Kindred Souls (MistxRowan :: Private)

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The sun shown gloriously, opening the window of golden opportunity. Mistpelt currently napped in the warriors den, catching the last few moments of sleep before rising to greet the morning. Her breathing was calm and serene, before gently allowing slumber to leave her and her lashes fluttered open to reveal bright sea foam eyes. Dawn patrol was a killer, and of course, now that she was deputy, she had to assign each and every patrol in camp, three to four a day. Though, she was tired, she was openly thrilled with her new rank. Now, she was one more step closer to becoming leader, but she was strangely pleased to realize that in order to accomplish that, Owlstar would have to be cast from the picture. A smile reached her lips as her front paws delicately stretched out before her, back arching elegantly before padding out into camp for the second time today. Right after Dawn Patrol, she settled down for a quick nap, sleep coming few and rare between, especially with the nightmares and visions she'd been having, and last nights definitely prickled her interest, even more than usual.

Out in the open, she decided against taking a piece of fresh kill for her breakfast, fasting for the clan first until she was positive everyone else had taken their own share. As deputy, she couldn't help but create an even bigger image for herself, yet she still kept her grumbling mouth to herself when in the presence of Owlstar or her followers. It sickened her to think that she would have to be in that strayed she-cat's shadow until she received Starclan's gift of nine lives, let along wait out another moon. The Gathering, though, might hold some promise. Juicy bits from the other clans, prick through the cats that assembled, and glare at those nasty, vulgar Pineclanners, all the while imaging herself halting their breath with a self righteous swipe of her claws. That would surly be the end of their blasphemy! Taking comfort in Starclan's tender gaze, her aggressive thoughts melted into her skin once more, again to resurface at another time. Near the fresh kill pile, she sank to her haunches, and soon to her belly, crossing her paws as she surveyed camp. She smiled encouragingly towards those who passed her, nodding at them in silent greeting when they in turn muttered a quick, yet pleasing 'good morning'. But after a few moments of the occasional hustle and bustle, she was alone, and stealing a moment for herself to share in Starclan's eyes, laid on her side and sighed deeply. If only one of her own friends came by the bask in Starclan's light with her.

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[Whiskers]

Rowanheart couldn't say he was happy though the day had started off well. He had been assigned to dawn patrol and followed the order happily, as he loved morning walks, especially on a day like today. But as the patrol went on, he felt this sinking feeling in his stomach that he couldn't explain. It was rather rare that he got this feeling and after nearly seven moons without her, it was becoming nonexistent. But this morning, as he walked along the border with his clanmates, it materialized and hovered over him, dampening the general jubilance of the day. The sun had become fuzzy around the edges. The air was still and stifling. Rowanheart had thought, with a disturbing sense of deja vu, that he felt rather empty inside. And really the feeling made him sick to his stomach, but he was sick with himself, not with the situation.

He wanted to be completely over it. And sometimes he felt like he was over her, but it all came around to Zoe in the end whether he wanted it to or not. Of course he would always love her but Rowanheart hated having these off days, when he remembered something about her that set him off. He really wanted to distract his mind, focus it on something productive. This was Fogclan after all. His clan, his home. And he should never have to feel that stupid hollow feeling when he had plenty of purpose here, with Starclan, his boys, and his home.

So with that in mind, Rowanheart decided he was going to force himself to get happy. He was going to purposefully ignore some of his...ahem, duties (she-who-shall-not-be-named) and he would find someone to converse with. Immediately, his golden eyes caught sight of Fogclan deputy, Mistpelt. She wasn't hard to miss, relaxing on the ground, sunlight caught on her fur. She must be enjoying the warmth.

Rowanheart padded over rather hesitantly, though he kept his paws going when they wanted to turn back and head for the warriors den. His voice was warm enough, though there was the lingering sadness in there that Rowanheart was so bad at hiding. He wasn't his son; his emotion was always on show.

"Mistpelt, hello." Rowanheart sat down near the deputy, his eyes trailed on her relaxed face. "I take it you're done with patrol organizing?"

Silence followed after that but he felt comfortable in it, settled close to the deputy who he felt he could earnestly trust with his entire self. She was just as avid and faithful as him and that made him feel good, especially as he watched cats grow more and more disinterested with Starclan every day.

