it's a dream and it's a bit of a dance [c]

Perhaps one of his favorite parts about now being named a warrior is the freedom to leave camp whenever he wished (without having to concern himself with the idea of someone foolishly believing he was incapable of taking care of himself.) It was a small change, but Hawkmist relished it. A restless, sleepless day spurred by a recent argument with his father turned into a restless, sleepless evening, and with no immediate patrol scheduled, Hawkmist slipped out of camp just before nightfall brought the camp to life with activity.

Hawkmist did not spend much time in the sun, if he could help it. He didn’t like the feeling of the light exposing him even more than moonlight already did. He blamed the trip to the lake for his restlessness when he should be resting soundly. Still, today was a cloudy day, threatening freezing rain or snow that hadn’t fallen yet. He was sure it would make patrols more miserable later, but for now, it only created a foggy effect as the sun began to lower. The cold and the false sense of complete privacy helped ease the hot tension still itching under Hawkmist’s fur, icing over the boiling concoction of anger and, frustratingly, hurt, that roared to life inside him so easily and frequently.

Hawkmist felt more at home twisting amidst the foggy pines than he did in camp proper. True to his namesake, he nearly blended in with the mist, aiding him greatly as he hunted more by smell than by sight. The success of the hunt had a rare sense of intoxicating pride prickling under Hawkmist’s skin. He slinked between the trees, a ghost haunting his own territory, enjoying the silence. His paws almost took him towards the pine grove, but… no, visiting there for idle pleasure without Silverhawk by his side felt odd now. His paws itched, and he became suddenly aware of the lack of Silverhawk by his side.

Having entered warriorhood meant he had more opportunities than ever to spend most of his time plastered close to Silverhawk. The attention was addicting, regardless of whether his reception was negative or positive. A childish part of him almost itched to double back and retrieve Silverhawk, but that neediness made his stomach tighten with discomfort. He was perfectly fine on his own. He liked being on his own; that was how it always been. He would not let Silverhawk change that.

Shaking his head, Hawkmist diverted his path. He saw the ground change from marsh to solid forest ground as he walked closer to the Skyclan border, the heavy smell of oak drifting through the fog. He only lingered to clear his head, keep his paws moving rather than letting them stop. He walked along Shadowclan’s side of the border for a moment, renewing scent markers on fuzzy instinct. He did not intend to stay long, deciding to walk for only a few minutes longer before turning around and heading back to collect his buried prey.

However, a creak of wood, the rustle of leaves, and becoming aware of a sudden increase in the intensity of the Skyclan scent in the air had Hawkmist whirling around, claws already digging into the dirt on pure, fuzzy, defensive instinct. Visible now where she wasn’t before, the Skyclan she-cat didn’t look like much of a threat. (Though, who knew how many of her fellows were with her, hidden by the fog.) On the smaller side for Skyclan (seriously, some of those cats were giants), a soft gray, and with bright, startled pale green eyes. With a flick of his tail, Hawkmist noted that she was still firmly on her side of the border, just as he was, and he forced his fur to lay flat and his claws to retract.

He was sure he must’ve seen her around before, but he didn’t pay much attention to the faces of other clans. She seemed to be around his age though. With a blink, Hawkfrost offered a small nod. “Evening,” He said curtly, just for some semblance of politeness, not wanting to draw out this unexpected interaction any longer than it had already gone on.

What he had hoped to be a greeting and a goodbye in one word swiftly proved to be, at least to this she-cat’s interpretation, an invitation for chatter. Lowering the paw he'd lifted to begin walking again, Hawkmist’s ears laid flat for a moment. What is it about himself that made talkative cats believe he was a good conversation partner? Silverhawk could make a mountain out of a message that could only require a single word, (especially when he felt like annoying Hawkmist, which was frequently) but he at least acknowledged that Hawkmist hardly had the inclination towards conversation. He was far more likely to start a fight than talk.

He wondered for a moment if he should entertain this at all. It felt a bit like a trap. A voice that was suspiciously like Wolfshadow’s whispered in his mind that this she-cat only wanted to get Hawkmist to let his guard down, and suspicion bubbled up in his chest as his eyes narrowed. His paws felt tight and he found himself watching the she-cat as closely as he would a fox about to pounce, waiting for any display of aggression to ward against or weakness to take advantage of.

