Seeking Perfection (MistxVole)

[Rolo]

Volepelt felt a small pang of joy flood through his body, feeling his frustration fade again. He enjoyed seeing Mistpelt smile... he enjoyed knowing he had done the right thing. Yet, it was such a natural pleasure it did not fill him to the brim with happiness, it simply soothed him. It set a smile upon his face, muted and contained.

With Mistpelt's words of acceptance, Volepelt simply nodded his head. In contrast to the pale she-cat, he had slipped back into his usual formality. His emotions were satisfied, spent, they felt no need to show themselves so blantantly. His actions were much subtler now, more refined, driven not by a violent passion but a silent wish to serve. No, his passion was not gone, it still blazed fiercely in his soul... it was just kept in his mind rather than his actions. He was passive, something he knew from experience he needed to be, and stable. If Mistpelt needed him, he would be the best servant she could ask for, obeying her and Starclan as best he could.

His mind focused back on Mistpelt as she began to walk towards him again. As she seated herself beside him, he felt a pang of longing again. Yet, simultaneously, he felt nothing for the she-cat. His love for life had returned again and his happiness at being pure once again overrode his want for physical pleasure.

As she spoke to him again, he accepted her words with little notable joy or delight. It gladdened him, yes, but he felt very little pride at hearing he would aid Mistpelt in her plans. He took the job as one might breath, with ease and feeling it a neccessity. He was grateful, yes, and he felt happiness in being able to aid both Mistpelt and Starclan in their tasks, he felt no joy for himself. He liked being empowered, but it felt more like a gift than something to be arrogant about. His eyes glittered with mutual joy, but he stood quietly firm, stable, neither burdened or empassioned.

Nodding his head respectfully again, he locked his gaze with hers. It was unrelenting, he feared her not, but submissive.

"Thankyou, sweet Mistpelt." He spoke clearly and with warmth, "I shall do whatever I can to aid you. I hope I can prove myself worthy in your eyes, truely honouring you and our rulers. You shan't regret it."

He paused, letting his words sink in.

"And you are indeed right, the path will be long and tiring. However, with Starclan's guidance, we will succeed. Fogclan is sinful now, but it is not beyond saving, especially if it is led by your guiding paw. The sinful will either be humbled by Starclan or wither and die beneath their power, if they are unworthy. Together, we will help them learn the beauty and rules of Starclan, for I believe Starclan has placed the power to do so in your paws."

He got up, feeling suddenly filled with energy. There was much to do, much to prepare. He needed now to ready himself to devote his whole to Starclan, and he knew he was mentally not ready for it.

For the first time, he looked at himself, spying the dark new wounds that littered his pelt. The blood had stopped running now, dried in bright red streaks across his pelt. Though his mind was clean, his body was not.

He turned his gaze to Mistpelt, "You have much to do to prepare me, for I need to know of your plans if I am to serve you correctly."

He smiled warmly at her, his face suddenly taking on an innocent look. He looked unburdened, kittish.

He turned away from her, taking a step forward. He turned his head towards her, solemn again,

"I also need to cleanse myself of this dirt, I feel unpure. I shall be taking a trip to the river now. It was customery in my old clan to purify your body in the cool water of a river or stream, for the natural current of a river takes away dirt much more than any cat tongue ever could. You may join me, if you wish. I'd very much like that."

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[Spec]

Drained from the source, outgoing only to his receiving gaze, full of spiritual longing and pitful gaze of realise, she felt satisfied, settling down into a momentary contentment. Her eyes also stirred, calmer now, perhaps, but the life driving fire that was always present in some form or another gleamed brightly, smoldering impassively, yet just containing her eagerness, her impatience for purity. She would not find peace until she had done what Starclan commanded. As a cat of faith, and as a disciple of Starclan, Mistpelt felt obligated, no...privileged to assign strict and divine guidance and purgance upon her kin, starting with the core of Fogclan, smiting down the unrighteous where they stood. The she cat would have little patience with any sort of belief undermining her own, as it was utter sin to deem anything but Their Truth and Word. For a flash, she bowed her head, muttering a incoherent prayer only shared between her and Starclan. Shortly after receiving their tranquil, albeit silent reassurance, she made sure to catch the noticeable traces of gratitude and submission laced upon Volepelt's tongue. Reflecting her usual composure, the stony, thin line that carved the expression of corporate teacher and guide returned, face reclining back regally, as if she were already dipped in liquid renewal, a sign of Their approval and blessings. “You are welcome, Volepelt.” She spoke simply, concisely in the steadily cooling air.”As Starclan's eyes are all seeing, those of our clan have grown blinded by corruption. It heartens me to offer one last chance to those who are willing to embrace the wonder of Their grace, make them fear and be of awe of our rulers, make them tremble at Their mercy.” Her voice darkened slightly, as if a storm cloud had blanketed their surroundings, as a single throaty cry of a prey bird echoed in the near distance.”Alas...The road of purity is narrow, and I foresee a path paved in blood if there is to be true Purity and peace. Even if Starclan wills that I must enter Their arms to fulfill Their wishes, I shall go without a second thought, knowing that I have been a vessel of hope.”

