diurnal nights [c]

Nightstar watched with an odd calmness as she launched herself from her place to tower of the toms prone form, and he couldn't help but sneer, sure he wouldn't appreciate his loved ones being insulted, their motives called to question, but for the moment he didn't care. And he, was just proven right. "And you have just confirmed everything I have ever said. Haven't you? You, after suppressing your anger, have just exploded with it. I'm no stranger to bloodlust, Dawnfeather, I could see it, I could practically feel and smell it wafting off of you like a thick miasma. You are more Dawnhawks kin than your mothers, you've proven it just now." Nightstar meowed, slowly easing to his paws so as to not knock her off. "And what will you do with it now? You can't suffocate it forever." The tom regarded the she-cat with cold, amber eyes.

Just as she was forcing the anger out of her body- …could kill you, here and now, more easily than a blackbird. hes weak, he’s weak he’s weak, strike now strike now, tear open his throat and his chest and pull out his heart and- and-… that would just be proving his point, Dawnfeather thought weakly to herself. Anger- no- just- no, no no, ignore ignore it it isn’t real, not really, not you, not you, him him him-. How had this conversation gone so foul? She had liked him… and she still did! Right? Surely- he didn’t mean to insult Prima…

Oh. He did.

This was not anger that curled within her heart- it was hate, foul and visceral and vitriolic, broiling and frothing and hissing and spitting, a chorus of ’how dare he how dare he’ that echoed through her soul. ”I don’t think I can forgive you,” she hissed. “And I don’t think I want to. You know, most cats don’t go out of their ways to insult other cats’ mothers.” She wanted to- she really wanted to shove him. To push him. She’d always wanted to see what made a cat tick. So simple, so so so simple, the beautiful symphony of spilled blood, the fragile crack- crack- crack of broken bones, the way flesh gave so, so easy before her claws, as if they were made to kill and to maim and to destroy…

… she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Her soul sang a song of fury and violence, ancient strains that originated so long ago in the distant past, crying out for blood spilled and shed, a symphony of hate and righteous anger alike, seeking the exhilaration of flesh under her claws and the sweet, sweet taste of life-blood- the battle-madness of her grandfather and aunt and-

And then a terrible thought occurred to her-

It wouldn’t matter. Not really. He has plenty of lives left, and doesn’t seem to want them, does he?

"No, and I typically don't do that. But, what I think, is that you needed this to happen. Maybe you'll figure it out one day, but I won't blame you for the now. I think you have a lot of consideration to do also, but don't go forgiving me. But- regardless- I apologize, I stepped out of line." Nightstar spoke with a shrug, flippant in his apology, as if he didn't actually mean it but only said so as a way to assuage any consequence for later. "You seem like a smart cat, I'm sure you'll figure things out. But as things are, I'd rather we cease conversation, lest either one of us kills the other. I you for being Dawnhawks kin, or you I for being Dawnhawks kin." Nightstar almost seemed to chuckle at it, before he eased himself down the fuzz tree.


OOC: I liked it when Dawn and Night were cool :( too bad Night had to ruin it))

Sharp eyes like a falcon’s watched the black tom’s every move, glinting stonily. “Your words are those of a fool-“ she spat, pelt bristling. “Wretch.” The vitriolic song her soul had been crying settled to a low murmur, a soft croon of violence and blood and fear as she watched him clamber down the tree, lip curled. Pathetic. The golden she-cat leaped down in a single bound, landing with graceful ease and trotting to the other side of the room, curling up in a silky pile. She hated him. She hated him, and- and- for now, at least, she regretted nothing. A deep fury still broiled within her, waves of stark hate washing over Dawnfeather, one after the other.

He did not want the lives StarClan had blessed him with- he hated her by mere virtue of being distantly related to her uncle- ah, Dawnfeather understood now what had driven Tornshadow away- her heart hurt, underneath the anger, and now she was a swirling whirlpool of confused anger. She had liked him- yet for sure, now she did not. Ah, her soul ached for the soothing feeling of flesh tearing under her claws… perhaps he was right. The explosive anger of her family broiled and boiled under her skin, slowly subsiding yet ready to flare-up at a moment’s notice.

How could he… Prima, wherever you are, please, watch over me! I miss you, so so much… tell me what to do. Please.