private fly me to the moon & . beesong

− ♱ ABOUT : it was no secret that cicadastar had taken up an unfair amount of the cinnamon tabby’s time in the past moons. from his physical health to mental, the former pine colony cat had held his paw, guided him through the darkness — whether by their dedication to the job starclan had bestowed upon them, or to serve riverclan, or to simply help, he’d done more for him than the mottled leader could say. that's why when, upon visiting pumpkinpaw in their den and seeing their herb supply running bit scarce, he offered to assist in fetching some more. he knew vaguely where to find a few basic necessities ; he knew which deep, dark spots that stretch thin with cobweb . . anything beyond that, was beyond him. so he's thankful when the medicine cat takes pity on him and leads them into the gently - swaying willows in search of an herb found aside the gorge, the warm spray of water drifting light upon his pelt from where it crashes heavy upon the rocks below. the sun is just beginning to settle beyond the horizon, the sky painted in shades of straggling pink - indigo. dying greenleaf bathes them in a gentle evening breeze, the sound of rustling reed and river cricket a symphony of calm. a lull from stressors of the day, and kept in good company.

it had been a fine day, in his humble opinion ; in the throes of light and laughter, he'd realized a newfound desire to make the smaller felidae smile, as starclan knew they deserved it more than most of them. the man is snickering over the tabby's response to his - frankly embarrassing - childhood stories, " laugh it up! i hadn't known any better − " he's mid - conversation when he hears it − a brief stumble, an unbalancing of cinnamon paws on damp pebbles, uneven ground. his skull pivots back, heart nearly dropping into his paws at the sound of a pained grunt, dropping from where he had been turned, harvesting one of the damp, towering rock walls, fresh moss almost comically coating his snowy paws. the man had fallen ; not a treacherous thing, but dangerous upon the jagged shoreline. blood beads in little scrapes over the forearms that had caught them, mucky with soil and bits of stone, " schiesse, are you alright? " the man breathes, drawing close out of habit and attempting to use a gentle paw to lift an injured forepaw, examining the damage with a brow heavily furrowed. his touch is barely there, feather - light should the other feel the need to pull away from his grasp. from what he can see, it was nothing to worry about ; but it wouldn't hurt to wrap up, especially with the supplies they had waiting to bring home.

" i'm no medicine cat, but it doesn't look too awful. we may not have to amputate " it rides on the edge of laughter, a quiet tease. this close, the man bathes in their scent ; floral, a sort of sweet medicinal that clings to thyme leaves and marigold, dried with the blazing sun. with a brief glance towards the gently rushing water aside them, the man lowers beesong's paw just slightly, intending to aid in removing the debris from short scrapes, " may i? " the leader inquires, searching the feline's features for permission. should it be accepted, he will lower their paw into the warm water, using his own webbed toes to remove the soil lodged in short fur. fireflies stud the air around them, hovering close over the water in pulsing rays of soft, flickering light. it casts a wavering flame of reflection upon their face, deepening the shadows and illuminating them both in golden warmth. the man eventually gives in on his awkward crane, their height difference straining his neck until he moves to settle upon his stomach, still working clear their shallow wounds.

" so . . are you always this sturdy on your paws, little deer? "

  • @BEESONG i powerplayed the injury a little bit so he can tenderly patch his wounds, i hope that's okay !!
  • CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
    − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
    − gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers

  • none.