At The Opera Tonight [MistxVole)

[Spec]

A morning alone. A perfect hunt, only tampered by the rather aggressive display of dominance towards the falcon clutched limply in her jaws. Wings extended, they trailed the ground in defeat. Mistpelt had battled the bird in its nest, torn it down mid flight, tearing into feather and flesh alike. The bird had not forfeit his life without a fight, and this, in fact, was a visible consequence. Across the ivory she-cat's shoulder ran a thin scratch, irritated by the steady gait of her walk as she attempted to hold herself in dignity on her way back to camp. It had stung, of course, but Mistpelt wasn't the type of cat to complain if pain bit at her body, or to heavy rely on the presence and skill of a medicine cat to heal every ailing wound. She resisted the urge to allow her face to contort in a flash of itching pain at every step, growling back her frustration deep into the feathered breast of her quarry. The hunt itself unleashed plenty of pent up aggression inside of her, due to lack of patience, in which she mentally admitted to sometimes not possessing. Starclan would forgive her since she had provided for her clan, made up for her wrong. Proud of her catch, she strode into camp, displaying her torn flesh as a battle scar, albeit a pathetic one, it did the clan well, with the food she gave. She would sacrifice herself for the sake of Fogclan, even in this filthy condition.

Tail wavering behind her, concealing the burn that tingled her shoulder, she approached the fresh kill pile. She bent her head down over the pile of kill, allowing its delicious scent to waft into her eager nostrils. The deputy was famished, having not eaten all day or some of the last lingering hours of the day previous. The falcon made a soft thud as it fell upon a mangled heap, feathers uneven to further indicate that the catch had been a struggle. To her, the she-cat felt extremely satisfied, all negative irritation fleeing her as a swift smile flashed across her features. She was in a state of lax. Patrols were given out that morning, so she suspected that most of the patrols should be returning to camp about now, with news to report to her, good or bad. Yesterday, she had scented fox along pineclan's border, though by the time she inspected and reached the spot herself, the stench was stale. Her hopes were firm on the belief that it had some fun on pineclan land, messed with a few lives, thinned out there heathen ranks a bit. Wouldn't that be lovely? Of course, she wouldn't get her hopes up, now. As a cat of faith, Mistpelt never knew Starclan to be those who would remove the challenge of Their goal. The she-cat arched her back, paws clawing at the air as her whole body dipped into a luxurious stretch, toes curling, releasing all the left over tension from her muscles. She glanced over her shoulder, sea foam gaze glinted towards her scratch from the falcon, and cleaned out her wound, tongue swiping over the tender flesh, tail twitching in reaction to her pain where her face would betray no such emotion.

[Rolo]

Pawsteps determined, eyes blank, Volepelt walked silently towards camp. Crammed within his jaws was the result of a long hunting session, numerous pieces of prey of various sizes. Gait strong, mind mute, his body held a formidable quality, a look of assurance that was seemingly too stiff to be taken as completely natural. Yet, he did not put this on as a facade, he simply displayed a well-sculpted stance, one held by someone so shaped and moulded he did not seem like an ordinary cat. He was like a warrior standing high and proud before a battle eternally. Yet, unlike most cats before a battle, his form was honest and unfearful, strangely cold. Unknown to all, though his face held no sign of thought, his heart held a muted pleasure that made him feel slightly dizzy.

He was pleased with himself. He could not lie to himself, that would be both unneccessary and dishonourable. He liked himself today, he truely did, he felt so content. He enjoyed feeling the cold ground beneath his paws, the nag of dark hunger screaming so loudly it took over his mind. He liked knowing he felt little cold, that he was powerful enough to control his hunger with such elegance that one looking on would not know he had not eaten since the morning before. The weakness and misted mind that came with this challenging deprivation felt strengthening and mind-clearing. He felt a deep satisfaction that he had been able to beat his very nature, even if it was only temporary, testing himself whilst serving both his clan and Starclan. He was sure they would applaud him and his willpower, they would be proud he had trained himself harder to become the perfect servant to them. He was happy.

Enjoying the feeling of the icy grass beneath his paws, he took some time to make it to camp. When he did do so, straight away he silently and serenely he walked towards the fresh-kill pile. Placing his kills there with a deliberate care, taunting himself cruelly with the scent of food, he turned quickly and wandered forward.

He would wait until he needed food. He wanted it now, but he didn't need it. He had gone longer before, much longer, so only when hunger was hindering his abilities to serve his clan would he finally eat.

As he turned, his eyes finally settled upon Mispelt, who he had not seen due to his preoccupation. Unwillingly, his breath caught slightly in his throat when he saw her, his expression cracking into one of slight warmth. He forced all feelings to the bottom of his paws, not even allowing thought on what to do with them. If he let them run through his mind, he was sure to set a blaze within them that he could not allow.

Respect only. Duty only.

Padding softly towards her, he dipped his head slightly. "Greetings, Mistpelt." He spoke casually, his voice holding neither warmth nor cold.

Seating himself beside her, he suddenly felt lost without a piece of prey in his paws. Quickly, he took to preening himself before the urge to fill his belly from sheer boredom became too great.

[Spec]

With a graceful swipe of her tongue, a pair of sea foam eyes stared distantly towards the nursery, void of any sign of life. The moss would be cold, forsaken with life as was banished from its gift. Starclan would be disappointed that Fogclan wasn't as active as some of the other clans were, but she willed them for patience. Only then, after she became leader, would that changed. Even if she had to give birth herself, such a thing would transform out of the kindness of Their hearts. Warm moss, the tiny sound of suckling kits moist in her ears, freshly keen towards life. Autumn was falling upon them, and then Leaf Bare would follow suit, trailing confidently at Starclan's command. Such scenes were meant to play out, and she could only hope that new leaf would bring a promise, a oath of fertility. Her whiskers twitched thoughtfully, eyes half shielded as a far off dream assaulted her gently with a touch of a feather. With a slight sense of difficultly, she bent her neck down over the shallow wound, swiping her healing limb across her fur over and over again, while still keeping the shadow of the nursery in plain sight. Gingerly, yet with a steely stare, she lowered herself onto her darkened haunches, where ivory melted into a slightly darker hue, leading to her ringed black tail, which curled over her paws at will.

Luckily for her, Volepelt did not see her in this time of mental absence, drifted upon other things, duty that would surely be corrected in the coming moons. Sin settled in around her, where she recoiled slightly as the cold ground met underneath her paw pads. As she turned, with a final lash of her salmon pink tongue, she spotted her clanmate not to far off, lingering at the fresh kill pile. She had not seen him place anything in it, but she noted that the size of the pile increased considerably. With an inward purr, she realized he must have been out all morning to accumulate such a catch. While she wrestled with a falcon, he picked off smaller species of mammal. It seemed like they both had a sense of pride this morning. “Blessed morning, Volepelt.” The smallest smile creased her maw, allowing an equally small amount of controlled warmth to resonate from her figure and transfer over to his waiting form. He placed himself next to her, resigning himself to preening his dark pelt for a bit as her bright orbs settled upon him fully. Her voice did not waver. “How are you faring?” Such was the matter of frivolous conversation, the start of an even greater topic. Today was the day marked for education, acknowledgment.... Starclan deemed it was time for Volepelt to listen and digest the next step in her plan, driven by Starclan Themselves. He was hers to mold as she saw fit, shine his potential until he was truly worthy, a worth that he often show glimpses to her in secret time after time.

[Rolo]

((Honestly, don't ask. I don't understand half of this myself Maybe you can decode it.))

Volepelt glanced upwards, drawing his tongue back inside his mouth and closing it completely as his eyes met Mistpelt's. He returned her smile, completely pleasant and formal, as he looked at her. He couldn't help but feel impatient. The anticipation for the less trivial part of the conversation to come, because inevitably it would, was killing him. The amount of restrain it was taking him not to press her to more serious talk was overwhelming.

Small talk was certainly something he had never learnt to use with grace, not that it was a neccessary skill anyway.

It didn't help that he had the urge to press against her, winding his body round hers. It was an almost irresistable compulsion that seemed to sting in his veins whenever he was near her.

When would it be that they were equal? When would they learn to overpower one another as they should? The wait was killing him.

His eyes remained untelling even as a certain restlessness took him over again. Luckily, he was strong enough to beat his own nature, and he found he had the strength to remain completely composed.

"Dear Mistpelt," The words rolled off his tongue in a sincere, loving tone, "I am quite fine, thankyou."

As if his words had caused him to reponder at his current state subliminally, pangs of hunger struck him again almost as soon as he had replied. The sensation nearly caused Volepelt to growl outwardly, though more at the irritation at having the feeling than from the feeling itself.

He didn't want to fill his empty belly yet. To do that would be to give in. In scorn of his own primal desires, he vowed to himself that he would not eat until he had caught 2 more pieces of prey.

"Leaf-bare is definitely upon us now," He continued, "But that doesn't bother me. Unlike alot of the cats here, the regime in my old life was much stricter... it has made me strong against the weather and deprivation these cold times can bring. I shall be quite happy for a while yet, it is only when the snows come that I shall really begin to feel less comfortable."

His tone was formal, businesslike. It was more like a report than a casual conversation. He paused for a moment, as if lost in thought, before shaking his head and speaking again.

"And how might sweet Mistpelt be this morning?"

[Spec]

Standing before her, an aura emanated from his form. She could not quite place it, but it pleased her to see him looking so formal, physically fit despite his small size to brave whatever leaf bare threw at him. To her, he was the perfect follower, ideal soldier, beloved friend...Starclan had made it clear that Their plans included Volepelt within them, by their blessed disciple's side. It felt supportive, comforting even, knowing that his loyalty she could always count on, without reason to question his motives. Like every blessed and faithful child of Starclan, his will ran with their starry pelt, guided by Their voices, and therefore acted towards her own will, bound to follow. As her second and most trusted council, he would never be misinformed, she would personally see to that. She allowed a small smile to fight through the thin barrier that reigned supreme over the contours of her face, giving way to emotion, tender and raw; only for her beloved companion. If her eyes could speak, their would be laced with every sort of praise. It was clear to depict the rare sight of warmth coming from those sea foam orbs, seeking eternal truth. There were no words that could overlap the current mood of the encounter, the she-cat merely nodded a quick response, grateful he was not troubled by the chill in the air or the worry of hard times ahead. Her ears twitched, the smile receded slowly from her maw, drawing back to a look of neutrally, but yet still creating the tiniest amount of heat for him alone.

She nodded briskly, tasting the air upon her salmon pink tongue, swiping it over her maw in a casual manner. “That is one of my goals, Volepelt, to mold Fogclan into the original glory it once was, strong as we have been. Leaf bare will be overcome, not overlooked with a bunch of weaklings complaining over a bit of stiff weather.” Her voice was one of irritation, although it was tinged with hope, aggressive determination, as well as a bit of approval when it came of such a rarely given compliment towards his endurance. Fogclan could learn from Volepelt's former clan, and perhaps even adopt some of their ideals to make it their own. When he shaped his words inquiring softly to her once more, her chin tilted to the side, making her shoulder shiver with unease. The pain had dimmed to a dull throb now, a sort of brief numbness settling over the joint that the wound cut across. Shrugging her shoulders would be extremely uncomfortable, and frankly, she didn't bother to waste the effort. “A falcon scratched my shoulder, but it's nothing I can't handle. Nothing's infected. Other than that, I have been doing wonderfully, thank you. It's invigorating to hunt in the cold...it just gets my blood pumping.” She gave out a small, concise sigh, eyes scanning his features. His form seemed to be a bit lacking girth wise, lean as a weasel's and just as wiry. The smile once again graced her features, but it was all too brief, conflicting with her racing thoughts, serious and extremely anxious. It was a wonder that she was keeping all these thoughts from running rampant inside her mind. “ Come. We'll share tongues...There is much to talk about, dear Volepelt.”

[Rolo]

Volepelt noticed the she-cat's smile and felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine. The curls at the edges of her mouth made a feeling of immense warmth flood through his body. He was so pleased at the look of... warmth on Mistpelt's face, he wanted to purr in delight. It was like he was an apprentice once again, being praised by the cats he had always wanted to be recognised by... but at the same time, it was something more. It was a richer emotion, one which tugged at his heart and gave him a fulfilment he hadn't known he'd wanted. The strength of it was mind blowing, soothing him entirely.

Yet, it came with a price. The darkest longing he had ever experienced was slowly overpowering, pumping through his veins. His fulfilment felt incomplete... he wanted more. He needed more. Mere praise was not enough... he needed more from her. But what?

Was it that he wanted... her? How could that work.

Somehow, the tom managed to keep his urges under control, listening silently and respectfully to Mistpelt's words. He barely noticed her fading smile, he was so caught up in her words.