But… Skyclan seemed to have enough enemies without starting fights at the Shadowclan border for no reason, and Hawkmist had no desire to have one of his first acts as a warrior be causing problems for his own clan, as much as he may feel the flare of irritation. Besides, as he stared at this strange Skyclan cat, he could find nothing but… curiosity, and maybe a little excitement in pale green eyes that blinked so warmly at him. She stayed where she was, and offered her name easily. Bubblebeam. It was a kind name, and she had kind eyes. His tail flicked, and he forced his teeth to unclench and his ears to partially raise again.

After a beat of silence, Hawkmist finally addressed one of Bubblebeam’s questions.“...Hawkmist.” Pride, fresh and warm, bubbled up at the sound of his own warrior name, still sweet and new in his mouth. He did not pride himself in much, but the name still tasted honey-sweet. It was unfamiliar to feel any sort of fondness instead of bitterness and loathing at the sound of his own name, and so he savored the taste.

He suddenly wished, again, for Silverhawk by his side to aid in communication, as he so often was at gathering. Sure, he introduced Hawkmist as Pigeon and spoke with other cats in a way that made Hawkmist want to rip out either their throat or his, but at least he could do the talking instead of Hawkmist having to. Then, he thought about Silverhawk speaking to this sweet she-cat in his charming, inviting way, his eyes focused squarely on her instead of Hawkmist, and the thought set him so on edge he immediately wanted to start snapping his teeth. He shoved the thought down.

Breathing out carefully, and in the interest of peace, Hawkmist tried not to let that growl edge into his tone when he addressed the rest of Bubblebeam’s many questions. “I’m guessing Leopardstar chose my name partially because of my pelt, yes. It is an aid on days like these. Only on days like these.” His tail flicked vaguely towards the area around them, indicating the mist. “It… is early, yes. I could not sleep, so I went out for a hunt.” He paused, then immediately bit his tongue, tasting blood and angry with himself for revealing such an obvious weakness as sleep deprivation.

He looked up, searching for a way to cover up the fumble, and remembered something she said. “...I enjoy the sunset as well,” He mumbled, eyes narrowing as if he could spot the sun despite the fog and cloudy skies. Shaking his head hard, he turned his eyes back to Bubblebeam quickly. He eyed her for a moment, golden eyes still narrowed and hard, before he said, “It is early for me, but it’s getting late for you, isn’t it?” There was curiosity sparking in Hawkmist’s chest too, mixing in with thorn-sharp suspicion.

Unexpectedly, his name in Bubblebeam’s mouth tasted even sweeter than saying it himself had. It didn’t feel anything like the euphoria of Silverhawk using his name, nothing could ever match that, but still. Maybe it was the way she’d said it, delicately, curiously, like she was savoring it. Her head tilted to the side and her next words made Hawkmist’s eyes widen for a moment, genuine shock filtering across his features, and his fur growing so warm it was uncomfortable; a feeling he’d only ever associated with Silverhawk, and thus assumed Silverhawk was the only one who could cause such a sensation. It was disturbing that this strange Skyclan she-cat could cause that with just a compliment about his name. He blamed it on being unused to his name being received positively, for surely that could be the only reasoning.

Hawkmist swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t feel the cold at all for a moment; like she had just shone the sun directly onto his fur. Get a grip. He growled in his own head, irritated with his own body’s reactions. He forced his expression to harden again, refusing to allow this (enemy clan!) cat to draw such emotion from him.

But it was hard to stay focused, because Bubblebeam was staring at him so intently, searching his gaze like she was trying to pry out all of his secrets from his eyes alone. Pale green, like fields of rolling grass or lake water glinting in sunlight, made him as unable to look away as she seemed to be. It was eerie, downright eerie, that this complete stranger could make him think of Silverhawk, to whom no one could compare. Certainly this chatty, overly-friendly cat was nothing like his best friend, and yet-- there was something in her eyes. An enigmatic glow, a magnetism that drew Hawkmist in. Hawkmist’s ear flicks back. It must be the sleeplessness, that must be what’s causing him to think this way.

Bubblebeam keeps talking (and talking) too fast for Hawkmist to come up with intelligent responses. Slowly, resigned to his fate (or maybe simply wound up in a spider’s web he couldn’t see, he still can’t quite decide how dangerous this cat is) he sat down, wrapping his tail over his paws as he watched Bubblebeam. She spoke of her own sleep deprivation as if it was a trivial matter, as if she didn’t mind exposing her dulled senses and lack of focus to him. Maybe she felt safe to reveal the weakness because he’d already done the same, but still. Hawkpaw’s claws dug briefly into the mud beneath the cover of his tail.

