private MORTAL FOLLY \ cicadastar

[FERNGILL]

Fernpaw was beginning to grow used to visitors, though it did not prevent the strange stir of feelings in his gut whenever someone brought him a meal, or asked how he was, or offered to do him a favour. He knew it was an unjust feeling; everyone was simply trying to help him through a situation that he had put himself in, sparing him of burdening his mistakes entirely alone. But that knowledge didn't stop the complex prickling beneath his fur at the thought of people pitying him.

A tall, overtly recognisable figure appeared in the doorway of the den, a commanding ringlet-furred tortoiseshell presence that Fernpaw had known for his entire life. Even narrowed vision betrayed that Cicadastar had just walked in, and- was looking at him.

It was not exactly the most respectful mannerism, but all Fernpaw could do was avert his vision, knowing he didn't particularly want to risk reading any sort of disappointment in Cicadastar's eyes. What would he even ask him? Surely the leader wasn't concerned with chores like bringing prey to an apprentice who had dug his own grave. An apprentice who would be an apprentice forever, probably.

\ @CICADASTAR ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[CICADASTAR]

there is a quiet when he finally begins towards the gaping maw of ravenpaw’s medicine den — beesong’s scent wanes further with each cresting sun, cinnamon scraps of fur lodged in thistle root and drying medicinal leaves that has his nose already twisting. phantom memories : mottled red - yellow wrapped in tendrils of saturated cobweb, infection and blood loss dousing them in sick reek. undercurrents of something bitter, something pulpy and scorching. he knows the recovery, knows the smell of it like he knows the scent of his own fur. days upon days of curling next to his half - conscious, babbling mate until the fever broke. his paws still feel lit aflame when he steps through the cavernous maw, pale eyes adjusting to the dim, stone - guarded den.

the leader makes no move of concealing his intent — ravenpaw has vacated, somewhere amidst the territory ( doing what? doing what? collecting herbs.. surely? ). a terse swallow, dark pupils flitting to the side to examine the den he’d not dare step paw in before now. but mudpelt’s frantic voice had painted something visceral in his mind — a father’s desperation, the harsh pelt of heavy paws against their meadowlands, the hitch in his cry when they tear through the undergrowth and fernpaw.. fernpaw falls victim to the ruddy beast. his stomach turns, membrane - lined ears twitching back at bloodspattered memories. his warriors had swooped in the moment they could, but as pale blue eyes finally land on the subject of his visit — less red with blood, but red all the same — they had been just a mite too late.

selfishness, perhaps — to put himself in mudpelt’s place. recent murmurs amidst a willow nest had him ever observant, ever watching.. and the dangers that linger beyond their reed walls lumbered ever nearer. how had it felt, he wonders? how did it feel now? how would it feel to visit his kits in their medicine nests, wrapped and aching, death lingering at their denfronts? fernpaw peers through foggy vision and — adverts his single meadowgreen gaze with a swiftness. a fleeting minnow of a thing, a blink and miss. he does not look away. instead, long limbs bring him to a calm settle a tail length away from the tom’s nest. a quiet tapping of long, arching claws. the gentle foosh flick of his tail..

and after a beat he clears his throat, wrapping a thick tail around ivory paws.

" i just want to know what you were thinking. " it’s a slow start, but to the point ; his sloping vocals do not betray anything aside from a quiet, inquisitive calmness.

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ 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. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

​

 

[FERNGILL]

The leader took a seat, but did not make an offering. Part of Fernpaw was glad he didn't; half of his vision might be gone, but his legs worked just as well as ever. He knew bringing food was only a good deed, and... he had done the same when Iciclefang had suffered her shattered rib, but something about it made him feel even more incapable, even more pitied. He supposed it was his own fault.

A wary eye of idyllic green wandered back over to Cicadastar's face, meeting his frigid gaze. If there was anything Fernpaw was good at it was deciphering emotions, but... tranquility was all he could sense about the leader's expression and tone. A question fled like gentle river from his maw, one Fernpaw was surprised he had not been asked before. At least, not as directly as this. There was an extended silence between question and answer, iris stuttering inch-like as he searched Cicadastar for any sneer of disapproval. Nothing there.