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[Spec]

The meaning of life was obvious to a devoted follower like herself. She found herself quite content at the moment, allowing her desires to melt away from her in Starclan's gentle gaze that swept over her like warm water, seeping into her very flesh and bones and leaving her with a heat that seemingly resonated off her entire frame. Mistpelt longed for company, and yet, she felt as if she was always surrounded with the promise of a better life, a left, she persumed, would come only by her loving paws, as she paved Starclan's ways into her more ignorant clanmates. With a sigh, she shifted her weight, reaching out as her claws momentarily peeked from their sheaths. As soon as she began, she relaxed and tapped her tail upon the ground rythmatically, drowning with the sound of her own comforting heartbeat. Almost at once, her stomach sounded out stubbornly, a lingering groan that made the she-cat's mouth angle downwards in a tight frown. Hunger, apparently, was on her mind now, and she felt obligated to heed her bodies less than silent request.

Mistpelt stretched out her forearms, lifting herself to her haunches in a single graceful sweep of her tail. Before she could make a specific beeline for the fresh kill pile, though, she was interupted as another cat made an appearance by her side. By the long ginger fur that hung off his frame, her outward expression molded into one of genuine pleasure in seeing her fellow clanmate and devoted friend. It did her heart good to find another whose heart was passionately composed in following Starclan's teachings. Before she addressed him in casual greeting, it seemed Rowanheart beat her to it, making her face soften into feathery laughter, realising that she had begun to speak as he did. She motioned for the tom to continue before smiling encouragingly, eyelids fluttering once or twice before subsiding into silence. After he had greeted her, his voice as well as his expression upon his face unnerved her slightly. It struck her that Rowanheart wasn't in the best of moods, and naturally, her desires suddenly shifted into cheering him up."Hello Rowanheart."

Her voice was almost imploring, pondering why his aura was dampened with saddness. Could it be the fate of his once former mate? But if that was the case, then he should rejoice, not sorrow, that Zoe was in Starclan's embrace. Still, a small graced her maw, sea foam orbs gleaming as a small fire smouldered in their depths. She inclined her head, before replying to his inquiery."All work and no play." With a tilt of her head, a single brow angled in a semi arch, her cords were layened with gentle good humor. But then as soon as the fading breathe left her body and drifted towards the heavens, she slowly donned herself with a delicate seriousness. She was upon four paws now, turned towards her companion. She drifted, almost ghostlike in her step, to his side, giving him the small comfort of her tail upon his shoulder for strength, praying for his inner peace."Rowanheart...going around camp with a weighed down soul is a heavy burden to bare...I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you want to speak to someone." She paused, genuinely addressing her clanmate with an unreadable stare."I am Fogclan deputy, after all." She smiled at this, winking at him from the corner of her eyes as the warm sunlight made the fur of her coat shine, the leaves casting a dappled shadow upon the ground in which they stood.

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[Whiskers]

Rowanheart was happy that Mistpelt had not rebuffed his offer for conversation. He wouldn't have held it against her of course, because like she had said all work and no play right? She was the Fogclan deputy and she rarely did take a breather; this opportunity right here was a rare and golden one. He felt privileged to share in this day with her and already, Rowanheart felt like he could cast some of his despair out of his heart, if only for these minutes that he spent alone with the self-sacrificing deputy who he looked up to and admired so much. She was the ideal, she was almost the goal. He wanted to be so self-assured and powerful.

And being a female, those traits were more impressive than ever. Sometimes, Mistpelt struck him as quite similar to Zoe, though in other ways they were opposites. Zoe had been very religious and faithful in her lifetime, even before her time as a clan cat, and that passion was reflected in the she-cat before him. Zoe was always just as strong though in her own way. (Her way being sassy and rather obnoxious and funny.)

And then there were the differences, very drastic ones. Mistpelt was collected at all times. Zoe let herself go. Mistpelt was take charge, Zoe was very go with the--

No.

Rowanheart was dwelling again and he was here to do the opposite, to distract, to forget, to ignore, to do anything but dwell. With a breathy sigh of frustration, he tried again by focusing on Mistpelt and her pleasantness, her prettiness, and her words of course. And just when he thought he was on his way to cheerfulness, Mistpelt took it on herself to bring it up again. Blinking, he stared at her in shock, though it quickly died. His feelings were never discreet so she knew. Why would he be surprised about something so obvious as that?

He felt another sigh in him and he let it out. "You're very right of course, Mistpelt. I know that I shouldn't let something in the past affect me still. And it doesn't, really...not a lot anyway..." Rowanheart realized this was the first time he was going to address his dead mate's death out loud and to another cat.

