Guilt was easily quenched with fish scale puddles. Did you know that? What’s a fish scale puddle? Well, the name leaves little wiggle room as far as interpretation. It’s when you flake the scales off a fish and line a small puddle with them. The sunlight catches it like the surface of the river and it dances like the flowers on the rolling hills. Blues, reds, and impossible greens. All off the skin of a fish.
Star-water, his mother used to promise him it was. Despite the taste of fish, he’d believe it- gullible as he was in his youth. He’d believe the sky was falling if you said it with enough conviction.
Dogteeth toyed with the surface of the little puddle he made, idly and from old time’s sake. It glistened and sparkled just as it was designed to do. No bigger than a full grown warrior’s paw print.
Why was Dogteeth guilty? He had requested a hold on Peachkit’s training. His daughter was growing up too fast, a criminal offense- truly. Only, he had claimed she wasn’t feeling well enough or that she was too small still. Both, untrue. So yes, a pool of guilt not quite as sparkly and magnificent settled in his gut.
Too small, he thinks with a puff of air from his nose- a hypocritical claim, Dogteeth himself had always been smaller than other cats. Breakable to a certain extent, both physically and emotionally. Terribly fragile.
What say did he really have when it came to Peachkit’s apprenticeship beginning? it was purely selfish and with the fires- it was enough distraction to further smother his daughter with his overprotective ways. He pushes his paws over his eyes, leaning the weight of his head into his forelimbs with a sigh.
He could be seen like this, a descaled fish to his left- his paws on his eyes and the most sparkly puddle of water you’d ever seen.
// A RTA from my vacation! missed writing with you guys! BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
− ♱ ABOUT : it’s the light that first catches his attention. the man is nestled in the cool spot just beneath river rock, bicolored spine pressed against the ever - damp surface. late greenleaf brings with it now a quiet breeze, drifting the willows in rivulets of fading ivy green. the time of death was upon them — soon, vegetation would brown, sending prey off in search of better lands and leaving nothing but the crunch of crackling decay underpaw, a promise of cool, still leaffall. the man is gazing out towards the smaller river that encloses their drained island when it catches — pink - blues and vibrant greens, bursts of color and shine casting wide upon the greater waters. cicadastar blinks, slowly dragging his lithe body from where it lie to a stand, letting his gaze drift to the side until he sees . . a familiar blond. small, although most cats tended to be in light of the leaders usual height ; he had come to him only shortly before, his daughters name falling from his maw in tones of gentle, yet firm worry.
cicadastar would not pretend not to know the horrors of watching a child grow — how he wished he could have kept quiet locked away, pumpkinpaw too. they would have both been spared the terrors of the world, twice in the calico’s case. images of her lying, bleeding - still over the body of an apprentice taken too soon haunt him ; he understands . . to an extent. while also a father, he was a leader. the chimera was not so willing to let the kit go for too long, the nursery already as overflown with kits as it happened to be. peachkit was growing, a fact that no one could deny. a moon longer in the nursery, he could give — but as it’s been told, not much longer than that. there is a guilt that eats at him now, bitter as he takes in where the tom lie, a few strides away, gazing into . . a puddle. cream - colored curls catch in the gleaming light that emits from its waters and almost without thinking, the leader is drawing forward, letting his head lower to peer into the shimmering reflection. it was alright — dancing with the reflection of many tiny, beautiful scales now lining the bottom. cicadastar almost chuckles — does just a little, glancing towards the descaled fish at his side.
“ a lot of time on your paws, huh? “ he teases, gently. to an extent, he hopes the blond is not upset so much about his refusal to prolong apprenticeship. while he was firm in his decision, he couldn’t help but feel a certain pull towards the coil - furred tom. call it curiosity, he supposed, “ this is beautiful . . who taught you to do that? or do you just have a habit of cleaning fish scales? “
& . welcome back !! i’m so happy to see you again aaa
− 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
Frostpaw barely knew Dogteeth, the warrior had mostly been seen about looking after little Peackit and continuing to delay and push back his precious daughter's apprentice ceremony and she wonder if he realizes how much she wanted to explore the territory. Frostpaw had come back from a patrol when she noticed Cicadastar and Dogteeth, bi-colored eyes flicking between the two before she made her approach. It was an odd sight to see, scales beautifully lined up around a puddle, shimmering like the stars at night and...admittingly it was beautiful however, the descaled fish could have scared off any poor unexpected kit.
She did not understand what it feels like to have that fear, to worry that someone she cared deeply about getting injured, sure it was a possibility but Frostpaw couldn't exactly hold back an apprentice ceremony, not even her own nieces and nephews, they would have to learn the world outside the safety of the nursery wasn't all that it's cracked up to be. Fictive brows raised as she examined the poor fish that had been just shrewh about, thinking slightly how it was a waste.
Cicadastar asked about who taught him such a trick but... taking a spot next to their beloved leader the girl's gaze glued onto Dogteeth "What crimes did that fish commit to deserve such a punishment" there was a tone of teasing in the young she-cats voice as she flicked a teasing grin towards the other hoping they were in a light hearted mood to joke back, unware or what deeply troubled the warrior
A lanky long legged mystery clashing whites black and grey with fur curled like Dogteeth’s own. His accent always telling a tale of other lands, his way with his clan respectable and private. Dogteeth never knew a privacy so honorable. Having been raised with so many siblings in a tight area- you couldn’t sneeze without ruffling fur. His mother was a welcoming woman- but his father, a more wandering type with few words.
