- Jun 7, 2022
- 418
- 338
- 63
GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : snow. it falls in steady, powder soft flakes of frost about the wasting riverlands, layering bare willow branches in white - grey slush. itd been upon them since early the night prior, cold enough to stick and pile up, bitter cold against his raw pawpads. mist settles heavy over the land, thick and smog-like, ever moving where it hovers over the thin path they follow upstream. he steps alongside his brother, long limbs in sync and useful for once, in this building snow. his head is low, wind - battered ears sloped back against his skull to prevent thin, tufted tips from freezing. leafbare is harsh and this one has been no different — though there was little worse than the ache of hunger wrought upon him during his time in the marshes, the rivers were providing less by the day, numbing fishing paws in seconds.
the king steps along the side furthest to the river, stares along the shore where it laps hungrily at dying blades of grass, seeping into now waterlogged soil," ich verstehe nicht. " comes his tone, frustration dipping into his odd tongue — low and sharp, for only his brothers craning ears. the waters had never come this far upon their shore and he's not the slightest idea of how to stop it, or if he even could. the waters were wild, untamed, provided their protection, their food . . but now he lifts his gaze over sloshing waves, squints against the onslaught of wind battering sharp, jutting features, pupils flexing against the haze that seemed to thicken with each step. the rivers would always do as they wished, cruel as it could be. the man could only hope for an easy fix.
the cobblestone bridge comes into view ahead, nothing but a blur of grey - black amidst the backdrop of roaring, misting falls. the waters beneath it seemed to warble, high and sloshing noisily — as the patrol nears, a mass forms beneath the mist, right along the curve leading towards sunningrocks. chunks of greying alabaster, sloshing together in thick, clumping masses. the water on the side furthest to sunningrocks is low, sloped and corroded shore drained, given way to frost at its sunken edges, "is that . . ice? " fog forms around his agape maw, eyes wide and gleaming — ice? it's freezing? freezing, and sending the waters that branch out along its sides to rise dangerously. along the other side, fish lap lazily in the low waters, " shit. "
the king steps along the side furthest to the river, stares along the shore where it laps hungrily at dying blades of grass, seeping into now waterlogged soil," ich verstehe nicht. " comes his tone, frustration dipping into his odd tongue — low and sharp, for only his brothers craning ears. the waters had never come this far upon their shore and he's not the slightest idea of how to stop it, or if he even could. the waters were wild, untamed, provided their protection, their food . . but now he lifts his gaze over sloshing waves, squints against the onslaught of wind battering sharp, jutting features, pupils flexing against the haze that seemed to thicken with each step. the rivers would always do as they wished, cruel as it could be. the man could only hope for an easy fix.
the cobblestone bridge comes into view ahead, nothing but a blur of grey - black amidst the backdrop of roaring, misting falls. the waters beneath it seemed to warble, high and sloshing noisily — as the patrol nears, a mass forms beneath the mist, right along the curve leading towards sunningrocks. chunks of greying alabaster, sloshing together in thick, clumping masses. the water on the side furthest to sunningrocks is low, sloped and corroded shore drained, given way to frost at its sunken edges, "is that . . ice? " fog forms around his agape maw, eyes wide and gleaming — ice? it's freezing? freezing, and sending the waters that branch out along its sides to rise dangerously. along the other side, fish lap lazily in the low waters, " shit. "
-
˖ ⁺ 。 ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀
−−−−−−−⠀⠀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 is 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, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
penned by antlers -
-
@CLAYFUR @LAGOONPADDLE @BUCKGAIT. @iciclepaw @RATTLING WASP.
iciclepaw will be directly assigned under clayfur! tagging those who showed interest in the meeting, but anyone is welcome to jump in! - none.
Last edited: