private † back at the start ╱ cicada

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

( ᴛᴀɢs. )  ❝  The battle's still ringing in Hound's mind. Not even the rolling of clouds can fully settle everything in his head– violence has crawled its way into the cavity where his heart had been. Like too-soft fruit, it ferments within him. Sickly sweet and squishy, bleedin' over his ribs. He can feel how it bleeds out, but not from his wounds. Instead, grief pours from every orifice of his body. From his mouth, from his ears. He's nothing less than swallowed by it. The takes all that sticky, overripe grief, and laps it up as if there's not a damned thing more he'd want to taste. It's the only meal his battered heart'll have for some time, it seems. Numbed by the taste of it, his mind a lifetime further away from the ground beneath his paws. They'd thought this worth it? These muddied grounds, their scraps of prey? Their lives were to be worth all this death?

Every moment left on these grounds saps another ounce of Hound's love for it. The moments pass and his hatred grows, and staring at the trees has gone on terribly long enough. He pushes himself to his paws, the few remaining links on his collar falling to thick fur with a sudden pressure that sparks uncertain anger back to his veins. It'd do him no good to linger. Bittersweet tang on his tongue, he turns to the shape closest to him– Hound'd kept an eye on him since their staggering path back to the marsh. The blood and bile marking him hadn't fully faded in the slow hours.

"It'll do you no good to sit an' fester here," the tabby mutters, bumping into Cicada's shoulder and gliding forward to muss the other's fur before pulling away. Touch had always seemed a forbidden thing. But when the worst'f battle still aches in his lungs, comfort is needed on all sides. Warmth, a heartbeat, fur that does not smell of blood. For once, Hound doesn't fear the contact. "There's more'n you'd think outside this marsh. There's a spot not so far that's good for the heart." There's no room for any sort of argument or thought to Hound's motions, turning and heading away without a question as to whether or not he'd follow. "Could use that, I'd think."

†  ooc notes information †

• 
  ooc: —
• ──── hound. trans male, he/him pronouns only.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

  [b][color=#c5c897]"speech"[/color][/b][/tab][/tabs][/color][/justify][/box]

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[CICADASTAR]

− ♱ ABOUT : it had all happened so quickly. the heat of battle erupted into rioting flame before his eyes, its red - hot spear of agony piercing loss into the heart of marshlanders and pine cats alike. his vehement call for war tasted sour in his mouth now ; bitter somewhere deep beneath the metallic, iron stickiness clinging heavy to the barbs of his tongue. the smoke fought to rid himself of the sensation of flesh giving way to stained teeth, the way blood poured in a steady stream from each side of his rubber black maw, heat dribbling heavy into the mottled fur under drooping whiskers. the terror in rain’s final, aching scream and the sound the russet - faced tom had released upon watching that behemoth tabby crumple to the bloodstained ground. cicada had fled shortly after ; attention drawn by the yowls of loss from pine colony dwellers who’d noticed the slaying as it happened. he’d gotten sick in the bushes after, crouched pathetically before the starry eyes of the dead with dribbles of saliva still pooling thick in his mouth. the memory of violence, bloodshed and anguish left deep gouges on his impression of the forest he’d once loved. the great oaks were nothing but a blight in his eye ; the scenery he’d grown accustomed to no longer suited him. the walk back through the mucky marsh had been grueling, body heavy and chest empty, once snow - tipped paws thickening even more with brown sludge.

camp was oddly silent amidst their quote on quote victory — or whatever one would deem to call a war ended by the ghosts of those slain moments prior. the absurdity of it still sent his mind reeling with reckless abandon, fear gripping tight at the thin bespokes of his ribcage and rattling violently. his blood felt too thin, head rushing and heart bartering rapidly within his chest, smoldering songbird flailing wild beneath his sternum. it nearly scares him when a voice sounds nearby, breaking the quiet of camp with a low, lightly accented rumble. hound. the tom presses his striped side to his and the mottled tom leans into it despite himself, the thought to be embarrassed crossing his mind only briefly before it settles. they all needed comfort, he thought ; the brief touch of fur released some of the tension in his muscles, if just enough to process the green - eyes felidae’s words. it'll do you no good to sit and fester here. he closes his eyes briefly, defeat written clear on exhausted features. the tabby was right, though. he’d returned — seen with his own icy gaze that quiet was safe and sound, ensured that pumpkin was seen to, he did all required of him. the smoke struggles for a moment, the idea of fleeing so soon after such an event as nauseating as it was freeing. the kittypets had suffered a loss equal to if not greater than the marshlanders themself ; he didn’t expect them to come barging into camp while they were weak. a sigh billows from his maw, orbital ears sloping down to fold against his skull.

“ by all means —” what comes out is hoarse, odd vocals nearly broken with overuse. he takes a moment to swallow, before clearing his throat and trying again, “ lead the way. forest knows my heart could use some good. “ he’s tired ; bone - deep exhaustion lying just beneath its flat, absent drone. the man would be lying if he said he wasn’t in shock. the unreal, underwater feeling — just out of touch with the reality around him. his limbs felt nearly numb as he lifted himself to shaky paws, tail leveling above the soft marshland soil to steady himself. any change of scenery would be welcome, he thought. a sudden nip at his belly tells him it would be better if food were around, still queasy and empty from his time on the battlefield, but the thought was fleeting. the chocolate - toned tom had begun to trot away and cicada puts his too - long limbs to his advantage, trotting lightly to catch up alongside him. there is a beat of silence from him, in which the songbirds chime overhead to the beat of raging greenleaf, filling the comforting silence with gentle song — he thinks vaguely of the way they’d fallen so silent above the sounds of war, eyes closing tight and head lowering, lids only parting again to fixate downward. golden sun dapples the ground before them where it manages to peek desperately through the thick patches of briar and ivy, mottling the well - trees soil underpaw with patches of rolling light. the tabby’s coat shone in rivulets of brilliant amber when the light caught its thick, shining surface.

“ do i get to know where we’re off to, or is it a surprise? ” the man teases gently, icy luminaries finally lifting towards the canopies overhead as they walked. shades of deep, dark green lie in patches of dewy vine and thicket. the way the light caught made him long to enjoy the scenery — but moss seemed like deep blood spatter along their trees now. the mulch underfoot reminded him of flesh giving way, slipping between his bicolored toes. a shudder rocks his lithe figure and he thinks of the way still - stained shades of grey and white curls toned blushing crimson, pivots his head towards his companion to blot out the image of himself his cruel mind constructed. pitiful and matted with blood, still reeking of death, “ i’ll admit, i’m no good at guessing games. “

out of character information translations

• − CICADA ; he / him, roughly thirty two months old, marsh group member
  − tall black smoke tortie chimera with icecap eyes and curly fur, homosexual
  − speaks with a german accent, attack in #171717, penned by antlers
  
  
• none.

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