistpelt's notable happiness, but he didn't know what exactly he had done. It was frightening being labelled as something which you didn't know about. It made him feel a little like a kit again, unexperienced in the real world beyond his birth den.

He was left unable to speak for a moment, unwilling to embarrass himself in front of the superior she-cat.

However, his unease did not last long. Just as he was thinking he would have to subject himself to mortification by asking a mousebrained question, Mistpelt spoke again. The words were so strong... so comforting, his felt his mind ease. His nervous feelings were purged instantly as yet another smile lightened his face. His heart surged with a new comfort, a new feeling of safety. He finally knew where he belonged, he finally had a purpose. He was no longer alone and lost in the world, Mistpelt and Starclan had given him a place at long last. It made him want to purr loudly.

Yet, the delight he felt at these words was not even close to the immense feeling that overtook him as Mistpelt bridged the gap between them. Her touch made him gasp, a pure longing striking down every other thought in his head. He felt as if she were the giving him the soft carresses which he had always been starved of, even by his own mother. A warm comfort blessed him, making him sigh softly. Yet, at the same time, the tough almost broke his heart. He desperately wished to know her more, this was not enough. No, it was nowhere near enough.

He was frozen for a moment, blind to the world. Her scent intoxicated him, flooding his senses, making her all that existed. Her gentle touch was almost unnoticable, it felt so natural upon his head... yet it was also so noticable he could think of nothing else.

It was only Mistpelt's urge for his loyalty, which sang softly, sweetly, in his ears that made him aware that he had a mind of his own, he was not just an empty shell. Without a thought, he found himself moving forward. His body moved of it's own accord as his head brushed past her neck fur, the rest of his body doing the same. So he twisted around her, feeling as if his own body was unwinding as he entered the embrace. He rested his head softly upon her neck, his head above hers now. His body was strong against hers, pressing upon her head in a definite carress. All at once, the movement showed power and weakness. He showed he the strength of body, strong and well-formed, taking a position of dominance over the she-cat, yet he also gave his last defence. He gave her his body as well as his mind, showed his loyalty in motion as well as words. He had given into her. His body was his but his mind was all hers.

His own movement soothed him, it was like falling into a delightful sleep. A pure movement, unhindered by thought. He worried not by thoughts of how she'd react, he only wished that he could feel her more. He wished their souls could join... somehow. He wanted to be with her fully. This touch was not enough...

He breathed her scent in again, feeling yet more dizzy as he spoke huskily into her ear;

"Then I take up my task with the whole of my body, the whole of my mind, the whole of my soul." He purred loudly, the vibrations echoing through his entire body. "I succumb to your desire, your will."

He purred loudly, closing his eyes. He let the warmth of her pelt and the embrace flow through him, sighing reverentially.

"Loyalty. Loyalty always."

[Spec]

The simple action of exhaling blew a wisp of cool air into the sky, to crawl and eventually fade into the clouds. With a faint tilt of her head, even the coyest of positions could be seen as the most horrid acts of sin. Yet if it only meant the juice of innocence could be easily poisoned. To the wanton haze that steadily descended upon er form, she was no better than a drug for others to become ensnared by her unreadable expressions and her awaiting gaze, mimicking the stare of winter, or in this case, a refreshing breeze of autumn. Her gracing motion caused the tom to mouth a utterless gasp, softly pulsing through his body where it traveled through hers, indicating that...he wasn't quite expecting such an action from her. But, why would he be shocked, mouth parted, unless he deemed this action a bit more than casual blessing? Mistpelt was no fool, and placed a mental barrier between them as they touched, knowing that even in the briefest, lightest moments, could conspire into something far more malicious and pleasurable. Perhaps she would allow herself the inward glimpse of her companion's soul, before shutting him out completely, that is, if he expected too much from this experience. Unforced though gently eased with the slightest coaxing, a simper creased along the thin ebon line of her lips, partially parting her maw as she drank in his own aroma, his own scent that branded him as her own, where she deemed he belonged.