"It was so...sudden. And afterward, the bitterness I felt is something I'm ashamed of. If either of my sons know what I was thinking... and how... if it weren't for Starclan..." he shook his head and laughed at himself. He was an idiot! He couldn't even form coherent, complete sentences. He was making a fool of himself in front of Mistpelt and the idea was horrifying.

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[Spec]

How long had it been since her parents ascended to Starclan's grasp? It had been too long, and yet, she could vividly recall the events of their demise, their weakness and exhaustion. And as they cast aside their mortal breath to breath in Their loving grace and truth, images of peace and bliss rose to their faces, privileged with the greatest gift of all. Surely Rowanheart felt the same way? Losing a loved one hurt for a bit, but once she saw passed the veil of sorrow, this became her only comfort. Clouds made surprisingly remarkable listeners, and back then, she didn't have the chance to speak of her woes to another, not like her own comrade consoled in her now. Starclan had provided yet again, and this time, at both their expenses. The small expression that had taken root upon her face was slight, only giving the briefest indication of her lips upturning into a smile and not a frown. In this moment, she felt obligated to give her own professional opinion, for the sake of the health of Rowanheart's soul in despair. There was indeed hope left for the ginger pelted tom, and Mistpelt was confident that as long as he observed her reasoning and acted upon her subtle, yet firm instruction, he could not stray from the right path, whom she was destined to complete, no less upheld in honor and glory. When she had mentioned his apparent sadness, his face twisted into a swift explosion of shock, but he knew of his mistake and recovered, acting as collected as he had a second before.

The she-cat mutely revealed a knowing grin, arching her brow with an silently satisfied huff. As much as her only desire, presently, was to aid her fellow clanmate, she couldn't help but allow the flicker of shadow to cast one of its writhing tendrils around her mind, rebuking the tom for his foolishness. It was his own sin to allow this overwhelming guilt to consume him, and if her downfall was really of his own paws, then he should have forgiven himself ages ago and moved on with his life, not put his performance at risk. Still, her ears perked acutely towards his confessions, his words trailing through her senses and leaving her with building words of her own. Mistpelt was eerily calm, even for her own regarded reputation. Attentive, her head leaned in a fraction of an inch, lingering on his last syllables long after they were uttered unto the air. However, his lack of complete thoughts that consumed the last of his speech made the she-cat's maw angle downwards in a delicate frown, a sudden sharpness coating her features. “Starclan has given your mate a great honor, even giving you two beautiful sons before she departed.” she barely trusted herself to utter another word, but the truth had to made itself known, one way or another. If her lyrics came out sour or harsh, than so be it. “It seems to me that you are still bitter after all these moons, long after her death. And suddenly muttering broken sentences like a halfwit. Is this how you keep her memory alive?” With a single ending hiss, she sat with dignity, taking a deep breath while staring into Rowanheart, studious gaze attempting to penetrate the core of his being in search for the goodness that she knew resided inside of him.

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[Whiskers]

ooc// sorry this took me so long. I really don't have much of an excuse, 'cept school, but I'll try to reply quicker in the future. ^^; Also I apologize for the post. I'm not too inspired at the moment honestly.

bic//

The words that Mistpelt spoke were claws digging into his skin. They made his insides squirm, made his heart too heavy to beat. The truth-- they were the truth, of course, Rowanheart could never deny that-- was a merciless beast and it left him tired and very upset with himself. He did want to honor her memory, and he wanted to move on-- he even wanted to fall in love again, if ever he found the right cat! And he had told himself these exact words that Mistpelt was now reciting.

So why did it hurt so much more when she said it?

But the hurt and the shame were gone the next moment, when he realized that this is what he needed. He needed someone other than himself to tell him these things. Then it would finally become real and then Rowanheart could finally hear them for once. Outloud. This moment, right here, was the moment of his redemption from heartbreak. And Mistpelt was giving this to him. He raised his head from the ground and looked at his deputy, and he felt so much better. To think, all he had to do was talk about it!

It made him chuckle. And then his chuckle was bubbling over into a full laugh from his gut, and it felt good to laugh so much and to laugh at himself! But he ended his laughter so Mistpelt wouldn't be put off by it. He faced her with a tired, but thankful smile.