Something about her words drew something from him, a sympathetic understanding that made his nose wrinkle a little bit. She took a breath, likely to carry on, and he spoke softly in that moment. “...It is not that strange.” An unspoken I know how you feel was carried underneath the words. How many times, either by himself or after dragging Silverhawk out with him, did Hawkmist race from the confines of camp simply to escape having to think about himself, or his father, or any number of things?

She carried on, speaking of fate, and then the stars. Hawkmist blinked a few times, mildly overwhelmed by the amount of words she just directed at him and uncertain where to begin in his reply. Because surely she expected a reply? It shouldn’t matter to him what a cat he’d likely never see again except in glimpses expected of him, and yet… Bubblebeam looked at him with such fascination. Her attention was completely on him, as if he was something interesting, something worth looking at with light shining in her eyes, and… and Hawkmist did not want that attention to leave. At least not yet. It was as soothing of a balm to the tension around his heart as the walk through the mist had been. It almost made him angry, made him want to lash out at her and sink his teeth in just to stop the confusion of his own reactions, but still-- still, he did not want to make that attention leave.

“The cold doesn't bother me much.” He finally said after a moment. “I find it more uncomfortable to deal with excessive heat."His nose wrinkled for a moment. “I don’t know how Windclan cats can stand living in a place with little shelter or shade.” Then he lifted his shoulders in a shrug as he said, “As for the darkness, it’s not strange to me. It’s what I’ve known my whole life. It was much stranger to sleep during the night during the journey to the lake and back. I find it comforting. The dark, I mean." Hawkmist’s voice was flat, edge with a tone of irritation he could never quite shake, the result of his current mixed emotions and reaction to the cat in front of him. Yet, he answered all the same.

“And, no, I do not put much stock into the stars.” Hawkmist’s ears laid flat for a moment. No, he did not have much faith in Starclan. His moonstone ceremony had been fine. But still, Starclan took his mother instead of him when he was born, cursing him to this life he had no part in, and the stars seemed to have no interest in preserving his clan. Shadowclan took care of themselves, not because cats dead and gone had any say in it. “I don’t believe in fate either. Our actions are our own. I don’t want some dead cat deciding my future for me. My future is mine. If I ruin my own life, that’s more bearable than being doomed to do so because someone decided that for me.” His words almost edge with a growl unintentionally.

Hawkmist blinked as he finished speaking, then blinked again. Golden eyes narrowed once more. He did not mean to say that much, and his mouth tastes like ash from the accidental confessions rolled into those statements. He ground his teeth and shook his head hard. He lifted his head to look at her again, and-- surely his mouth must now have a mind of his own, because of all the things he wanted to say (a dismissal, an excuse to leave, a demand for explanation she didn’t truly owe), what came out was just, “Why can’t you sleep?”

Hawkmist curled his tail over his paws. Similarly, he felt the cold settling in around them, but the cold embrace of the night only brought a sense of familiarity. The last of the light was leaving the sky, but the fog remained, giving the impression that the two cats, rather than sitting on either side of a border, floated in a void; nothing and no one else nearby. Bubblebeam seemed to occupy all of Hawkmist’s attention, anyhow.

Bubblebeam did not notice her own shivering, but Hawkmist did, eyes sharpening and narrowing as he watched Bubblebeam’s fur twitch and shudder into place. He had the strangest, yet prominent thought that someone like her did not belong out here in the cold and the dark with someone like him. She belonged somewhere warm, somewhere safe. Yet, here she was, with that attention on him, and here he was, with his attention on her. He could pose a clear, actionable threat against her, could easily take her off guard if he chose to unsheathe his claws, yet she had shown no fear. It was… strange. Interesting. But strange.

Hawkmist’s embrace of the cold and his distracted thoughts did not keep him from being aware of the fact that Shadowclan patrols would begin soon enough. He kept his ears perked for sounds of his clanmates approaching, aware that the time they had together could not be so unlimited. She would have to return to her own clan and he to his own. Yet, strangely, he wanted to keep examining her a while longer, and hoped that no one would come to cut the interaction short before he was ready to leave or she grew tired of his prickly nature.

He listened to her talk about her opinion on the weather with nothing more than a flick of his ear; he too was born in Greenleaf, but scarcely remembered it. It occurred to him then that they must be nearly the same age, closer even in age than he and Silverhawk were. He wondered if her name was as recent as his. His ears pressed flat for a moment as she discussed the differences between the clans. He supposed he saw her point, but that perspective was naive. Conflict was inevitable, impossible to avoid. He opened his mouth to say as much, only to notice the look on her face.

