- Jun 7, 2022
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− ♱ ABOUT : suddenly, it was moons ago. his stomach aches with a sunken, hollow emptiness that rattles the ribs pressing through his malnourished pelt. it was cold, mud caking like clay along the lengths of his forearms. he still drips with blood when the molly approaches, mad and spitting with grief. he feels bad — he does. they were all in mourning, one way or another. twilight's violent howl over ash's fallen corpse flits behind his minds eye and he closes them tight, as if squeezing paper - thin lids would help blot the sound of her agony. he thinks of her, if her family, and his stomach rolls with a heartache he could not explain. she'd lost him at some point amongst the cacophony of war, and twilight hadn't assaulted a single colonymate, sounded no call for sick retribution. she hadn't scorned them aloud for being unable to save her child. she had screamed. from where he'd sat, crouched and sick in the undergrowth before starclan's luminous eyes, they had all witnessed a mothers loss firsthand.
he hoped she was okay now.
war! accusatory. bitter and vile, frothing and bleeding with the remnants of battle and yet she cast judgement upon her own with no remorse — stabbing words at cats who had considered her a friend, a clanmate, while their injuries still wept blushing red. her attack was nothing but consequence of her own actions ; slander turned violence, and yet he'd stepped out, lurched after bone, his closest friend, to protect her. a black, rotten bit of his soul wished he could do it over, let her tear into the already - wounded molly and protect the many lives she had later endangered. word of another attack. another. for someone so against war, the former thunderclan medicine cat seemed fine enough attacking another of scarclan's sacred — and more importantly, his friend. he hadn't spoken to the molly in moons, his tendency to wander to himself after announcements a result of overstimulation. of avoidance. he inwardly kicks himself for it.
his paws burn with frustration, with the remnants of anger that pulls through his lithe form, splitting the crowd around him with little more than nervous side - eyes. it does little to stop him from the frantic back and forth, the wild pivot of his head in search. it helped that he seemed to tower over most, spindly limbs bringing his too - tall ears to a point above nearly each of his peers. still the crowd was thick, bustling and loud. blood rushes in his ears, the sudden, overwhelming urge to go home crashing over him. his jaw clenches, restraining a sigh. his head lowers. perhaps she hadn't come. still healing? the flame of his anger bursts, rioting beneath his ribs as he turns and —
" bone! " it isn't her name anymore, not really. buckgait would call him a hypocrite, and he wouldn't really care — but it would be true. he spots her and feels kittish again, bounding towards the long - legged medicine cat with eyes wild, concern clear in the way his icy gaze flits over her form for visible injury, as if they'd only just occurred. he rounds her, briefly attempting to brush his bicolored curls against her short fur before settling in front, " what did she do to you? what happened? " a righteous fury, sharp and snappish and directed not once at the bicolored molly herself. salamander. cinderfrost. whatever she chose to go by, it mattered little — revenge was trivial, but by scarclan did the idea of finding her himself weigh heavy on his mind.
he hoped she was okay now.
war! accusatory. bitter and vile, frothing and bleeding with the remnants of battle and yet she cast judgement upon her own with no remorse — stabbing words at cats who had considered her a friend, a clanmate, while their injuries still wept blushing red. her attack was nothing but consequence of her own actions ; slander turned violence, and yet he'd stepped out, lurched after bone, his closest friend, to protect her. a black, rotten bit of his soul wished he could do it over, let her tear into the already - wounded molly and protect the many lives she had later endangered. word of another attack. another. for someone so against war, the former thunderclan medicine cat seemed fine enough attacking another of scarclan's sacred — and more importantly, his friend. he hadn't spoken to the molly in moons, his tendency to wander to himself after announcements a result of overstimulation. of avoidance. he inwardly kicks himself for it.
his paws burn with frustration, with the remnants of anger that pulls through his lithe form, splitting the crowd around him with little more than nervous side - eyes. it does little to stop him from the frantic back and forth, the wild pivot of his head in search. it helped that he seemed to tower over most, spindly limbs bringing his too - tall ears to a point above nearly each of his peers. still the crowd was thick, bustling and loud. blood rushes in his ears, the sudden, overwhelming urge to go home crashing over him. his jaw clenches, restraining a sigh. his head lowers. perhaps she hadn't come. still healing? the flame of his anger bursts, rioting beneath his ribs as he turns and —
" bone! " it isn't her name anymore, not really. buckgait would call him a hypocrite, and he wouldn't really care — but it would be true. he spots her and feels kittish again, bounding towards the long - legged medicine cat with eyes wild, concern clear in the way his icy gaze flits over her form for visible injury, as if they'd only just occurred. he rounds her, briefly attempting to brush his bicolored curls against her short fur before settling in front, " what did she do to you? what happened? " a righteous fury, sharp and snappish and directed not once at the bicolored molly herself. salamander. cinderfrost. whatever she chose to go by, it mattered little — revenge was trivial, but by scarclan did the idea of finding her himself weigh heavy on his mind.
- @BONEJAW sorry it took me a minute to get up but !!! Them…..
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− CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine 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.