"I'm sorry, Mistpelt...it's just... what you just said. I've been telling that to myself for moons and it's never made any impact, and now you come along and I finally realize the truth. Thank you so much. Though I'll always miss her, at least I won't let it affect me or my sons and especially my clan."

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[Spec]

ooc: // No worries, Whiskey. ^^ School is a bugger, so I understand. <3 Rowanheart's reaction, btw.

Mistpelt stood frozen for a brief moment of time, hackles stiff as wire as breath forsake its need to breath. The she-cat narrowed her eyes into subconscious slits, sea foam gaze darkening like a cloud had descended into her once serene and controlled glare. But as Rowanheart stood, hurt and ashamed at her counseling advice, part criticism at his outward appearance and emotional turmoil, she couldn't help but let the keen daggers slowly subside into a dubious gleam, watching and observant of whatever speech or excuse that would soon be breathed out for her to hear. Even to a friend like Rowanheart, her heated accusations made no distinction, and there were times that she bite her tongue hard enough to draw blood lest she be objected out of the crowd for her truth, and her eyes once more shifted into a state of stony silence. Inwardly though, she jested that she would ever be a better mother than to her own clanmates, and she knew that any kits given to her by Starclan would be the spitting image of their mother, devoted and loyal to the Stars of which they came. But for now her attention was held towards her clan, more specifically, the ginger tom that seemed, now, notably thoughtful. Good, then he is seeing the light, after all...was her single and sure reason; that it had been a mistake to ever doubt him and his spiritual strength. He had not disappointed her, well...not sorely.

Only when he unleashed a quickly growing chortle of laughter did the she-cat regain motion and blink once or twice at his suddenness, a rather humorous burst of mild shock flashing before her features. She was in fact, surprised, by Rowanheart's outburst, but within seconds of his voice lifting into the air, she found that, despite her best and most professional efforts, Mistpelt chuckled with him. As soon as his words left his mouth, she could still taste them on the air, drifting, yet purposeful to her senses. The deputy nodded wisely, bending her head and swiping her tongue across her shoulder, before glancing up to catch his wary gaze. Her pelt had long smoothed down, lax and giving her coat the refreshing sheen of sunshine once again. “You are forgiven.” Words like liquid honey purred from her jaws, her tilted faintly to the side while her ears twitched in his direction.”You know...there is always this one place I could never quite reach...” Tail mutely motioning to the side of her neck, her lyrics were sweet, angelic even, a kinder side resonating from the equally dangerous she-cat. “You look tired, my friend. Come, we'll share tongues. I have something to share with you...” She cast him a withering glance, brows posed a fraction of an inch higher than before, curtly turning on her paws without indication of agreement or a decline of her offer, for it seemed more like a soft spoken command than a suggestion. Mistpelt smiled, crookedly displaying one of her many able fangs as it glinted cruelly in the sunlight, hidden from Rowanheart. Now...she would share with him her Starclan's will through her dream.

[Whiskers]

The look Mistpelt gave him was enough to cast his worries away, send them hiding for now... maybe forever. He felt a twinge in the back of his head, urging him to take a chance. To live in the moment. How often was one honored with the offer to share tongues with a cat so prestigious as Mistpelt, deputy-- eventual leader-- of Fogclan? He felt a shot of nervousness, a quiver of anticipation, and a heat on the back of his neck that was slowly spreading like wildfire. It engulfed any last thoughts and regrets of Zoe, burning them away until they were nothing but ash. He was aware now, of the beauty around him and of the beauty in front of him. Mistpelt was most alluring and the very look that she gave him was enough to confirm that, oh of course, he was going to take her up .on her offer. He was no longer a father, nor a widow. He was just a tom, and a very lonely one, who ached for contact.

Besides, the way that Mistpelt turned from him in a teasing manner made him believe that he didn't have a choice in the matter anyway. The thought brought a purr to his lips. Fiesty, independent she-cats were always most impressive.

Rowanheart dipped his head-- though she was not facing him, this action was done out of habit-- and then glided to Mistpelt's side, his ginger fur brushing against her soft ivory pelt. He was quite excited to hear the deputy's news, whatever it may be, and would listen happily, even if it concerned something as trivial as patrol organizing. If she did share information regarding patrols or border control, he'd be anything but bored; it would mean that Mistpelt valued his opinion after all. He truly was climbing up the Fogclan ladder, making his way to senior warrior status, a dream that had once seemed so far away.