He nodded placidly in reply to her speak of Fogclan's weakness, finding nothing disturbing or new in her words. However, when she praised him, he glowed with a silent pride again... but somehow the words of praise seeming so far inferior to the look in Mistpelt's eyes. The fact that she spoke in such a formal tone soothed him slightly, lessening his wish to... his desire to... whatever it was. It calmed him slightly, he was able to remain his usual stable self.

However, when Mistpelt spoke of her well-being, the effect of her last words were undone. Instantaneously, he spotted the small wound on the she-cat's shoulder and he found himself having to hold himself completely still to stop himself from tending to it. A deep worry suddenly seated itself in his heart. He... didn't like the idea of Mistpelt being hurt. The idea of... losing her was like... losing hope altogether. He couldn't imagine not having her anymore... going back to the life of sin... a life without a guiding light. He was compelled to help her, to clean her wound with his own tongue... to aid her.

Then there was the wanting to get close to her... to embrace her as he had before. To sooth her and to care for her, to overpower her. He wanted to do the caring, not her, he wanted to be the one with the power... to put things back into place...

He was so desperate... oh so desperate!

He stared intently at the wound, completely blind to her. A small voice in his mind said that he should enjoy seeing the red liquid run from it... perhaps it was in reparations for a sin she hadn't known she'd commited? But at the same time, it hurt him to see it... it literally tormented him.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not reply to Mistpelt for a good few seconds after she had made her last request. When he finally came to his senses, he looked up awkwardly, scanning his thoughts for her last statement. He blinked as it came back to him, a feeling of utter thankfulness overtaking him.

He stepped closer towards her, "Dear Mistpelt..." He uttered, completely submissive... "I..."

He didn't have the words for what he was feeling. Feelings were not something you thought about in his old clan, let alone spoke about. He lacked the words to describe them, he didn't even know their names, or if they had names. Besides... he couldn't state his worry... because... that would give Mistpelt more power. He might scorn her...

But... he couldn't... he couldn't resist. He couldn't. Mistpelt had almost given him permission to, with her last statement. Would she mind? Could he do it?

Volepelt found his eyes shifting from hers, they were now cold and hurt. Before he even concluded that he would in his own mind, he made his way forward towards her. He didn't pause for a moment, he gave no sign of what he was doing, he didn't think about it. Slowly he moved past her, curling gently around her back in the softest movement and settling softly at her side. He seated himself neatly beside her and, without a word, bent his head to her blooded pelt. Gingerly, he took out his tongue and touched it softly to her cut, the scent of blood flooding his nostrils. The taste her blood instantly overwhelmed his senses, somehow soothing him and repulsing him at the same time, but he forced himself to move onwards. Softly, softer than a summer breeze, he stroked his tongue over her wound. Such a motherly thing to do... but his dedication was not like that of a mother, the action was not merely the comforting a queen would give a kit, it was a caress of the softest kind.

All at once, Volepelt felt as if he was serving her and dominating her. He was caring for her of his own free choice, she had not asked, so how could he truly be that he was serving her. She was his now.

After a moment of 'aiding her', he paused and looked up at her face. Around his mouth, there was a red slight staining, as if he had just eaten a piece of fresh-kill.

"Sweetest Mistpelt," He stated softly, "This wound... you cannot get hurt like this. You must not. As chosen you must keep yourself safe... Fogclan depends on you."

He paused to lick her wound for a few more moments,

"I must aid you, help your pain. Forgive me if I have offended you but please let me help you." He paused, before stating dreamily "That way we can both relax."

He dipped his head, stating "Do tell me what you need to tell me."

He then went back to the wound again.

[Spec]

Her vision was one of keenness, ambitiously desiring to see with perfect harmony. Her friends aura seemingly brightened, a rising dun against the canvas of her being. It was literally blinding, so much that at one point, she was forced to squint, slitted eyes shielded from that light for just a few moments until such fluctuation had receded form her senses. Though, as it drew back into shadow, she couldn't help but wonder what caused such a sensation to overwhelm her. Before it ravaged her mind with more questions than she could deal with, as she lacked any patience now to sort out the rubbish from her brain, she pushed it aside, allowing a soundless wave of calm to descend upon her, veiling her form in the scent of the other scents around her. At first, her nostrils quivered, drawn to the aroma of her own lifeblood, tiny pricks of crimson staining her deliberately lax and glossy pelt. With it, she reminded herself that she was mortal, and that she should be more careful because of it, but at the same time, realization dawned upon her, almost so forceful that it threatened to knock her consciousness over; the future would call for blood, for sacrifice. Sea foam eyes cleared away all obstructions, a road paved with sacrifice, with the loss of life. All would fall upon her shoulders now, they would all be her responsibility. At times, she wanted to ignore the tug of mortality upon her, but even she knew that her time may yet come. She would be helpless, helpless as a newborn kit, for the first time in her entire life.