She noticed instantly when he dared erase the fabric of space she so boldly placed, yet she remained still, unhindered by this advance upon her soul and body, in which he ventured to give more still. Angling his head, he planted himself in front of her, pressed against her now with no reprieve, without hope of lurking through his emotional turmoil, instinct, that drove him to this deed. In truth, however, this marked her approval even more, casting a quick withering smirk and nodding mentally at his progress. She needed followers that were aggressive, not withdrawn into their own shells, watching the world decay before their eyes. They had slowly gone blind, driven in stupor in idleness and sin, untested and undisciplined into the eyes and graces of the ever-watching Starclan. Whatever notions begun to weave inside of her mind, it was his presence along that forced her to address the situation that was smoldering in front of her, against her. His posture was humbling, enslaving himself physically towards the greater mind, although there were certain angles and shadows of his head and straightened posture that made her grow impatient, nostrils wrinkling as she scented his mistake. A mental black mark drew a thin line over the tom, promising that he would soon address his own mistake and pay for it as she saw fit. A trickle of blood caught her attention, her body winding around his own, tail lashing once before settling over Volepelt's in an almost constricting grasp. Her eyes narrowed, dilating eyes pinpointing the single drop that dotted his pelt, staining it of his past sins.

Despite her unwavering confidence, she felt a surging shiver coarse down her body, enhancing the sensation of two bodies molded into each others contours, fitting to near perfection as they lingered over one another, breathing in each others scents like the addicts they had become. He had spoken into her reclining ear, voice deep and raspy as if he had not spoken in days, a inky tendril over his words that made the darkness in her soul smile with glee, yet she was unknown to this feeling, knowing only that it felt marvelous. Midnight lashes narrowed subtly, winking her general satisfaction, or what thrust itself out into the open at that very moment. That monster wriggled in its chains, squirmed as this tom would want her to. A sigh left her lips, as if beckoning to entice her closer still, if such an action was possible. They were close now, but that was as far as she dared go. The threat of weakness waved the flag, fabric beating against her subconsciousness, reminding her that if she were to allow this vulgar yet sensual instincts to dominate her, then regret might bite at her heels. The cool kiss of her flesh upon his erupted as her muzzle nestled its way deeper into the nape of his neck, burying herself in the stench of his blood, dark nostrils bathing in the ichor of his purging, eyes gingerly unveiling all of his weaknesses. It was a truly wonderful feeling, this sense of complete control. “Volepelt.” Could such a word be spoken with such an unnerving tongue, dripping from her mouth in a most flirtatious manner, yet her voice was gathered, sharp, not dreamy like most she-cats in this hour of need? “You won't regret it...”She wanted to purr, unleash all the emotion threatening to pour over the rims of her control, her deepest sanity, but she wisely held it back with extreme and unyielding control. So much so, it even surprised her. Mistpelt rose to her paws, catching and locking gazes as she brushed passed the tom, faintly arching her back elegantly, rubbing her pelt against his, imagining sparks of passion erupting from them as they collided with aching, deliberate lethargy...drawing out the moment as much as she possibly could, darkened tail caressing his face as she passed. “What is it that you want...?” Her lyrics were spoken like a feathery breeze, barely heard. Her chin tilted coyly in a single direction, a master of faith with a smile that could kill.

[Rolo]

Volepelt's mind remained dreamlike as Mistpelt wound closer towards him, submitting herself to his embrace. Her soft touch made him shiver with delight, he found himself longing to be closer to her again. Her movements served to heighten his state of bliss, moving him to a place where he no longer needed to think nor maintain control. He was subdued by her, he was powerless. He liked it.

As Mistpelt spoke to him, whispering his name sweetly before making a strong statement, he heard none of the tone in her voice. No, Volepelt was unwise in the recognision of the subtle highs and lows, growls and purrs, of the voice which, naturally, gave every word a unique meaning, depending completely on the situation. To him, voices held one of three things; warmth, indifference or distain. He distinguished not any of the merged layers of intent, meaning or longing in her comments, he simply took the words as they were. Plain and simple. He took the essence of the words, knowing not that they could contain higher levels of meaning or manipulation, rather than their whole.

He did not hear Mistpelt's conflict. He was not manipulated by her voice. He understood nothing of her longing. Plainly and simply, he took the words as ones of comfort, ones that reassured him he did the right thing. The statement was not complex, it required no reponse.

However, when Mistpelt broke away from him, locking her eyes unwaveringly with his, uttering her innocent question, his heart was suddenly taken up with torment.

How could one question cause such a dark and confusing conflict to set aflame his heart?

What did he want? What did he want? What did he want?

The question took him unaware. It made him question himself. The answer was so deludingly simple it stopped him in mid-thought, breaking him out of his joy-induced daze.

It was simple. So simple.

He wanted to obey Starclan. He wanted a place by their side when he died. He wanted a clan that was so mighty and pure he could hold his head up high when he finally met his ancestors in death. He wanted Fogclan to become his home, to be the perfect clan, and for every cat there, who he cared for greatly, to know Starclan's perfect light.

