DON’T LET IT SLIP AWAY — patrol report

[LAKEMOON]

LAKEMOON — me and the devil, walking side by side.
The patrol had taken a decent amount of time throughly scavenging through the remains of their camp, confirming it was clear of any creatures that lurked behind broken and splintered dens.
Lakemoon had made sure that they had made quick work of returning back to Riverclans temporary home, eager to relay their findings to their monochrome leader as quick as possible.
Despite her excitement, her expression still kept its mask of indifference, only determination shining in azure eyes.
The group of four would spill into camp, caked in mud, but their heads high.
Lakemoon is quick to find Cicadastar with only a quick scan, the leader never too far out of reach.
"Cicadastar." Her tone is cooled in spite of her important news, only raised just enough to catch the toms attention.

/ @CICADASTAR
Patrol tags:
@hyacinthbreath
@CRAPPIEPAW
@dovepaw.

"speech"

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[hyacinthbreath]

Excitement was an understatement. Hyacinth felt like her throat was going to leap out of her chest! They could rebuild their home now, make it theirs once more. They would have more land to hunt, more fish to catch. She waits patiently behind Lakemoon, chest puffed out with pride. "This is going to be good news, ja?" She turns to the two apprentices, smiling down at them. Her face ached with the movement, but she didn't mind; pain was proof she'd survived through such a rough ordeal.​

❝ there are wounds inside me, gaping holes of disconnect.
can you drown inside your own body? can you suffocate within this mind? ❞

 

[CRAPPIEPATCH]

Mud. So much mud. The mostly-white apprentice is coated in it, swears they can feel it caked into the fur between their toes. It has to be in their ears, too. They trail behind the other cats of the patrol, feeling disgusting with each pawstep that they take. Excitement thrums under their skin, but it is mostly overshadowed by nervousness. Their island camp is safe to get to now, and it needs cleaned up but it will eventually be livable again, and the entire clan will move back onto it. And this camp, the camp they have begrudgingly grown used to, will be left behind.

They do not say anything, only staring up at Cicadastar with wide green eyes. They hope that they will be allowed to move the dens they had so painstakingly weaved back to their original camp, if the clan ends up moving back onto the island. They do not, as Lakemoon so haughtily insinuated, wish for their clan to be homeless. But they also do not want to watch their hard work—along with the work of everyone else who had a paw in rebuilding the wrecked dens—be abandoned so quickly. They hear Hyacinthbreath’s words, but do not return her smile. Good news. No, it is mediocre news at best.​

[ dancing in the panic room ]​

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[dovethroat.]

Trudging in fourth and last of the rotation is Dovepaw, also covered in mud but to a considerably more mild degree than his fellow apprentice. Maybe it was luck, or maybe it was his naturally darker coat than Crappiepaw, or perhaps he had spent extra time walking so carefully that he ended up being cleaner. Maybe that was why he got here last. At the end of the day, who was to know?

Good news was not quite the term for it, but Dovepaw did not think that the news was disastrous. He didn't know—he certainly did not want his patrol to be the bearer of bad news, even if it was not really "his".

Standing beside Crappiepaw, he flashed them a sympathetic look with the amount of wet dirt caked into their pelt. Looking ahead afterward, he waited for all to unfold.

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[CICADASTAR]

smokethroat had handled patrols for the day, and the river phantom could wallow at his paws in gratitude ( and otherwise ). his head ached, his muscles sore and singing pain, the reek of thunderclan and windclan still heavy in his nostrils. he is lounging now, laid upon a flank nearly flat along the sandy clearing, partially - woven reed splayed to his front. windclan’s terror had decimated a majority of their temporary camp and he lies basked in the newleaf sun, painstakingly slotting brittle leaves through twine when he sees them — a returning patrol. eyes search the camp rapidly, stopping upon him and . . yes, they were coming his way. the oriental shorthair mix suppresses the urge to groan, overstimulation pulsing blood through his ears, but he holds his tongue out of spite alone.

hyacinthbreath stands alongside the patrol leader, seeming peppy enough despite the straight line of her partner’s face. crappiepaw takes the rear, verdant hues gazing heavenward towards his face with dovepaw trailing quietly behind — he can only hope, hope.. " lakemoon. " he greets as cool as she, slitted pupils raised towards the silvery molly’s stony features. tall audits swivel forward upon the sloped axis of his skull, suddenly alert — her patrol had been sent to scope the water levels in camp, but her expression gives little away. pallid eyes squint fractionally, head lifting from the icy white of his paws, ” tell me. has the river taken pity on us? “ with their recent luck, the river phantom could only prepare for the worst — was their camp submerged in muck? still drowned, corroded at the edges, never to lower or repair? claws tap at the brittle edges of dried river reed, nervous despite the air of calm that settles upon his face. what would he have to deal with, now?

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  
  
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, mated to smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
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• "speech"
  

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[LAKEMOON]

LAKEMOON — me and the devil, walking side by side.
An ear swivels back, acknowledging Hyacinthbreaths optimistic question, although directed towards the apprentices.
She see’s the leader approaching, and while the apprentices don’t respond she takes the lulled moment to turn her head towards the lynx molly and nod once, whilst the apprentices may be to terrified of her to properly answer, Lakemoon figured it no trouble to give her the brief acknowledgment.
Cicadastar’s tone matches the stoic warriors own, and she turns to face the leader directly once more.
Has the river taken pity on us?
The small noise of claw tapping gives away his nervous anticipation for her answer, which Lakemoon is quick to give. Others anxiety uneases her.
"The river has fully receded, though still crowded with debris, the stepping stones are safe to cross until it clears. The camp is in shambles but-" she takes the briefest pause to crack the smallest smile along her jaw. "It can be fixed, we can return home after some rebuilding." The news is more than good, it is fantastic, though Lakemoons own body language doesn’t speak volumes, her sapphire gaze is ablaze with rejoice.


"speech"

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