PICK YOUR BRAIN APART ╱ SWIMMING

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

Life floats past them on river-ripples, and for all the good that it brings, it never quite stops bringing bad memories alongside. He remembers the peace he'd felt here so long ago. The long trek through the moor that WindClan'd claimed, edging around ThunderClan's treeline and the contested territory it'd been made up of. Ignoring the colony-less rogues to sit along the riverbank and just breathe it all in. Fresh air, crisp and cool like snow across his heated pelt. Stepping into those waters for the first time and cleaning the mud off his pelt — he'd come up a new cat. Fish filled their bellies, filled his own. And though he'd returned to the shadows each night he'd done so with more strength to his limbs and a fresh outlook on everything that sat before him.

Stars know it hadn't stayed that way for all too long. Cicadastar took to the water like he'd always knew he would. The river king had felt eternal. Even as the waters swept him away, he'd come creeping back with every expectation of that lanky cat still sittin' there. Smokestar was– well, he'd been left gutted like some'f the fish their clan had been finding. Missing the part of himself he'd always thought eternal and flopping breathlessly along the shore. At least he could visit his bones. ShadowClan'd so kindly let them in. But the new chapter of his life had closed all too quickly, and those are bones he could never lie atop and mourn. Had he ever been all that good at it anyway?

His paws dip past the reeds to the crest of a tall bank in the river. Its sandy dirt edge is sturdy enough to hold him steady as his paws slide down it. Splashes of silver water dart up to lick at his chest where they sink into his fur and disappear. His toes touch the wet sand at the bottom of the river by the time its hungry welcome has swallowed him halfway up his legs. Against the heated skin of his scars, its an unbelievable comfort. A sigh falls off his mouth before he can even consider trying to silence it. His hind legs finally follow him in. Down the bank with a splash, now up to his belly as he stretches into the waves. Lapping up at his belly, soaking the part of his paws. Burying himself in the very heart of what'd pulled him here.

And despite every intention he'd had of making this work; hunting and patrolling, doing all that he could to keep his paws busy, his throat fills up with the whole of his heart. The good and the bad an' everything that lingered in between. He ends up laughing, even as an unwelcome tear spills out over the edge of a marred eye. The water's beautiful. His tired heart can't take that sort of thing after all they've shoved their way through. Before anyone stumbling across the bend of this river can see the mess of himself he makes, Houndstride shoves his head under the water and shoves off the bank into deeper water. Its lazy tide pulls him out with each stroke of his paws. He is, momentarily, at peace with his life.

𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐋𝐄𝐓: 𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊.  ╱ ( 𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑻 𝑯𝑨𝑴𝑳𝑬𝑻 ) 〚 06.24.2024 〛 𓆟༝ ˚ ｡ ⋆｡˚ ༝ • .𓆝

• OOC. this was supposed to go a dif direction but instead you guys can enjoy four paragraphs of hound monologuing, congrats
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  𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄. WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN. ——————  mauled by a fox moons ago; though his wounds are healed, nothing can rid him of the scars– or the pain.  ╱  PENNED BY REVELATIONS
  
  a lean chocolate tabby with lime green eyes. the scars that had once been limited to the bridge of his nose now shatter and expand across that entire side of his face, up to a ripped ear and down to his shoulder and front left leg. it is somewhat painful at times, but it does not inhibit him too terribly.
  
  ( 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 ) please disregard the tags in previous post, where it says his injury is on his right side. it is his left and i struggle with cardinal directions.

• "speech"

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[Hawkcloud]

The cheerful bubbling of the river beckons Hawkcloud, too, although she hasn't had quite the experience of discovery regarding its waters that the older tomcat has. The optimistic young warrior has never felt anything besides comfort in the river's cool current, even when she perhaps shouldn't have. When it had been frozen over in a layer of fragile ice, it had nearly claimed Foxtail's life — but that was really the fault of the daring, stupid older apprentices that had goaded him over it, taking advantage of her brother's timidness. And her own apprenticehood had been prolonged after one day swimming in its waters, when she'd been injured at the jaws of a snapping turtle and lost her tail. But, again, it was the fault of the turtle, not the river itself. The river could be a host for much chaos, but it was their home.