But as of now, the curtain lifted from her eyes. Her claws sank into the cool earth, reminding her that she lived in the present, not haunted by the past, or troubled by what the future would eventually bring. Hope soared through her chest, giving her soul wings for her to fly above all the rest, smite down all who would oppose her, and equally shun all love of Starclan. Heart beating with steady impulse, she stared into Volepelt's pupils, absently peeling back his being and allowing his true form to warm her pelt. It had prickled slightly as a cold rush of wind brushed passed the pair, but her instinct was sharper than the biting weather, and like Fogclan, its devoted deputy would endure. Although her attention towards her comrade was pure, there were even times when something nagged at her, something she couldn't quite put together. An image threatened to distort her very image of him, and therefore fought with the ferocity of a savage warrior to hold back any feelings other than corporate and friendship, which even could invoke a bit of hesitance. Friendship was a word she rarely used, instead replaced with vocabulary more suited to her personality like comrade, ally, consort, and confidant when necessary. And with that strict affirmation, her eyes twisted in mild confusion at his gaze, so intent. As much as she enjoyed attention upon herself, there was something eerie in his stare that threw her off. Wrinkling her maw in slight distaste at her weakness, her posture immediately straightened, nobility strong in her face. Weakness was not an option he would extort from her, nor compassion or pity...yet as much as she contradicted herself, she found herself rebelling over her own thoughts. Could it be...? Had she seen..? She shook her head, and such sin was tossed away, over her shoulder to be discarded from her being...for now.

Despite how much she could barely feel much sensation in her left shoulder, she managed to shrug her shoulders lightly, rolling them subtly to put some motion in them. The very last thing she wanted would be for her sinew to harden and stiffen, and break as if brittle. The pause was too long as it lingered upon the air, nothing stirred, not even the breezes that seemingly went flat soon after the void of silence hit them. Her request was slowly rotting into a stale bunch of word, meaningless lyrics, but before they died off entirely, and before she cleared her throat out of the tension that was building from their exteriors, Volepelt spoke. Queer...broken...his words made little sense. As she stole the time to register what use his piece of syllable made inside of her mind, she barely noticed his silent pawfalls, quickly approaching her until all separation was erased. It was then that she felt a presence behind her, brushing against her faintly before that oh so familiar scent overcame her. Volepelt had woven his way passed her defenses. With the feathery caress of his tongue against her wound, it seemed all sense of touch returned to her, brimming with life. Tiny electric sparks fluttered within her entire body, with instantly sent almost every one of her hairs to prickle. The pleasure had soured as Mistpelt's pride set it. Maw wrinkled with annoyance, she forced herself to remain standing her ground, paws planted firmly against her instinct to shield away from his sinful touch. She loathed it, her brain clawed at the very idea of such tenderness, such...admiration? That was the closest word she could think of such contact, and still despite all rebellion, wing beats of desire rushed through her, kindling a heat that she was unsure of, which could make her extremely hostile.