That's simple, right?

He wanted Mistpelt to lead this clan... he wanted to be pure... he wanted to aid Mistpelt. He wanted to be happy.

Simple. Simple.

But... he wanted Mistpelt. He wanted to be at her side. No, on her side. Her side. He wanted her. He wanted her. Why would he want that? Why? How...

And why was Mistpelt asking him this? Was it not for Starclan to decide what he wanted? Was he not just a pawn in the moves towards greater good? Why had Mistpelt tormented him with such a question? Had he not made his wishes clear? Had he not? Hadn't he... shown her he had no desires, for he had given himself up for biddings in the search for purity? Had he not shown her his loyalty, giving his soul without a second's thought?

Volepelt almost growled.

Through her her possessing of him, by his pledging himself to her, he finally found a deep happiness he had longed for. Yet, even he could not unfurl the complicated feelings he possessed.He wanted so much, yet so little, yet nothing at all for it was not his place to want.

Why did Mistpelt pose such a cruel question?

Volepelt growled at himself, the rumble barely auditable. He halted his thoughts and thought no more. Starclan's teaching here were simple, he would obey them with every fibre of his being.

"It is not my place to want." He dipped his head respectfully to her, "It doesn't matter what I want. All that matters is what Starclan and their servants need."

((I adore the shape of this post XD It looks like a tornado XD SO FITTING))

[Spec]

Like a cunning observer fallen into the pit, Mistpelt watched the cloud of debate hazing over his pupils as easily as if she were reciting Starclan's law, or chanting the warrior code over and over again in her mind on rewind. The she-cat stood, paws arched expectantly as she awaited his words with a heavy heart. Not even daring to blink passed the strain against her slightly furrowed eyes, her stare was eternal. Would he pass the test Starclan had set for him, to be worthy of reigning at her side and become immortal and glorious in Starclan's love, fight for Their purity? She could only hope, for that was one of the strongest motives of her entire being, clinging onto a greater good, where everything touched by Their light was pure, as it was written, as it was spoken, albeit so casually between kits of today. Not even sharp retribution of Owlstar herself could tear the fabric of concentration upon the tom who batted with himself, facing seas upon shores ravaged by the storm. Every second spend in waiting, tongue held back like a viper ready to strike, the flame in her chest rose, possibly anger, although in its most diluted form, crackled and singed the contours of her soul. She could barely take the tension, for better or for worse, it ate at her flesh, playing 'what if's in her mind to what she would have to do to Volepelt if his answer was unsatisfactory to her will, driven by the ever present glory of Starclan Themselves, as Their Chosen.

In question, the brown furred tom, battered yet unbroken, stood, as she imagined what kinds of demons lay hidden, lurking in his mind, body and soul. Still upon her dark ringed pillars, her paws ached, as she absentmindedly flexed her claws into the dirt, raking them clean. She was so wrapped up in a mental state of concern, she hardly registered the fact that he had finally responded in the moments previous to silence. Bowed low, his respect echoed off his frame, straight and confident as were the words on his tongue – and what a response it was. A wave of joy crashed upon the shores of her face, rare at it was, her expression erupted into one of bliss, a loud, vibrant purr leaking through her lips, song in the air, basking in the relief she now revealed. It was one long forsaken, now easily encouraging a widened smile upon her face, stretching a great distance, creasing the contours of her face, divine, as some celestial being, indeed. As to not confuse the tomcat, her Volepelt, warrior as her Knight of Starclan, she offered a swift explanation in the form of a single sentence. “Volepelt, you have proven yourself by your response in Starclan, and further affirming my choice.” Steady as her voice was, edged with the lyrics of a battle mastered commander, there was no mistaking the happiness that rose in the air, sinking gently into her bones as the memory of his touch rekindled within her. Before she understood what she was trying to do, the she-cat padded once more in his direction, shoulders rocking as she made a drifting approach, seemingly floating beside him once more. She was contented with his closeness. Although she was not touching him, her fur prickled and felt the warmth resonating from his body. “Dear Volepelt,” She began. “I have much to do, with your assistance, if we are to purify Fogclan and the forest to be washed pure by Starclan...It will take time, but be assured; Starclan will triumph.” Unwavering, the she-cat stood her ground, her grin slowly fading into a firm, yet patient neutrality. "Those who remain heathens to Starclan's love will suffer."