Bubblebeam looked shocked at his earlier words, as if he’d offered her a revelation. He was too taken off guard by that look to speak further for a moment.

By the time he’d taken stock of his own silence, she was responding to his question. And again, Hawkmist listened quietly. The small, sad smile that appeared on Bubblebeam’s face was unexpected. There had been a weight on her shoulders the entire time they spoke, even someone as socially inept as Hawkmist could see that much, but as they spoke her pale green eyes had shone as bright as the sun. Now, they dimmed. Her answers were so honest they stunned him; speaking of issues within her clan as if he was someone she could trust with such information (could she?) and offering personal insight that made his head spin. She spoke of it nonchalantly, but the action left her achingly vulnerable, as if she’d pried herself open for his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he asked that, but it was not this.

He once again reflected on how easy it would be to take advantage of that, and found he did not want to. He’d done nothing to earn such trust. Maybe it was not even trust; maybe it was just the type of cat she was, and if that were the case, the more the fool that she was, but-- still. Hawkmist did not know what to say for a moment. Not even Silverhawk had spoken so frankly about his history; the things Hawkmist was not by his side for he had very little information on. It was a fact that often frustrated Hawkmist. Despite knowing he could never be the type to offer or return it earnestly, the honesty was… refreshing.

Hawkmist’s eyes traced over Bubblebeam again with new context, taking in the scar over her eyes and, despite the gentle air about her, the strength in her limbs, and he found an unexpected emotion usually reserved for leaders, medicine cats, and Silverhawk’s family; respect. There was a strength in this she-cat. Perhaps that was what drew Hawkmist to her. It was also strange to find himself relating to a complete stranger, familiar as he was with some of the emotions she described.

Realizing it was him who’d allowed the silence to stretch for too long this time, Hawkmist’s ear flicked and he spoke. “It is your own.” He meowed in agreement. “You are strong to have survived thus far. Many didn’t.” He pointed out mildly. “I am certain you will continue to survive, even as it is difficult.” It was as much of an encouragement, or comfort, as he felt able to give. Why he felt the need to give any at all was beyond him, and he certainly had never been taught how to use such words. He never needed them with Silverhawk, and he’d rarely received them for himself.

Then came her return question, and Hawkmist finally broke her gaze, uncertain how to answer. His ears laid back for a moment as he rolled the answers around in his mind. He wasn’t used to speaking such things out loud. When he felt worked up as he had, he didn’t talk it out. He did something until the emotion went away; hunted, fought Silverhawk or groomed so aggressively he’d feel sore afterwards. Something physical, requiring no words to be brought to his emotions.

“I am restless by nature,” He finally spoke quietly. Then, more words came following that admission. “My… father,” He spoke the word almost in a growl, “And I got into an argument. Typical for us, but it worked me up, I guess." He shrugged a little. “I don’t even remember what it was about anymore. Just that I was too angry to sleep.” He gave a small huff, irritated with his own lack of control. He slid his gaze back to Bubblebeam’s. “Small concerns in comparison,” He said, and for once, his words carried no bitterness. He offered Bubblebeam a grimace that could almost be interpreted as a wry smile, flickering and unnatural as the action was.

“Anyway, I needed some air. I find camp gets… stuffy. Too many other cats. It was worse at the lake.” His upper lip curled at the memory, teeth exposed. “I hate gatherings as a rule. Too many cats. It’s all so much. And that was constant. Could barely get any air.” He huffed through his nose and shook his head. “At least as a warrior I can go whenever I like now.” Not that the rules always stopped him and Silverhawk, but that was beside the point.

Finding himself oddly talkative, Hawkmist carried on and softly added, "I was born in Greenleaf too. I don't remember it much, but I do like the snow. Easier to hide in." He said softly. "For me, anyway."

Bubblebeam’s words were… gentle. Almost reassuring. Almost comforting in nature. Hawkmist was not a creature used to gentleness, to comfort. He’d found fleeting glimpses of it in Pineblossom, and in Hedgepaw, but the way Bubblebeam spoke was different. Perhaps it was the understanding in her tone. She didn’t speak from a place of sympathy, of disgusting pity, but from experience. Yes, there were many times Hawkmist had wished he were not related to his father at all, that he could escape the cloying chokehold Wolfshadow’s temper, personality, and history has on his life, that he was raised by someone like Pineblossom… but he could not escape his father’s blood. Neither could Bubblebeam with her own father, it seemed.

