private LINES IN THE SAND ╱ LICHENTAIL

[CICADASTAR]

it was more difficult to avoid him when confined to camp ; one would be a lying fool to say that wasn’t his intention, lounged over the sun - warmed surface of river rock giving him ample room to watch, observe the lead as they busy themself with duties intended for apprentices. there was little room for stuttering tongues and petulant compliance ; an inability to vocalize the grievances that so desperately cling to their tongue, bitten behind childishly clasped jaws — and even less so when he oversees himself, notes lichentail’s movement about camp as he did each camp - bound warrior..

speaking of, smokethroat did lie resting beyond their willow tree.. and not for the first time, his chest sparks a rampant, sudden worry. he prayed to the stars above the dark deputy was truly asleep and not witness to the incessant dip of his sloped head into the maw of their den. as if driven by instinct alone the phantom is already hoisting himself to a lift, to slink fluid from the towering stone with long limbs keeping him balanced as he descends to the pebbled shore beneath. eyes flick in his direction, but the leader moves near silent towards his den. gaze sharp, mind set —

suddenly a shadow casts, and he pauses something abrupt, jagged — and if they were not prepared for it, collision - inducing. should they bump into him or not his mighty tail would curl, flicking pointedly to express his agitation. familiar scent floods his nose and it earns a mere twitch of an ear, angling to listen, " come to lift your great silence? " it’s said near flippantly, lidded icicle eyes twitching back over a slim shoulder, towards the sloping corners of heavy - lashed lids. dark pupils quiver against the light, slit down to glare frigid pools of icewater towards what he could only assume was the same.

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i. @lichentail
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ 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. 50 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

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[lichenstar]

It was with a frustrating level of insistence that they had tried to convince others to drag them around to get some kind of work done (idle paws did not cope well with such confines as their island camp) or to humor a very pesky apprentice that nagged in their ear about how they'd slighted her intentionally with such containment. It was an agony that one could have predicted, knowing how unruly Brookpaw could be. It was only fair... to endure the consequences... and to rebel against punishment was not on their agenda. Though they still felt the prickling sensation of eyes on their back, this had been a constant for the last moon at least, even prior to the spitfire star's decree. That WindClanner had certainly left a mark... one they could be reminded of in every reflection.

Lost in ponderings of how they might yet entertain Brookpaw another day (the sound of her voice became an irritant every time the little rat spoke) they had hardly kept track of where other busied warriors might be, finding their path to be blocked by an imposing figure. Placing a paw gingerly on the ground to pause their passive pacing, they slowed their movements like a mouse nervously making adjustments amongst the brush. Carefully... slowly... they lifted their gaze, catching the sky-blue stare of the astral-crowned king.

His voice is dry, lacking any laborious love that might've been spared to one that had not yet earned his ire. Thinking back to the brief discussion they'd shared with Hazecloud just before they had been publicly punished, the blue point found some relief in knowing that fate had forced this to come around finally. They had sat on it, thinking... musing... uncertain and timid on how to correct it.

"I meant you no great disrespect with my silence," is the reply they opt for, bowing their head as they had at that meeting in a show of submission, of deference. "I haven't been able to find words I felt were suitable enough... And for that delay I have earned your anger." Folding ears back like a scolded child, the lead felt their tail tip twitch in apprehension, certain that no amount of apologizing might convince him of their regret.

"Cicadastar.... I swear I did not mean any offense at the border with Ashpaw-" Frowning to themself, they still found their words to be lacking, felt their confusion bubble up in their chest like an insistent, nagging thing. "If you would allow me; I am deeply sorry for how I may have slighted you and how my words, or lack thereof recently, have offended you." They do not dare to lift their head from the cordial bow despite the way his gaze burns at the back of their neck. "I have served you and RiverClan faithfully and will continue to- I promise my loyalty is not fickle. I have accepted my punishment and my mistake..."​