Cicadastar was an intimidating figure to the small tan tom, weary darker blue eyes couldn’t dare to hold pale blue for too long. As friendly and airy as Dog was, he drew a careful line when it came to the company of the leader. Not of detest but of a more perceivable nature, or lack thereof. Honestly, how can you stand with your tail higher than the ground near a man who had been speared through the throat for his clan. Who had died for them. How can you meet the eyes of this man? No matter how kind he may seem. There was a desire to look away.
Dogteeth had known sacrifice- but not at the cost of his life. To which the arrival and dark german words that occupy the silence startle him deeply but he forces his paws to move away from his muzzle slowly. Cautious smile of greeting playing at his lips. Teasing words making his heart flutter a bit and eyes shift down with slight embarrassment. " oh- oh yeah… I… do don’t I?" it’s a nervous series of words around a chuckle. just imagine how much more awful time on my paws I’ll have when Peachkit is Peachpaw. , he thinks, but counters quickly with the notion he would probably be attending most things in her apprentice agenda.
Frostpaw’s teasing arrises next- the small grey apprentice with mismatched eyes draws his attention to the horridly displayed fish. Poor thing- Dogteeth hadn’t thought of it, a sort of disrespect numbed by beauty, such as nature herself. " I promise it was dead!- oh, I could never. Prey or not " he waves a paw dismissively of the notion. Nothing deserved to suffer so foul. She was only joking though, and to that his smile etches less jagged and his ears flatten in a humble display on his crown.
Frostpaw, would she be kind to Peachkit as a newer apprentice? were they friends already and Dogteeth hadn’t noticed. Oh he felt so neglectful already!
Cicadastar thinks it pretty, asks where he learned it. A delighted smile decorates his muzzle now, a soft memory beaming through his eyes. " my mom did!-… she, raised eleven of us and… bless her, she somehow had enough time to keep our minds busy " he starts, " I was- believe it or not, even smaller than I am now- when she told me- it was star-water. She caught us fish from this little pond, she was the creative sorts… " he rambles a bit around light chuckles.
" I guess it was sort of a …queen’s weaning trick- but when you’re a kit, water is tasteless and boring-… " he knits his words with a shift of his tail closer to his ribs. " she knew I liked pretty stuff, where my sisters liked nasty stuff like frogs and mud…" he laughs again but realizes he’s been talking for a while.
" I’ve been talking for moons haven’t I? " he curls in on himself like a turtle. He wondered if Frostpaw and Cicadastar had parents who ever convinced them of the impossible.
// sorry about the length! :') I ramble write haha
− ♱ ABOUT : the tom is nervous to start — as a single paw moves and lakewater eyes drift upward towards him, a sheepish smile plays upon pink lips, alighting cream - toned features in a demure bashfulness. frostpaw approaches then, drawing the curl - furred feline’s attention long enough for him to analyze the slope of his features. a blink and he looks away, down towards the gleam of the puddle beneath, taking the opportunity to touch the still surface. water billows beneath a stone - warmed pawpad, rippling outward in giant rings. it sends the rainbow of color into a shaking cacophony of light, catching on the willows as they drift overhead. pale eyes are cast heavenward, watching with an awe almost kittish — facisnated by the melding color at his own paw. he answers the grey molly with the gentlest ring of a laugh, and an ear twitches towards them as he responds — i could never, prey or not. the response is peculiar, though he supposes he understood. one rarely considered themselves cruel, but he knew with near certainty that dogteeth hadn’t a mean bone in his body. perhaps his trust was misjudged, only time would tell — though from the way the man held himself, an open smile that beams alight, bathed in gleaming hypercolor as it is . .
he wondered what it was like, to live without cruelty.
his gaze draws back to dogteeth, and this time, the tom is not as withdrawn. he is animated, alight with his story and the tortoiseshell chimera finds himself smiling along — until he mentions his litter, “ eleven! starclan, i couldn’t imagine. i was an only child, and mother had her paws full enough. “ too full, she’d say — and often. he thinks of the possibility of moth having had more than the one kit she had been saddled with and nearly shudders at the thought, shaking it from his mind nearly as fast as it had come, “ though i will admit, it was mostly me that kept my mind busy. star-water . . “ he glances back down, the smile crossing his maw dropping wistful, eyes tender where they dip into the edge of the puddle, just barely able to make out the reflection of his bicolored features, “ i wish i’d known about it then. i entertained myself with twoleg trinkets — the stories i could tell, odd things i’d pulled from that old nest. “ a chuckle falls from his maw, although distant. sharp knuckles curl against the soil, fidgeting where the earth gives way, “ schatzjäger, she’d call me — little treasure hunter. i think she was just tired of me cluttering the den. “
laughter, then a sigh. it’s vague, his childhood — something cloaked in darkness, just barely visible beyond the horizon. he’s long since wondered why anything beyond that time so early on is marred by blackness, but in the moons that have passed since his time with hare whiskers and now riverclan, he’s all but given up. it’s no matter, because dogteeth is reminiscing, and he finds himself gazing at the other wistfully, a curled tail coming to curl heavy at his side. his mother sounds like a wonderful molly, and the man wonders briefly of his father — cicada’s own, he’d never known. the man had run at the first chance, run right back to his twoleg nest and left his mother on the streets alone. his eyes are gently squinted where he’s watching the blond speak, memorizing the way his features light when speaking, paw expressive. a story - teller, he notes — he could listen to him spin tales until nightfall, with the life he puts into them.
oh, ive been talking for moons, haven’t i?
“ at least i’m not the only one. “ he jokes, sending the tom a brief wink before glancing back down towards the puddle. it shines, still. and still, he is illuminated, “ it’s nice, really. things have been too quiet — and you’ve a knack for storytelling, liebling. “
− 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
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