"News to share? I'd love to hear," he purred again, excited and reserved all in one as he lowered his muzzle licked his friend's cheek, before working his way down to that mysterious spot that "she just couldn't quite reach."

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Casting a feathery glance over her shoulder, she smiled encouragingly towards the ginger tom, whom she had saved. Dainty claws dug into the soil as she stood, a few paw falls away from where she had been previously, further from the entrance to the Warriors den. Mistpelt, thinking this was a superb spot for revealing her dream to Rowanheart, where it would be less likely for prying ears to interrupt or overhear. Owlstar could not be trusted if she were to somehow find out form her many informants of Fogclan, those in which had not yet seen the light of her ways and the divine ways of Starclan. She stole a brief glance at the sky, before gently lowering herself down upon her paws, croched down as she waited for the familiar sound and sight of her friend to accompany his notably heavier pawsteps. Only when she felt the gentle brush of ginger fur against her own lighter pelt, did she finally melt onto her belly, stretching out her legs as she basked in the dappled sunlight from the treetops above. Her tail, ever eager to make its ways into the scene, patted the earth beside her welcoming this considerably lucky tom to lay beside her and get comfortable, for Starclan knows that when he hears the news, she assumed his reaction would be anything but. Let him enjoy the moment while it lasted – that was when his tongue rasped along her cheek in slow steady strokes, and soon his entire warmth spread to her lithe frame like a smouldering flame. Mistpelt admitted that the sensation was simply sinful in the best way possible and despite herself, a low purr rumbled from her chest into her throat, lingering sweetly upon the air.

She shifted her weight faintly to one side, carefully leaning slightly into his caresses, especially as he reached her one dreadfully impossible-to-reach spot on her neck. Eyelids fluttering in a fantasy induced daze, she allowed the pleasure of her eyes to fall, closing them gently. It was a rare sight indeed for the she-cat to take any pleasure in idleness, but as of now, she felt completely relaxed in Rowanheart's presence. Mentally, she applauded herself, thanking Starclan for providing her with such a loyal companion – only she was only stretching the surface, which her near future topic would test where his true loyalties were to lie. Her ears flickered lazily, peeking out and catching his gaze, purr on her lips. Inclining her head, she nestled her muzzle into his long coat, immersing herself in his comforting scent, before licking a few stray strands of flame colored fur neatly with her salmon pink tongue. After a few moments, she concluded that this was enough – on her part, at least - and confidently decided on bringing up the further topic of discussion, the truth that Mistpelt was determined on having the tom hear. “Rowanheart...” Her voice was soft, yet laced with strength. Her gaze became steely for a moment, purposeful as her head raised to his level. “You are a dutiful and loyal warrior of Fogclan.”Perhaps one of the best I know. She wanted to add, but held back wisely, knowing that it was Starclan's will to make him prove to her that he indeed, was as she wished him to be. Mistpelt didn't want her words of confirmation to spoil if she indeed spoke them out loud.”As of now, I believe you are ready to hear what I'm about to tell you.” The she-cat could almost chuckle in amusement of how much suspense was boiling in the space surrounding them as she spoke, donning a very serious tone, yet also a thoughtful one. “Starclan has sent me a vision.”

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[Whiskers]

The bliss Rowanheart experienced was tenfold what he was expecting and it filled him to the brim. His eyes closed, a smile peeked out of his muzzle, as Mistpelt nuzzled him softly. Would it be too corny of him to think that the day did just get brighter?

Of course it would be, but he thought it anyway.

But the pleasure ended so soon, cut short abruptly by Mistpelt when she pulled away, her expression carefully composed like always. His shoulders fell a little, but the smile remained, getting bigger as she praised him. He half-wished another warrior could be here to hear the deputy call him dutiful and loyal. It was even sweeter coming from the mouth of Mistpelt, who was always careful where she placed her compliments.

Starclan has sent me a vision.

All thoughts stopped. "Wh-- they did?" his eyes widened, his voice was breathless. Starclan had contacted Fogclan for some reason. He wondered if Owlstar had gotten a similar vision (though he didn't know what the vision was yet) or if his own son had. He had to inquire Finchpaw after this, to see-- but no, that would be breaking Mistpelt's trust. She was confiding in him and him alone. Only if she told him that it was fine to tell his sons, he would. But at this moment, he felt that it was a secret between the two of them.

"What an honor... what did they say, Mistpelt?" he whispered in awe.

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