Her words were extended from their usual length, left with a queer sensation she could not quite pinpoint. Perhaps it was adoration that shown from her felt, dripped with affection from her lyrics, as a physical prayer of strength. She did not doubt that They were present beside her right now, whispering words wrapped in gentle caresses of encouragement, forging a new era that would mark the beginning of Paradise. When his smooth voice addressed her once more, she shifted her gaze, laying directly upon him, with eyes that could possess a gift of soulful penetration. A shadow of a smile rose to his cheeks, drawing up her response where it lie sheltered within her chest.”Patience.” She replied calmly, a aura of relaxation and a level eye softly reprimanding her companion. His expression was recognizably kit like, eager with a new found adrenaline for knowledge.”When everything is revealed, my mouth shall speak with the tongue of Starclan, but perhaps, this time might come sooner than you think.” A certain amount of mystery glinted across her narrowed pupils, yet appeared as sincere as she was moments before. She would have to console with her rulers again for further direction, perhaps another omen or sign to indicate the next route of her path. Of course, she was riddled with ideas and theories, but she would only carry out the Divine Wish when she knew they were prepared. In a single motion, Volepelt faced the opposite direction. For a moment, the ringed black tip of her whiplike tail lashed across her flanks in anger, as if he had dismissed her and not the other way around. Things were different now, and he would have to learn that, along with everyone else.”While in my presence, you are to be excused first before turning your back to me, Volepelt.” She used his own name as her own rebuke, hissing it curtly behind her fangs as a mentor might correct their apprentice. Rising to her full height, she padded forward, forcing her fur line to lie stiff and settle once more. Her gaze, however, did not trace a line of accusation upon his own, but a thoughtful expression towards the river, bringing back memories rekindled in the process. ”But...that is a good idea. I myself have used the River as a source of cleansing as well, in meditation, as its cold waters soothes my soul as well as cleanses it. I have been even known to receive glimpses of Starclan's Will while submerged for long periods of time.” She spoke frankly, as if this were the norm for every single soul in the forest. Slowly, she turned, whiskers twitching slightly as she focused her intentions on the dark furred tom.”I will take you up on your offer, dear Volepelt.” With those words, she padded forward at a light trot, feeling the subtle breezes play with her pelt as her sinews rippled in tune to her fluidic movements.

[Rolo]

Volepelt found himself in no mood to reply on the subject of how horrendous the purification of Fogclan would be, so he simply nodded to her words. Having had his surge of energy, her patient and steady words just didn't seem to invoke any kind of feeling in him. He was passionate for the change to happen, for the purging to begin, but it didn't disturb him at all. It was neccessary, he had seen it all before. Why should it bother him or make him happy? It was just a return to normality.

Mistpelt's talk on being patient inspired the same response, although a tiny feeling of impatience still tainted his mind. He desperately wanted Fogclan to be pure now, for him to feel comfortable for once and to be able to punish the sinful without worrying he would be punished himself. Yet, he could manage... he had Mistpelt now... he had hope... that was just about enough.

However, what did inspire a response was Mistpelt's harsh words on asking her permission to do everything. Yes, he saw the need to be respectful to those chosen by the divine, but he had his own mind and he still demanded freedom. He was a male cat, socially dominant to her. She could not demand that his every move be passed by her. They were both equals in the eyes of Starclan, though Mistpelt had an extra task, he was not completely her pawn.

Volepelt's eyes immediately took on a look of distaste as he glanced towards her again.

"Dear Mistpelt." He spoke coldly now, "You should know that you have my highest respect. It is not through rebellion or dislike of you that I shall refuse your order of asking when to go. I shall excuse myself when I wish. All cats are equal in the eyes of Starclan and, regardless of your position as deputy and later leader, I shall treat you as a cat. That is not a sin. I shall treat you with respect, dear one, but I shall not obey such an order."

Volepelt was almost too annoyed to hear her last words, put out by her unjust command. Had he not been annoyed, he would have inquired more into her trips to the rivers and what she saw, but now he was in no mood for it. After listening patiently, he nodded briskly.

"Good." He mumbled in reply, walking forward at some speed.

[Spec]

Mistpelt was calm and concise when it meat dealing with wordy talk of so-called contradiction. After all, being so closely intertwined in the grace of Starclan, gave him the right to freedom, although set him even more apart than their fellow kin. Her gait was steady, easily keeping pace with the dark furred Fogclan tom. Despite his accusation, there was a spring to her paws, a certain happiness that was rarely glimpsed, let alone shared. Volepelt was a complicated feline, at times being as agreeable as a kit, and other times feeling as if she were dealing with a blind, stubborn elder. She suppressed a tiny laugh of amusement at his words, and instead turned to face him, eyes exceedingly calm. His words could not tamper the mood of the vessel of the Divine. Did he expect it would?”“And naturally, I am grateful for that respect.” She began, a proud glitter of green crashing upon the shores of her eyes, thoughtful and enchantingly sincere.”I ask for so little, and speak the words Starclan has meant for me to utter. Every word has a purpose, every second has meaning...I am advising, Volepelt.” For you are ignorant...in more ways than one. She shifted her weight to her forelegs, gaining a bit of speed to match his own in their mental dismissal. Perhaps the River would ease her soul, and give her a slight indication of the next step. When the scent of water overcame her, she trotted ahead, feeling the breeze ruffle her pelt luxuriously, already imaging Starclan's embrace upon her.



{{{Exit Mistpelt}}}