private REAL GODS REQUIRE BLOOD [✦] lichentail

[CICADAFLIGHT]

✦₊ ⊹—— he wakes in the night with a scream dead in his throat, trapped and unreleased between the prominent notches of his ribs. time and time again he has woken from dreams upon dreams, the conjurings of his own mind far more horrific than anything he's yet witnessed—and over this time he, even in his youth, has learned how to choke the screams. he's learned how not to kick and scratch as he untangles himself from his family and, normally, he has learned how to make himself forget. forget the fact that he is three moons old and he has drowned more times than he can count, died more times than he can count, in the landscape of his dreams. on most nights, he's made the warped adjustment and learned how to banish the dreams. on most nights.

some nights, when they are particularly bad, they do not leave easily. tonight is one of those nights; the terror is fragmented, blessedly, into shards of ice, but they lodge in his mind like the sharp and twisted things they are. he remembers it in bladed fragments; the water sucking him below for the thousandth time, reeds tangling, but he never met the mucky riverbed, and when he looked down - when he looked down he saw a shape in the gloom, dark and though he could see nothing he knew it was reaching for him, reaching to drag him down with it. he could see nothing, nothing except a pinprick of blue that blazed with a fiery rage, and just as he felt its invisible talons close around him he had awoken with a scream unspent in his jaws.

it had not left easily. it does not leave easily. he slips deftly from the choking grasp of his sister's bottlebrush tail, his pa's stout limbs, and emerges from the willow den into the night. the moon is not quite full, but it hangs weighty in the sky as if about to burst, and its light shines over the clearing. a glance confirms that the night guard dozes at their post, or at least does not hear him as he pads closer to the camp's center. steeped in midnight and darkness, it is no longer the looming beast it is during the day; empty, it is a peaceful kingdom. the boy crosses camp with stilted steps and bent, dragging tail - no one is here to trod upon it - to the river rock, the throne by which his father assumes his dominion over the rivers. a small white paw reaches out to touch it, wastrel curls stretching thin over jagged bones as his sharp markings distort with the motion.

for a moment, he thinks he is alone - alone, wide-eyed and haunted as he presses a paw to his father's legacy.

I AM GOD (✦) 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑶𝒀𝑬𝑫

• ooc: @lichentail !!
  
• disclaimer: it's important to note that cicadakit is not always in a stable state of mind. his view of the world may not always be accurate to objective reality, which may include seeing things that are not genuinely there, reading motivations or thoughts from actions that are not actually implied, and making assumptions or jumping to conclusions. this is not an attempt at metagaming, powerplaying, or mischaracterization, and is not legitimately true or correct to reality or what your characters actually think or believe.
  
  it will always be noted in the post if he is seeing something that isn't actually there. all opinions & thoughts are ic only and do not reflect my thoughts and opinions as a writer.
• 
  — cicadakit
  — he/him ; kit of riverclan ; 3 ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[lichenstar]

Perhaps it is a reflection then, like the river... to dream within the ever-expanding bounds of one's experiences, of their hopes and on the worst of nights, their fears. Finding balance where the subconscious runs wild is a feat often only beheld by children, the weights of responsibility, exposure and ultimately, time, dragging most heavily upon those old enough to have experienced things worth fearing. It is a privilege to evade them for great lengths of time, one she sorely missed; would she measure her child then in that way? Based on when their minds could no longer create a safe fantasy at its weakest state- sleep...

How old until their first moonlight terror?

When you got to a certain point, more of your peers than not would have met the boogeyman on the other side of sand-dusted eyes... Lichentail had reached that moment moons past and found herself an unwilling victim of the machinations of time.... of circumstance.

Moving with heavy limbs that held the burden of seeing their own mortality more than a peaceful life would account for, there was relief on this night in that death's looming embrace had been rejected in turn, once more. Call it luck or destiny, it was the paws of a raven-furred tom that had seen it happen and the scruffy-furred molly could afford to believe in something like that.

The cool breeze that moved through the ripple-protected island felt more refreshing than usual as it rushed past ashy, mussy fur, dragging the sickening feeling behind as breathing became more natural. What felt less natural was a heavy-eared buck prancing amongst the shadows. His vision flounced from place to place, scanning towards the resting vigil (one due for some scorn for their droopy eye-lids) before moving onto what he sought most desperately so late this night.

"A startling reflection," she muses softly from some respectful distance behind- she is familiar with the identity struggle that came with being someone's look-alike. Though she did not prove as an idol to a fish-bone king... her sibling stood as a testimony instead. "It takes getting used to- being a mirror of someone else...."

