private BYE-BYE MISS AMERICAN PIE — vision aftermath

[RAVENSONG]

He's at the front of the leader's den, the rising sun casting pink and orange shadows over his large, rounded ears. There is a stiffness in his bones and the way he sits is uncomfortable. He had always had such vivid dreams and night terrors—but this one felt all the more strange. He may be a skilled medicine cat, but he was still quite a learner of StarClan, pawing at the border between faith and faithlessness.

He had waited for them to talk to him—to make sense of this plague that was claiming more lives by the day. If you are good, you would do something to save us from this. Lungwort is running out and my Clan is not healthy. None in RiverClan had died yet, but with the death of the SkyClan kittypet warrior, no doubt other cats had fallen ill.

"I had a dream." He blurted as soon as he saw the leader appear from his den to greet the morning. The fur along Ravensong's spine is spiked and his ears fold low aside his narrow skull. "I left my den and I found myself surrounded by mountains—higher and larger than the high stones where the moonstone lays. And as the sun set, they blazed and pulsed brighter as if it were guided by the rhythm of a heartbeat. The stars fell and I woke up."

His mossy eyes stare earnestly up at the mottled cat, the fervor of his experience showing itself clearly in his wild eye and raised fur. "They are telling me something, but I cannot make of it."

@CICADASTAR

☾₊ ⊹ темная ночь — dark is the night

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  RAVENSONG of RIVERCLAN
  — LH BLACK POLYDACTYL MALE (CARRYING CINNAMON, DILUTE) a tall, slender creature with pitch-black feathery fur, large ears, and a sharply angled skull held up in an aloof manner. smells of dried herb, speaks with a low and rumbly accent and walks with an elegant slinking gait.
  
  — born in twolegplace and orphaned at a young age, he joined riverclan at its inception and began training as a drypaw warrior known for a bitter temperment until beesong made him his medicine cat apprentice. after his mentor's untimely death, he had been named ravensong at the moonstone, young heart revitalized with anger and guilt. he is a somber and thorough medicine cat that guards every word spoken in the confines of his den.
  
  — secretly loves "the stars but not so much what inhabits them"
  — openly suffers from chronic migraines
  — single, but "it's complicated"

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[CICADASTAR]

sunlight filters through the arch of his den, spilling warm blue - gold into his frigid darkness. he wakes as soon as light touches him, warms the insides of barely - slept lids and pries them open for another day. riverclan ails, and lungwort dries with each passing day. none of his warriors have met their fate to its clutches, but the fallen skyclan warrior — the one who’s passing had caused outcry after outcry into the starry night — holds him precariously on edge. sickness spurs them, and he can only thank the river for its kindness in keeping the sickest of cats away from their home. when he wakes, he does not linger ; on his paws, untangling from his slumbering family and into the light, still blinking bleary sleep from his eyes.

i had a dream, and the leader startles ; ravensong stands, and for the briefest moment, he reminds him of cicadakit — standing rigid, frazzled and seeming two flicks of a fishes fin away from hitting the ground in shock. bristled fur and pinned flat ears, his tail bottlebrushes in alarm but, slowly, he squints, seconds away from offering an awkward, stilted do you.. want to talk about it? just as he would do his children. ravensong, however fortunately or unfortunately, does not give him the time. he speaks, and with each word the stare in icicle eyes grow further away. he describes towering stone and guiding heartbeats, a setting sun over faraway mountains. they are telling me something, but i cannot make of it.

alarm pulse through him, dousing his veins in ice water and suddenly, his head lifts, " come. not here. " his tail, thick and large, comes to curl around the dark - coated medics side, drawing him aside towards the gleam of shallow water behind his willow den. eyes draw, but he does not spare their fur - burning stares acknowledgment. the moment willow shade cools them, pale eyes meet moss green, the whiskers of his brow pulled, ” mountains? pray tell, what would the mountains have for us? “ a hushed mutter, a reflection of trouble crossing mottled features, ” the river is serving us well. did they.. want us there? “ did starclan guide them away from their home, from the other clans? they’d no need for them, have done better with as little interaction as possible. were they all living amongst the stone, happy and healthy? had ravensong seen them thrive? the stars fall and his ears do as well, pinning slick to his skull. starclan, what did you have for them?

COLD & CRUEL LIKE WINDS ON THE SEA  ╱ INFORMATION ✟

• i.
  
• ★ ⋆ CICADASTAR −−−− FOUNDING LEADER OF RIVERCLAN. HOMOSEXUAL, MATED TO SMOKETHROAT. FIFTY MOONS, FATHER TO STARLIGHTKIT, CICADAKIT && BEEKIT. PENNED BY ANTLERS −−−−− ⁺₊✧
  
  
  he / him. tall, elegantly curled smoke tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt blue eyes. his structure sings a feral sort of hymnal, presenting an almost dangerous sort of beauty veiling what monstrosities lie beneath the ivory of his skull. jutting jawline and a squared chin, sunken cheeks drawing a shadow beneath high, sharp cheekbones with tall, angular ears settling high atop the flatter slope of his cranium. he is beautiful ; lucifer in the eyes of an envious god. for all his looks, his expression is lax, void — corpse - eyed and hollow until spoken to, sparking the undead to life. he is tall, lean, cut - glass pretty ; he smiles with too - many teeth, blackened frostbite pulling back his maw to bear canines setn beneath curling whiskers, pantomime skeletal. a predatory gracefulness from the lines that press the image of exhaustion beneath ice water hues to the slow, sure gait in which he walks, nameless strength poorly concealed within the hard lines of his physique. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unnaturally tall amongst his peers, always holding himself with a tragic sort of grace ; poised, prim, and uncannily aware of how he appears.
  
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── smells like wet moss and meadowland thunderstorms.
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── notoriously paranoid and closed off, cicadastar will tend to lie, assume, and jump to conclusions whenever it suits him. any 'suspicious' ic actions he witnesses or hears about will have a strong effect, and will have ic consequences! if you're unsure of an interactions outcome, please feel free to send a dm!
  
  no character opinions represent my own.​
  
  
• " speech "​
  
  
  

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