Hawkcloud supposes she should be grateful a fear of its waters hadn't developed in her, a deep-seated poison infecting her in the wake of those wounds — like it had for Foxtail. But Hawkcloud is also never one to dwell on such emotions for long, and so they never get the chance to fester. Following the sound of the gentle splashing, the she-cat approaches the riverbank and finds Houndstride floating further off into the waters. She giggles at the sight of the serious tom, looking almost introspective as he wades in the current. Hawkcloud quickly disturbs the peace, bouncing past the reeds that shelter the river's edge and right into the water with a hearty splash. She paddles towards Houndstride, smiling with joyful amusement at the older warrior. "What are you doing?" Hawkcloud asks, her voice light with laughter.​

 

[CICADAFLIGHT]

Splash! Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Cicadaflight more than likely scares the living daylights out of a Clanmate when a mop of black curls pops out of the bright silver - limned ripples that make up their namesake home. Tufted ears flick, spattering droplets across the surface of the water, batlike black newly mismatched—one torn, the other bearing a fresh spackling of white across its velveteen backing; the bridge of a nose as Romanesque as his father's rests just above the swaying surface of the water, two - toned eyes gleaming from beneath dark fur where it's plastered to his forehead.

For a moment, he looks as ominous and drowned as his father's long - lost ghost, and then the rest of his head and shoulders follow, as of little raven - furred form as he can get away with wedging out of the water; under the vicious red eye of the sun, feathery black fur is a prison, suffusing him with fire down to his bones . . . and he has more than he needs of that. A long, swannish neck swivels, eel tail rising from the water—a bottlebrush dripping dew, an unexpected and ever - present mirror of his father but for its crookedness—and he flings the fat trout in his jaws to crash to rest on a shady spot at the bank, waiting to be retrieved once conversation has ceased.

Comparatively young as he may be, the river has its own meanings to him . . . dark and deep, promising endless sleep to the unskilled and cold comfort to those who could navigate it. He's long been an abyssal creature, relinquished the sunny coasts to better cats, restricting himself to its darkest crevasses and living his working life in the gloaming of its sandy beds, down with mile - long catfish whiskers and slow - moving fish. He's inured to popping up with a fattened catch in his jaws and being greeted by the sight of one or two of his more surface - inclined Clanmates, a fact he doesn't begrudge them . . . diving isn't for everyone. But it's for him, and in everything he's grasped at with bared claws, this, at least, has remained.

" Hey, Houndstride, " he greets, flicking feathery ears; an energetic splash mists droplets over them both, and Cicadaflight turns toward the source with a throaty chuckle. The river has a way of lowering his inhibitions . . . if you could count lowering as merely bringing it down to the normal level, but either way, it makes him more social, a rare privilege he's slowly learning to indulge. He can hardly begrudge Hawkcloud her light - hearted joy, can almost admire it even, the way she bobs up like a water - bug no matter the tragedy. It's some much - needed cheer in this company, what with Houndstride's serious countenance and his own . . . volatile tendencies. " I don't know, I just got here, " he remarks with no small amusement, nodding a greeting to the russet - furred she - cat.

OOC : —

☆

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[SANDPELT]

ꕀꕀ He’s a RiverClanner through and through, born and raised with murky water rushing in his veins. He’s built for this, born for this. The soft squish of wet mud between his toes as he takes his first gentle step into the water is a welcoming touch, much like the brush of a river-rippling tail against his silken flank. Not far downriver he spots Houndstride sliding slowly into the water, and although he can’t quite see the expression on the older tom’s face, he understands Houndstride’s dip beneath the waves for what it is: an unconcerning venture. A relaxing swim—important for any warrior. Sandpelt prefers to keep his head above the water, but the ability to dive below the river’s surface is a great asset to any RiverClanner. A stealthy approach from the water, a great roaring leap at an unsuspecting enemy, can end a fight before it’s even begun. And knowing his own limits, Sandpelt would prefer all his fights to end that way.

Still, diving underwater isn’t for everyone, and Sandpelt certainly doesn’t prefer it. So he pushes off the shore and swims his way over to where three of his clanmates are now gathered—his gaze shifts to Cicadaflight for a moment, then back to the chocolate tabby warrior. Hawkcloud inquires as to what Houndstride’s doing, and Cicadaflight’s response is unhelpful as always. "What’re any of us doin’, really?" He muses, a gentle chuckle leaving his mouth. "Paddlin’ around to escape the sun?"

𓇢𓆸 you get on my nerves

• ooc: —
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  SANDPELT ❯❯ he/him, warrior of riverclan
  ❀ pretty, silky-furred tan tortoiseshell with one yellow eye. calm and hardworking, but can become snappy if angered.
  ❀ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ❀ penned by foxlore

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