Nothing could distract her from that fact that he had touched her without encouragement. Of course, she mouthed her previous words of invitation, but in ll her experience, respect willed it to be not enough. She would either have to repeat such permission or receive a plea for such contact, but Mistpelt had heard none and Volepelt audacity blazed like an unholy beacon. It simply wasn't done. When next he met her gaze, his maw was hued red, tinged with her own blood. Bile threatened to rise in her throat, the thought alone enough to sicken her...Blood.Her blood. On his maw. His words were instantly picked clean of meaning, which brought a hiss of controlled irritation on her face, although her lyrics, usually tempered with the subtle elegance of her usual self faded with each word. “I don't like to repeat myself.” Darkened and low, her statement cut through the air with deadly precision. “ '...it's nothing I can't handle. Nothing's infected '. I. Am. Fine. And more importantly, my fate is not in my own paws, Volepelt. If I must bare Fogclan's scars, if I must join Their glorious ranks at the end of my goal, if I must be killed be another cat to cleanse the forest...so be it...if it is Their will. Don't be concerned for me, as I have a feeling that I shall live until the forest no longer requires my guidance.” Her voice, by this time ebbed, subdued slightly, yet they did not lose edge or intensity in the process. Tilting her head, she angled her head so she could get a clear view of his eyes, watchful of his reaction, and tensed for any kind of mental or physical assertion. “The information I am about to share with you is of utter importance, so come to a place of some seclusion. There will do fine.” Her ringed tail twitched in the direction of the corner of camp, shaded and somewhat foliated, a perfect place for secretive conversation. Without another word, she took her leave, with as much dignity as she could muster, the parts of it as a whole recovering steadily from his advances upon her. She broke free, and stalked forward, head held high before settling herself down upon her stomach, retaining a position of comfort knowing that her ideas would take a while to express fully. Luckily for the tom, Mistpelt did not look back to see if he followed or not. At this point, she could have just as easily walked away and punished him with ignorance, but instead decided against it. There was just too much at stake.


If he were to receive any kind of physical affection from her, it would be on her terms.

ooc// Mist's playn' hard to get. I think she was just overall too shocked to act pleasantly to his advances.

[Rolo]

Volepelt felt a vast amount of pleasure as he felt her fur prickle slightly at his touch. If he hadn't been so focused on his task, he tended to her with the vigilance of a monk over his prayerbooks, he would most certainly have smiled. And that was a rather large thing for him... why should he smile? Emotions were certainly not needed, or wanted, in a relationship, his mentor had told him that. It only complicated things. Yet, here he was on the brink of showing a great warmth to this she-cat, but not a warmth that was intended to lighten her heart but a smile that simply signified his own contentment.

Duty. Duty always. Who was she to say he wasn't performing duty? He was aiding her soothingly, showing care not that much different from medicine cat applying a treatment to a patient. He was her servant, after all, he had given her his loyalty to the cause she had been chosen to lead, was he not just serving her in body as well as mind? Dedication. Dedication always and forever...

But even he knew there was something potent in his actions, something that could be brinking on sinful... if percieved wrongly. Though he was wholeheartedly her pawn, in the end she could never truely control him. Not because she could not control his mind or actions, but because it was Starclan's will. In Starclan's eyes, they were all equals... in the end, she was no higher than him and any respect she gained as a cat was different to that she would gain from him for being chosen. Her job and her body were two seperate things, and her body was that of a she-cat's.

So it his pleasure did not come from her pleasure, the taste of her blood or from delight that he had shown his undying loyalty. It came from the fact that he had shocked her. He had gained the upper hand, finally. He had returned the world to it's natural order, for a male should never be below a female, and in doing so had pleased Starclan. This was but the first step in gaining equality between them, where the overpowering eachother was done correctly. Hers spiritually, his naturally. He had no doubt that this power play would last for many moons, if it did not last forever, but eventually she would learn. She would learn he had a power she could never possess.

So the warmth spread through his veins, peace finally returning to his mind. He didn't care that her tone had been sharp when she spoke to him, that she didn't shrink under his caress. She had lost her deathly cool for a second, and that second was what had made it all worth it.

So it was that in the moments where she spoke to him, his eyes had their normal formality returned to them. He no longer desired her as he had, he only saw this as neccessity. As he should. A cat does badly when they let their emotions dictate their actions. He forgot his urge as if it had never arose. So when Mistpelt turned to him, his gaze was cool. That of a servants and nothing more.

The time would come when he truely gained his dominance again, when she would learn fully what she must be to him, but for now he would let it lie.

She padded softly, with some unstable dignity, away from him. Did she think that her stern reply and swift moving away was a rejection? He could see she intended it to be. But it wasn't. How could an act like that after such a reaction be a rejection? She had been enraptured by him, she was merely putting off the inevitable.

His gaze followed her as she walked. He let a brief smile cross his face, when her back was turned, before he extinguishing it completely.

His eyes were cold as he licked the blood from his lips, "Just remember, sweetest Mistpelt," He uttered, "that I am your servant, and a servant will serve. I was merely tending to you as a servant should. Duty. Nothing more."

