:__When Have I Ever Let You Down?

[sable]

Oh. Now I remember.

Never have you seen such a sight.
The day was calm; the sun shone, but it was a bit dull. Few puffy white clouds floated about, casting their shadows upon the DuskClan territories.
And what seemed to be a shadow moved swiftly through the wheat stalks.
But according to the Rogues, this was no shadow. She was completely real.
She was Sable, and she was pregnant.

Sable padded quickly towards the heart of DuskClan -- their camp.
Their scent grew stronger, as more cats bumbled about in the camp. A male leader, she knew; his strong scentmarks came up the most.
Kits squirmed inside her. They would come soon; but not too soon.

Her pure black tail flicked.
She was getting closer to the camp.
Sable mewed and reared to balance on her hind legs.
The little bulge stuck out against the rest of her skinny body.
What was the leader's name?
Bonestar? Bloodstar...Bloodstar, yes.
Sable waited.

But now I ask you, will you trust me?

[Bloodstar]

The large Maine Coon tom had begun to doze a bit as he sat just outside of the camp entrance.
He had come out for some fresh air; his claws sheathed and unsheathed themselves; Nervous habit.
Whenever he had one of his...urges, it happened. How he wanted to rip about into a battle, claws catching anything that would tear under their blade-sharpness.
But he had learned to control these longings...to an extent.
Anyway.
He had been staring out across the vast expanse of wheat, oh how it swayed.
But wait; What was that?
A faint, yet slightly familiar scent drifted on the breeze, causing a corner of his mouth to curve into a half-smile, revealing a glimmering fang.
Lifting himself to his feet, he walked in that lumbering, yet graceful gate of his, toward the scent that grew ever-closer... Then he saw it.
There was the outline of a petite black head, two perfectly poised ears aloft, poking up out of the wheat; His half-smile returned.

Greetings, old friend. Sable, as I recall?

The massive tom noted the scent of milk and soon-due kits on her.
So she was a queen now? How charming.

[sable]

<sub>Bloodfire, Sable purred, having just remembered his name. She hadn't, of course, known that he'd become a leader. Are you searching for acceptance too, or have you already found it? She glanced at the bulge behind her shoulders. Yes, Sable...and a few kits hitching a ride, the ebony femme laughed; a cold laugh, a harsh laugh, but still it was a somewhat happy laugh that she had met up with her old friend.
Sable strode up to Bloodstar -- Bloodfire, as she called him, as that was his name before his life in DuskClan -- and circled him, observing him.
He'd kept himself healthy.

Sable glanced at the sun; sunhigh. It was a strange warmth that day; not humid, but not really dry either.
She dragged her gaze back down to Bloodstar's red hues. Her ears flicked.

Why would the leader accept a worthless queen?

Sable frowned and her silver eyes were narrowed in thought.
New kits were a wonderful addition to the Clan; they would make apprentices, then they would make warriors. Strong warriors, that would overcome all of the other Clans and rule the valley. So Bloodfire, she meowed, smiling sweetly once more. How has your life been going since we last...met?</sub>

[Bloodstar]

His grin just kept on persisting itself as the queen spoke; it wasn't quite a gleeful thing, nor harsh. It was just there...amusement maybe?
Sitting down and drawing out a paw, the tom gave it a few licks, setting it down on the dusty ground after a moment.
He barely noticed as his claws subconciously tore little valleys in the dry earth.
Ah, I've been accepted, I guess you could say, amusement hinted in his voice as he tipped his head a bit to the side. Bloodstar's the new name, Leadership's the new game. And I take it by the way you said 'too' that you're looking for a Clan?
He arched a brow inquisitively, a slight purr forming in his chest.
But shh, you're not supposed to hear that.
Side to side, making small clouds of dust in its wake, Bloodstar's brush-like tail swayed behind him in a rhythmic, slow, metronome fashion.

[sable]

<sub>Sable glanced around. Yes, I'm seeking acceptance, she mewed. And once I am accepted, since I know you, Bloodstar, and you will accept me -- I need to get to the nursery. She stood and shook the dust and dead wheat stalks off her fur.
The ebony fae padded past Bloodstar with her tail held high, straight for the camp.

But she stopped.
Those buddies of yours, in DuskClan -- they'll like me, yes? She turned her head to look over her shoulder at the handsome tom. Everybody liked Sable.

Everybody.

Sable turned back to face the heart of DuskClan and trotted on. I mean, of course they will, but really like me. She raised her nose and trotted quite queenly forward.</sub>

[Bloodstar]

Bloodstar chuckled at the she-cat's forward attitude.
Her queenly arrogance.
It made him grin.
Why, of course they will. Who would dare not to? He added that light note almost to himself, but cared not if any heard.
Lifting himself back to his feet, while shaking his long pelt in the process, he gracefully wheeled around and followed back into the camp.
Well that was quite enough fresh air for now, don't you agree?