"I... I thought I had a chance to finally do something good." His voice was slightly weak, wobbling under the weight of his emotions, of his stupidity. It was difficult to explain that, in the moment, it had not seemed quite as idiotic as it now sounded. "It was stupid, but... I really thought, if I wanted it enough, I'd... I'd drive it off. I thought... if I didn't take the chance, I wouldn't be on the patrol to take it down, so... I had to act quickly." Somewhere in the muddle of his thoughts and words, his eye-contact had once again dropped to the ground. He didn't need to be told again that it was idiotic. He'd known that from the moment the claws had cut through his eye like a fish through water. ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[CICADASTAR]

as if a dam breaks, the ginger tom’s trembling voice floods from too - pink maw. i thought i had the chance to finally do something good and — he knows the feeling. the itch at one’s paws, kindling of fire and determination strong enough to pulse thunder through thin ears. the great battle reaches further into the past with each sunrise but it still haunts him ; a wound reopened nightly, a torrent of what ifs and almosts. it would be a gift, he’d once thought. a fight for peace, to lend down the better world they would make to the kits born beneath him, and to their kits after that. something good. they would free the forest of those infringing on their wide, scoping territory. he would do good.

he remembers when fernpaw had been born. the first litter welcomed into riverclan, star - blessed, golden kits ; successors to excruciating sunrises, to nights shot awake in terror. he remembered a boy torn apart by the flood and loss of trinkets cicadastar had seen him hoard since old enough to toddle about the shallow river waters. but the tom was older, now — aged to be a warrior, despite still nesting in the apprentices den. thus, he settles a bit further, tucks long, spidery limbs beneath his body figure, ” before you were born.. “ he begins, and almost immediately fights the urge to grit his teeth at just how old it makes him sound. his muzzle is not greyed, but the sigh he heaves says it may as well be, ” before riverclan. id called for a war i thought would be best for the forest. i thought we would have no other chance. and yet — i’d made a mistake that starclan had parted the clouds to stop. “

stupidity is to live. a brief pause. outside the stone den the wind breezes slow through the willow branches, casting their eel - like limbs to a gentle cascade over the setting sun. red - orange reaches into the medicine den but stops just short of his ivory paws, shrouding him in murky golden glow, ” your bravery is something to nurture. “ a truth, a brief praise before ice shard eyes fix on the russet rom again, “ but bravery without wisdom is like a fish with paws : impressive, but not very useful. life will always teach us to use our head before our claws. “ learn from your mistakes, ” you must be willing to accept that lesson. “ a flash of pink, his tongue flits around the curve of his maw. he tastes fish, water — tastes blood, as he always has.

there is a strange silence in the moments after. a beat, a click of his throat on an unsure swallow — but eventually, his voice sounds again. something soft, rasping, ” you’d frightened your mudpelt near to the stars, fernpaw. “ it haunts him. in each moment since smokethroat had roused him in the safety of their willow den, it haunted him. what could have happened, should they not have arrived on time? what could they have stumbled upon in that fox’s wake? it makes him sick to think.

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ 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. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

​

 

[FERNGILL]

Before RiverClan. It sounded ancient, inconceivable- but it really was not that long ago, was it? Still, Fernpaw's brief shock at the concept was displayed rather obviously in the widening of an aqua eye, and a settlement of focus within the depths of his gaze that betrayed just how intently the flame-hued tom was listening. Lips parted, an inch ajar. A mistake. It was somewhat unfathomable that Cicadastar could make a mistake, and yet... here the leader was, telling him about it.

His eyes, again, dropped to the ground as Cicadastar complimented his bravery- assigned it as a trait, an aspect, even though it had felt more like a fatal flaw than anything in the past few days. He couldn't deny the leader's wisdom regarding Fernpaw's own wisdom, however- or lack of Being brave meant nothing when it just involved throwing yourself into the gaping maws of death, eyetooth-lined jaws that could crack a skull in their force. He nodded, an uncharacteristically thoughtful, deep frown set upon his features. Willing to accept that lesson. Fernpaw knew he was- knew he had. Nothing was said; Fernpaw knew not how to respond.

A lesson. Another lesson, in a long line of them. That was what this would have to be- was what would lead him to success. Some form of it, at least.

Guilt crawled spider line beneath his skin at the mention of his father, and he nodded again- a little more hurriedly, rather than the thoughtful bob of before. "Yeah. Yeah, I- I know. He said so." There was the barest trace of awkward laughter in Fernpaw's voice; but, equally, an overwhelming thrum of regret. He shifted his frame, settling into a slightly more comfortable position now that Cicadastar had done the same. The sun seeping through the threshold of the den beckoned him outside, taunting him with its beauty, but... he did not let himself falter to the battering buffet of distraction. "I didn't think he'd still want to train me, to be honest. But he said we'd get through it, and..."

He gave way to a sigh. "I'm gonna try to get... smarter. And I'm never, ever going to do something like that again. I promised him, and... I'm promising everyone." ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​