He moved slowly after her, deliberately keeping behind her like a follower. Gradually, his emotions towards her began to cease completely and he was left his stable, predictable self. Now it was time for Starclan, such trivial matters, dominance, would now cease.

[Spec]

Natural order? Foxdung! Mistpelt's thoughts were so warped on the contrast that her stomach knotted blindly. What Volepelt claimed 'order' and deemed 'desirable' lay upon different shores, so complex and chaotic that she herself had little patience when confronted with such a conflict. Toms held but trivial use, practical impulses that attracted her desire for them. Their strength and support were her framework, but inwardly, she loathed how much she had come to rely on them. Toms were inferior as a whole to the she-cat sex. Despite what Starclan preached, They purposefully allowed more than enough loophole for the ivory furred deputy to transform her way of thinking to technically follow the general law of 'equality' within her, but the way she was raised influenced her beliefs as well, rooted deeply into her heart where all matters of philosophy lie. The wanton longing to please her ancestors brought about the natural thirst to quench her insatiable appetite for power, for the sake of change for the greater good. Without she-cats, the male population would perish, without toms, she asserted Starclan would intervene and save them from extinction. Her maw wrinkled, curling back as she recalled herself as an apprentice, teased crudely for her appearance and her form. Of course, she knew that it had been meaningless flirtatious banter, and which did not necessarily mean that she didn't enjoy – or continued to enjoy it even today, but instinct ran thicker than blood, coursed stronger than duty. Love was a primal urge, not a play thing. Over the years, her strange way of conversation molded a way in which she controlled much of the feeling burned into her soul, kept trapped behind the bars she placed herself around. There was mastery over her madness, while Volepelt acted alongside his feelings, no matter how strongly he initially opposed revealing them. Unknowingly, both were consumed with nibbling desire, dominance playing a huge role in this dangerous relationship. It was only a matter of time before she would snap, act aggressively...amorously or otherwise.

Could she have developed admiration towards her servant? It was unlikely, but her heart screamed, pounded her sub consciousness for recondition, begging to he heard. She could not feel its touch, nor acknowledge its beckoning call. Her mouth would upturn for a brief moment, perhaps nuzzle into the flesh of her current tom, but shielded from the world, she became cold to her own touch with only Starclan's love to teach her, but even then, it shone off her pelt, resonated from her being, and possibly attracted all the right kind of attention. She could only pray Volepelt would not lose himself in sin again...for Mistpelt knew that the next time she might partake in it as well. Her tail lashed irritably, but her pelt had long reclined back into a lax and confident posture. Staying immersed in a weakened state for more than a second could uproot everything she held dear, everything within her control. Sea foam gaze narrowed accordingly, she stole a lingering glimpse of Volepelt's approaching figure, quick to follow and eager to serve once again. Her face was blank, void of any nd all possible emotion, readable and unreadable. Anger faded from the sharp contrasting colors of her face, her claws unsheathed from her paws and raked the ground beside her, motioning for him to lay beside her – a good distance away. His words still murmured through her senses, in which her voice followed, curt and corporate as any higher ranking cat should be towards their obedient warrior. “My voice, guided by Starclan's, shall define your duty, lest you be punished for your sins.” She spoke matter of factually, as if his identity didn't matter to her. She faced her comrade and continued once he had settled. “Today, I've chosen to share my thoughts on how Fogclan should be led, rules which need to be put into action, and traditions to be enforced, and otherwise concerning the complete wellbeing of Fogclan. As always, you are welcome to share your own thoughts upon the subject.” She allowed herself the pleasure of exhaling softly, the sound of her breath bringing a slight comfort to her ears. “Firstly, this clan has been spoiled with the lack of rule and utter slothfulness for too long. I plan to root out this problem at a very young age, kits even. They need to be educated in the ways of Starclan from the very start of their existence. Standards must be raised for kits and apprentices to advance in rank, for Starclan knows how most of them lay around in camp like useless lumps.” At this she paused, locking her bright gaze towards Volepelt, a brief pause separating her from continuing on. She was far to anxious, so she considered this and lifted her urge to slow, tail tapping mutely upn the ground for each heartbeat pounding like the steady thrum of a slumbering giant.

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((I think I ended up editing a bit before you posted. I only took out a sentence. Vole can expand on her thoughts and she can end up agreeing with them and adding her own two cents and it can build from that.

Thanks. It was fun to do. Fems rule. ^^ ))