Glancing towards the empty space near his side, the lead warrior points a kinked-tail to acknowledge it as her intended destination, should he be willing to share. "Such wakeful eyes for one so young this time of night... Something bothering you, little echo?"​

 

[CICADAFLIGHT]

✦₊ ⊹—— the sound of a voice startles him and the boy jumps on his paws, pivoting towards a strange shape, malformed by the darkness and the moon. for a moment he thinks the unseen beast of his nightmares has crawled dripping from the river to take him back to the depths where he belongs—but no, it's one of his father's lead warriors. lichentail, he recalls instantly, observing the ashen fur and the tail bent as his own is. scars split her shoulders and one ear is torn, but she appears much more feline than the child balancing on his deer legs before her.

"lichentail," he observes in a quiet rasp, eyes blown wide and drooping ears tilted back as he greets the lead warrior. he is uncomfortable around the members of his father's council, for some reason, burnt by the authority of their gazes. her voice speaks understanding and his paw scrapes down the river rock and meets the ground once more, feeling not at all imbued by some mythical energy bestowed by his father's throne. in retrospect, he feels stupid for wanting to touch it, for the childish belief that he would be somehow transformed by the cold press of stone.

it's time to leave childhood behind, he knows. he's three moons old, after all.

"were - were you like me once? did you look like someone else?" did you hate it like i do? is the unspoken thought, a dark and traitorous fragment in the storm of his mind. did you hate it? did you hate it hate it hate hate it? the thought persists, burrowing into his mind, refusing to leave and he chokes down a hiss. they had left so easily until now, but this one refuses and he merely nods in reply to her waved tail, sitting down in a crumple of overlong limbs, observing, "your tail is like mine."

sidetracked as he swings his crooked tail in the dirt, the boy blinks a stilted apology and mutters, "a nightmare. i have them a lot."

I AM GOD (✦) 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑶𝒀𝑬𝑫

• ooc: ——
  
• disclaimer: it's important to note that cicadakit is not always in a stable state of mind. his view of the world may not always be accurate to objective reality, which may include seeing things that are not genuinely there, reading motivations or thoughts from actions that are not actually implied, and making assumptions or jumping to conclusions. this is not an attempt at metagaming, powerplaying, or mischaracterization, and is not legitimately true or correct to reality or what your characters actually think or believe.
  
  it will always be noted in the post if he is seeing something that isn't actually there. all opinions & thoughts are ic only and do not reflect my thoughts and opinions as a writer.
• 
  — cicadakit
  — he/him ; kit of riverclan ; 3 ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[lichenstar]

⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆

---

A small purr of greeting to affirm her presence... even in the dark, the scruffy furred molly is easy enough to recognize by her silhouette. Nothing short of unique as her mother had called it (though she held it close now as a compliment rather than it had been intended with the malice that dripped in that word) with odd ears and a tail nothing near close to straight. "I still am like you," is the hushed reply the boy is given, settling in to sit at his side though wary not to touch him.

He is an uncomfortable sight to behold, the way his body folds into itself as a pile of bones and too-big ears. With a fondness, Lichentail thinks of her own ears... a perfect contrast in their smallness-- just ignore the missing one, it was small once too-- and the awkwardness that came with growing into your own skin. "My twin, Ripplesnap. We've been near identical since we were small, unfortunately. Our mother had no shortage of issues remembering which was which..."

A melancholy drips in careful articulated words, chosen intentionally to withhold the more agonizing parts of growing up. The joy in the clan's existence was the many ways it would spare others from harsh childhoods, ones as unsteady and unwelcoming as her own. "Being a shadow is a curse, at times," they agree, seeming to understand the weight that he felt on tiny, overburdened shoulders. "But you are...." a gentle, well-meaning laugh as they glance at his awkward tail, "Unique."

No individual was a true copy... even if it seemed that way by name... or appearance.

At his soft acknowledgement of his woes, the point's lighthearted expression darkened, a frown creasing a concerned line across her face. Nightmares... already?

Moonlight terrors began so swiftly for him. Could it be a burden inherited from parents haunted by the many friends they'd lost? "I am sorry they hunt you too..." And despite her best intentions, her social stumblings would only make a serious conversation harder.

"Cicadakit... do you see the stars up there," they ask, struggling already to find a message to share that might relieve some of his turmoil. "There are hundreds of futures littered there, ones for me and ones for you- ones for your brother... your sister. There are, even still, a hundred that yet remain for your fathers too. No two of you will share the same fates which means... for little mirrors like us... that we will always be us at the very least. The weight of being known by others is endurable... as insufferable as it may be at times. And....."

They crouch down to be closer to his height, something their father used to do when they were having a big kitten talk. "There will be echoes of you too someday.... you won't always be the ripple in the pond."​