There was something comforting in that, a sense of kinship. He’d felt something similar with Silverhawk before, but only in glimpses. It was one of many silent understandings between them, what he’s picked up about Silverhawk and his birth mother, but they never spoke about it so bluntly. He knew too that Silverhawk was aware of his father, but this too they did not address out loud. Silverhawk just let him vent his frustrations in their fights; riled him up in just the right way and helped him release the creature that clawed at his ribcage around his heart. And that too was needed, desperately so.

But Bubblebeam’s words soothed that awful squirming thing that sat in place of Hawkmist’s heart instead of beating it into silence. It was different… and Hawkmist thought it was needed too in a way. What a thing to find in a chance encounter. How strange to find himself feeling connected to a near-stranger. Maybe not a stranger anymore. Hawkmist rarely felt like he understood other cats, but for just a moment, he felt like he understood her.

As she had done with his own words, he gave a little dip of his head in acknowledgement to her admission, and hoped that his gaze communicated the feelings he certainly had no words for.

Bubblebeam smiled, and it was so sweet, so earnest. Hawkmist once again found his thoughts, thoroughly out of his control by now, comparing her to the sun. Despite the fact that in the time they’d been talking, the sun had nearly completely disappeared, leaving them in near-complete darkness, Hawkmist still felt as though there was warmth on his fur. How strange.

Hawkmist found himself making a quiet hum of agreement to her comments about the lake territories, his nose wrinkling at the memory. He flicked his gaze up to meet her gentle eyes once more, and found himself captivated by the emotion glinting there. Friends. Hawkmist had precious few of those; only one, really, if he allowed himself to admit that he considered Pineblossom and Hedgepaw more family than friend. He should not even consider a friendship with a cat from another clan, such a thing could only spell trouble, and yet what he said was, “No reason we can’t start now.”

Foolish, and Hawkmist would’ve tried to walk the words back if it weren’t for the musical laughter that left Bubblebeam at comparing his fur to the snow, and to his shock he found his lips curling up slightly in response. Brief and fleeting, but there all the same. And then she kept going, and his shock made heat creep up his pelt and fill his face and suddenly it was hard to breathe because she had called his eyes striking, and he’s not sure he’s heard anyone say something so complementary about his appearance before. He huffed out air that could’ve been something like a laugh at her little joke, but was more just an attempt to regain the air she’d stolen right from his chest.

Hawkmist swallowed hard. It’s freezing out, but Hawkmist took a moment to be able to feel the cold again. He blinked hard, and then spoke quietly, “I did. I was frustrated with the wait as well. My…” He trailed off. What term to use for Silverhawk? Something as simple as friends didn’t seem to cover it. No, there was nothing that could easily define his relationship to Silverhawk, but Hawkmist made an attempt anyway. “Close friend had been named several moons ahead of me. He wouldn’t stop rubbing it in.” He took a minute to roll his eyes at the memory, and, far away from Silverhawk being able to catch it, the action was almost fond. “It was… lonely waiting to catch up to him.” His voice was a little quieter then. He had meant to say annoying. It was disconcerting how easily she drew the truth from him.

He shook his head, then met Bubblebeam’s gaze as well. “I, erhm.” His ears flicked back and he was suddenly overwhelmed. What right did she have to call his eyes striking when she disarmed him with her gaze alone? He looked away. “I enjoyed our time together as well,” He said, voice gruff to try and make up for the words he’s speaking. “I feel…” He trailed off. He felt better. A lot better, even. Like he could go home and sleep rather easily.

Oh, he needed to get out of there.

He shook his head and looked at Bubblebeam, and despite the urge to bolt, still found himself blinking slowly at her as he rose to his feet. “Perhaps we’ll talk again soon; but the dusk border patrol will likely come by soon, and you should get back to your camp as well.” He gave a jerky nod, skin buzzing. “I. Um.” He wasn’t sure how to end this conversation. It had started so unexpectedly, and he was still recovering from so many unexpected emotions so quickly. “Goodnight. And thank you.” With that, he turned and marched quickly into the fog, heart beating fast.

Despite his own hasty retreat, Hawkmist found himself looking back a few pawsteps away, just in time to catch a glimpse of gray in the fog. He stood still for a heartbeat longer, than shook his head hard and continued his journey home.