private Sixty prayers in a powder keg | Cicadastar

[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

Gloompaw. Wolverinefang. Frostdrop. Beesong. Since the beginning of this New-leaf, the first green season of the clans, four cats have died because they were alone — and that’s without counting the two apprentices that were grievously injured after striking out on their own.

And now, Houndstride.

Snakeblink holds these names close, circling them in his mind, as he approaches the willow tree den on silent paws. He knows Cicadastar will be there, because he knows where to find his leader when he’s in pain; he also knows Smokethroat will not be, because he saw the dark-furred tom sunning himself not a moment ago. For this discussion, he would prefer to see Cicadastar alone.

Part of him worries that the proposal he is bringing to Cicadastar today will be seen as — an overreach. Or worse, a suggestion of failure on the leader’s part. He always prefers to see to his schemes on his own: working from the sidelines, never doing more than a slight nudge, a pointed comment. Always careful to step in Cicadastar’s pawprints on his way to his humble goals. But he lacks the authority to put this particular plan into motion, and so he must take that risk.

What’s the worst that could happen? Cicastar exiling him for his audacity? As if. He chuckles softly to himself, eyes wide. Stars, he hopes not.

Quiet as a shadow, Snakeblink slinks into the willow den. For a second his eyes only see mottled darkness; then, as they adapt a little to the dimness, a pool of starlight where Cicadastar lies. The sight comforts him despite his anxiety. Of all the river cats, none is as much of a tangible incarnation of the clan as a whole as their star-touched leader; seeing him is like coming home.

”Cicadastar,” he greets in a whisper. ”May I steal a moment of your time?”
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——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 42 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[CICADASTAR]

the sky is rot dark and he feels just the same ; a husk of a thing, a swirling blue - grey - blackness that fatigues each bone in his body. he feels his exhaustion in his teeth, in his skin, his very marrow. smokethroat had blessedly given him time to wallow in his misery, with a fleeting glimpse of what he could only assume was pity.. but he had not looked long enough to know. his willow den is dim with dusk and it is the only thing enough to stop the migraine pulsing at the back of his eyes. he can hear life outside his den, mumbles of laughter and quiet, serious conversation all at once ; some took the disappearance lighter than others, he knows. his heart burns for it anyway, a hollow anger the simmers low in tired, fatigued paws. his voice is strained. his mind is strained. his gangly body is curled loose on the aging moss mat, smelling of stagnant water and the hum of mosquitoes looking for a non - furred place to land only to be idly swatted by a twitching ear. he is silent. he is motionless.

the scent of blood and fox fur is nothing more than a phantom pain now, lingering at the back of his throat like bile yet again. ashpaw's return was still fresh on his mind when fate had taken another : another he cared for, another to fade into a missing obscurity at the fringes of his mind. no longer did he smell like warmed waters and greenleaf air. should he have met the fate it seemed, he would be cold ; a scent of mildew and decay permeating bold stripes and suddenly he feels sick. the mottled feline has no one to blame but himself. snakeblink is silent, and it is his scent that first wafts upon the leader ; his eyes are open when his lead ducks his slim head, whispers a croaking inquiry into his den and : " i'll not be friendly company. " it is a blunt truth, spoken from beneath heavy bruises and dull blue eyes. amidst the backdrop of darkness, he is merely exposed tooth and blinding gaze, snarling hound of the shadows before the light adjusts. his tail tucks close, reigning lengthy limbs in for the lead to settle.

the man only lifts his head, body still a tangle of knots and algae from sunhigh. life continues, and he continues as well ; but for now, he had earned this wallowing. he sends a silent prayer above, for whatever issue snakeblink would present him this time to be an easy fix, " has something happened? "

COLD & CRUEL LIKE WINDS ON THE SEA  ╱ INFORMATION ✟

• i.
  
• ★ ⋆ CICADASTAR −−−− FOUNDING LEADER OF RIVERCLAN. HOMOSEXUAL, MATED TO SMOKETHROAT. FIFTY MOONS, FATHER TO STARLIGHTKIT, CICADAKIT && BEEKIT. PENNED BY ANTLERS −−−−− ⁺₊✧
  
  
  he / him. tall, elegantly curled smoke tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt blue eyes. his structure sings a feral sort of hymnal, presenting an almost dangerous sort of beauty veiling what monstrosities lie beneath the ivory of his skull. jutting jawline and a squared chin, sunken cheeks drawing a shadow beneath high, sharp cheekbones with tall, angular ears settling high atop the flatter slope of his cranium. he is beautiful ; lucifer in the eyes of an envious god. for all his looks, his expression is lax, void — corpse - eyed and hollow until spoken to, sparking the undead to life. he is tall, lean, cut - glass pretty ; he smiles with too - many teeth, blackened frostbite pulling back his maw to bear canines setn beneath curling whiskers, pantomime skeletal. a predatory gracefulness from the lines that press the image of exhaustion beneath ice water hues to the slow, sure gait in which he walks, nameless strength poorly concealed within the hard lines of his physique. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unnaturally tall amongst his peers, always holding himself with a tragic sort of grace ; poised, prim, and uncannily aware of how he appears.
  
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── smells like wet moss and meadowland thunderstorms.
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── notoriously paranoid and closed off, cicadastar will tend to lie, assume, and jump to conclusions whenever it suits him. any 'suspicious' ic actions he witnesses or hears about will have a strong effect, and will have ic consequences! if you're unsure of an interactions outcome, please feel free to send a dm!
  
  no character opinions represent my own.​
  
  
• " speech "​
  
  
  

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[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

They each bear their grief in their own way — and it seems to weigh particularly heavily on Cicadastar. Their leader looks rough, as if it’s his body that had been thrown downriver in the jaws of a fox. He and Houndstride were dear friends, Snakeblink knows; nearly more, if he remembers the early moons of their clan well. The pain is all the more acute for how close to the bone it cuts.

I’ll not be friendly company. ”I do not mind,” he replies honestly. He expected so much, coming to the other tom in the throes of his mourning.

Sitting primly as if to take as little space as possible in the sequestered den, he clears his throat. ”Nothing,” is his answer to Cicadastar’s inquiry, ”That had not happened before. I come to you to speak about our recent… loss.”

The word sounds almost sacrilegious to apply to Houndstride’s disappearance. Like the snap of teeth closing around a body; like sealing his fate. He liked the brown tom — more than he knew, perhaps, before the quiet warrior was taken away from them. He doesn’t like to give up all faith in a miraculous return. But he must accept that loss if he wants the rest of his argument to stand.

His nose fills with the smell of wet dirt and still water that clings to Cicadastar’s pelt. There’s no rot, very little blood; the stench of death is in Snakeblink’s memory only. He lets it fill his mouth before he speaks, steeling himself with the bitter taste.

”I do not think it is wise, at this moment, to let our clanmates walk the territory on their own.” He speaks slowly, not hesitant but careful of his phrasing. He cannot allow his own tongue to get in his way, not this time. ”Wolverinefang was ravaged with us all none the wiser. Beesong fell to his death as he walked alone. Houndstride…” His eyes bore into Cicadastar, thin pupils jerking slightly as he fights the urge to glance away as is his wont. His voice lowers, softens. ”He was a valiant fighter, but it takes more than one to fell a fox. All of these incidents, all of these deaths, might have been… avoided, perhaps, had they not been alone.”

Their apprentices are safer under the watchful eyes of their mentors — but what of the rest of them? As fond of solitude as some of their warriors may be… with Windclan slavering at their borders and foxes roaming the forest, the need for strength in numbers has never been greater.
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——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 43 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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