LET IT HAPPEN — arrival

[ mild cw for dissociation ]

This is it.

Beesong stands on the riverbank, the sun sinking into the horizon behind them. The sorrow has began to ebb into a strange numbness. Their life is changing too quickly, and they could do nothing but obey and allow StarClan to puppeteer them around. They just hope that SkyClan is not upset with them.

It doesn't take long for a RiverClan cat to spot him. His gaze is hollow, unfocused eyes seeming to stare right through the other feline. The babbling of the river has dulled into background static. The world no longer seems real. It's as if he's not truly in his own body, instead watching from the sidelines as everything plays out against his will. "I'm here." The words are sluggish, delayed, hesitant. He does not want to be here, but he must. It's the will of StarClan.

It hadn't been very long since they joined Riverclan, much against Bucks advice, and they seemed to be settling in well enough. They had been out patroling the river bank for some sea glass or pretty stones to bring to Frost, they had been spending a lot of time with the she-cat, when they spotted a patch of fur they didnt recongize. Curiousity peaked in orange eyes and they bounded over with their tail high up in the air, a sile across their black muzzle.

"Hello hello! I can see you're here, what're you doing here for?" Raccon questioned with a tilt of their head. They didn't know this cat, nor what they meant by 'being here'. Clearly they where here as they could see them and they stood on the river bank, "I'm Raccoon! It is nice to meet you," They gave a smile to try to be as friendly as possible.
He watched them draw closer, a mere shadow on the horizon materializing into something more. A scarred face, cinnamon fur, dull green eyes without shine. They were empty, vacant. Mahi-Mahi pushes himself to his paws. He trails behind Raccoon, maybe his steps weren't quite as bouncy as theirs, but kindness shone in his eyes nonetheless. His head tilts to the side, curious. The stranger's voice is dull. "So you are!" he chirps in reply. For what exactly? pops up in his mind a few moments later. Raccoon beats him to it, anyways.

He gets the feeling that something is...off. He sees nothing physical, deep wounds across the stranger's side seem like old news by now. He's far from a healer, sure, but he can't spot any signs of injury. A welcoming smile would drop into something of concern. He takes a step forward, offerings of suppose on his lips, only to bring himself to a stop. Not everyone was keen on strangers touching them he reminded himself. He purses his lips, a verbal substitute instead, then. "Are you... okay?"
( ⚘ )Brown paws, wavering out of sight between furrows of grass pushed Reed forwards in an even gait. They slinked behind Mahi, olive eyes slit against the sun as they settled on this new figure. The cinnamon tabby held the same scent many of the newcomers had, the crisp aroma of pines fresh on their pelt. It was odd that they had appeared later than the rest, and the lulling vacancy in their expression tied to this mystery sparked worry in Reed.

Speculation that the downtrodden countenance of this cat might be ascribed to some emotional wound, as there were no noticeable recent injuries, led to them remaining silent. So many foreign faces might overwhelm them- and besides introducing themself so quickly was prone to make them overwhelmed as well. Best to avoid the awkwardness. Instead, the smooth-nosed feline settled with a neutral- and sympathetic, they hoped- look. Still hidden partially by Mahi's tufted ginger silhouette of course.



Frost had been next to appear, having been out once more exploring and trying to hunt down stuff for riverclan, only for a strange scent to waft into her nose. A soft sigh slipped from her maw before she weaved her way towards the river, Raccoon was there and she smiled softly at the sight of the other, approaching slighly to stand near the other while her curled ears gave a soft flick of greetings towards Mahi and Reed. Bi-colored eyes looking upon the stranger with curiosity.

They look out of it, stunned might she say, but why? Did they not come here willingly? She tilted her head slightly as she examined the other carefully. "Can we get a name, and if you like I can track down some fresh-kill for you?" she'd offered softly. Sure, Frost disliked the forest cats but not as much as Buck or Spider had, and she still saw it as a new opportunity, but she was still confused on their ways majority of the times. Her fluffy tail swished lightly as she examined the stranger with concern, perhaps she should also tell Cicada of this strangers approach and prepare a nest for them, since they seemed quite exhausted. "I can also get Cicada, and help set up a nest for you since you look to need rest" she pointed out a bit too...bluntly.
What're you doing...
You... okay?
Get a name.
Get Cicada.

There's too many voices to keep up with at once. They blur together, and Beesong doesn't know who's said what. "I'm RiverClan's medicine cat," He answers, his voice flat. "StarClan sent me. Cicada already knows." What else had they asked...? Beesong has already begun to forget. Never mind that... He could answer them later. The cinnamon tabby shakes his head. "Where's your camp?" It's rather bold of him to trudge into their territory and demand to know where they're living, but Beesong wishes to get this over with as quickly as possible. He just wants to sleep.

[ I PROMISE HE'LL BE MORE RESPONSIVE IN OTHER THREADS they're just going through it rn </3 ]

More forest-dwellers? Did the forest have an infinite stock of them?

Though Lagoon was beginning to settle amongst the forest-dwellers and their so-called RiverClan that crowded her home, it seemed like every day more and more new faces were arriving. Her concerns of whether or not they were capable of thriving along the river they named themselves after - before even arriving at the river's territory - grew with each face she came across.

The newest face was no different in growing her concerns, however, she noticed something off about the battle-torn feline. The rest of the forest-dwellers seemed so adamant that this was their home, while the cinnamon tabby was more closed off. Hesitant. Weary. Almost as if they didn't want to be here - a question she'd leave for later, because how could anyone not want to live in such a special place?

The others ask them too many questions, and not all get answered. The feline omits a name, but claims they're RiverClan's medicine cat, that RiverClan's leader already knows of their arrival. But how can they be RiverClan's medicine cat, if those around her didn't seem to know who the cinnamon tabby was? What even was a medicine cat?

"What's a medicine cat?" is the response she settles on, hardly certain herself where the forest-dwellers had set up their camp.
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Like Lagoon, Otter has never heard of a medicine cat, nor of what Starclan was. He approaches curiously after seeing a new voice, for he was sure he recognized most of Riverclan’s voices. Before him was a light cinnamon tabby with his head in the clouds, he looked as if he were tired. Perhaps he was, with the trek he made.

Everyones babbling and he flattens his ears, tilting his head. “Are you okay?” his voice is quiet, meek, hushed against the others. He would not repeat Lagoons question, no, this new cat looked beaten in to the ground enough. He wrinkles his nose. “Food… Do you want food? Our camp isn’t too far away.” he would not be able to catch new, fresh prey for the newcomer (otter was DETERMINED to not hunt in the river until the fear of water went away) but he could offer them one out of the pile. He scrapes his claws against the ground in slight anxiety, swallowing hard. Cicada should be by soon, right? Right? Yes. He hopes, for this cat seems to know him, seems to have an agreement with the other.

− ♱ ABOUT : pain. with each step sends a shockwave of fiery pulsation up his throat and forearms, too - recent injuries he’d done his best to clean and fix up spreading now a hot rash of redness beneath bicolored curls, constellation of potential infection. the damned windclan cat had taken a toll on him, and the top - lanky tomcat couldn’t find the strength in him to look less haggard as he makes his approach from the shadow - dotted undergrowth. a chorus of buzzing insect alights in his skull, rivers lapping gently towards the small cinnamon tabby’s paws
as if beckoning them towards the drained island. cicadastar had learned not to question the stars guidance, despite how desperately he wished to rid his borders of whatever lingering faces drug themselves along it ; his warriors had approached fast and that was a fleeting comfort, the veil of protection they had beyond what the rivers provided itself. it’s a kindling of hope amongst the mangled black of his mind, his heart. they needed more training, of course — they were only so recently established and cicada himself had spent the majority of it looking after quiet, whenever he did not sit mourning beyond the ancient willow.

mourning did not spare him grisly reality, as much as he longed for a moments reprieve from the pulsing memories behind his eyelids. his moment of weakness traversing windclan from the moonstone had cost him nearly his life, and to some horse - smelling tabby he’d not seen once in his life . . and if it told him one thing, it was that outsiders could not be trusted. the clans were for all themselves, though it had happened quicker than expected — and from now on, he would not behave any differently.

bee is already speaking when he is close enough to hear, coming up alongside otter in a mess of ruffled black - white, the bags beneath his icy luminaries making them seem all the more unsettling to meet, “ a medicine cat is a healer — and our gateway to the stars. “ accented vocals are flat with distrust that had faded momentarily during their time at the stone. the tabby asks for camp and he does not waste any time, flicking his tail and jerking his head back towards the river, “ across the way, i’ll show you. you do know how to swim, yes? “ the latter of his words drip in passive aggression, chin tilting skyward and pupils lowering to peer at the newcomer down his arched nose. otter asks if he’s okay and cicada fights the urge to scoff, only releasing a bitter cough and pivoting on his paws, shifting his weight off of his bad shoulder to limp forward. he would guide them towards their makeshift camp and from there, he could find a nest wherever he chose — so long as the smoke didn’t collapse on the way.

  • CICADA ; he / him, roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
    − tall black smoke tortie chimera with icecap eyes and curly fur, homosexual
    − speaks with a german accent, former marshlander, penned by antlers

  • none.