slow cinnamon summer || clayfur

Aug 1, 2022


riverclan warrior. 32 moons. tags

He meets Clayfur just after the sun's come up. The midday heat isn't beating down on the sand just yet, cool water beckoning cats in; it's why Clearsight picked the early morning. Many of their clanmates are asleep, and those who have woken are less likely to be swimming. This time of day, privacy is easier to come by.

(He knows how hard this learning curve has been for Clay.)

"I'm really glad you asked me," Clearsight murmurs now, as they draw closer to the shore. "Fishing isn't easy; it's perfectly normal to struggle. And I'm really happy to help."

Happy to help, because he loves his clan and wants to see it thrive. Happy to help, because he respects Clayfur as a friend, because he cares about his clanmate's career as a warrior. And--

Well, Clayfur is funny and endearing and such a goddamn hard worker that Clearsight can't help but admire him. So maybe a part of him is just excited to spend time together.

He learns forward, bumping his nose against Clayfur's forehead, and whispers, "No need to be nervous. You're such a hard worker, you'll do fine."


// @CLAYFUR <3

Clayfur feels like he’s been dragging the clan down. It’s not much, just the occasional offhanded comment from a clanmate, or the sight of another cat returning to camp proudly with a fish held between their jaws. It all makes him feel a bit useless.

He isn’t keen to admit it, but gaining the nerve to ask for Clearsight’s help had taken a little while. Even just approaching the other tom feels so difficult, sometimes. It’s just that he’s such a capable warrior, and Clay doesn’t want to fail so spectacularly that he drives the other away. And his nerves certainly aren’t helped by Clearsight’s looks, holy smokes. He’s just the perfect RiverClanner.

Now, though, Clay is glad that he finally got bold enough to ask for the other tom to teach him to fish. What better way to spend such a nice morning, anyway? He thinks of Clearsight as a friend; the brush of their pelts when they pass by one another is a testament to that. Any time spent with him is treasured, and the brown tabby is convinced that he made the right choice in asking for help. "I’m glad I asked you, too." He usually isn’t this… rattled. Is he being shy? Or is his heart just racing a million foxlengths a minute because he’s excited about fishing?

The blue-furred tabby noses at his forehead, and Clayfur can feel the hitch in his own breath. It takes him a moment to speak, floundering and trying to find the right words to say, but he eventually finds his tongue again. "I’ll do—I’m gonna do my best," he says, feeling a bit like a kit. Hopeful for praise, for that feeling of accomplishment that comes with a job well done. He just hopes that he’s up to Clearsight’s standards. "What will we start with?"


riverclan warrior. 32 moons. tags

Clearsight's heart skips a little at Clayfur's stutter-- always clumsy and hopeful and bright and a little brash, and now flustered, breath hitching (Clearsight hears it and StarClan, he wants to hear that sound again), tripping for a moment over his words. It's so cute that Clear has to fight to keep his focus. And he's never been like this, never easily distracted, never anything less than clear-sighted. Something about Clay just... gets to him.

But Clayfur asked for help, and Clearsight won't disappoint him. He coughs a little, shakes his head slightly. "Well," he says. "Fishing is... the key to fishing is patience. Being still. Ah, that is--"

Stars. He sounds like a child, fumbling for phrasing. He takes a deep breath, then starts again. "Let's... stand closer to shore. It'll be easier to show you."

He leads Clayfur right up close to the riverbank, where the water splashes just at their feet. Fishing. Think about fishing. He knows how to fish. "First and foremost, always face the sun-- if your shadow falls on the water in front of you, the fish won't get close. You'll need to be quiet, too." He shifts a little closer, drops his voice low. "Your goal is to be silent and unseen. Perhaps most important of all is to pick a comfortable position-- something you can hold for minutes on end."

He settles into an easy stance, sitting back on his haunches with one forepaw just raised-- ready to strike. "Stay still, speak quietly if at all, shadow always behind you. This is mostly a waiting game-- so those three rules are most crucial."

Another nose-bump-- this time at Clay's cheek. That earthen-toned tabby coat gleams in the sunlight, glossy and soft; those green eyes are bright as morning. They face the sun to fish because it's practical, but stars if it doesn't have a secondary benefit right about now.

"How does that sound?" he asks. "Make sense so far?"

You are beautiful, he's thinking, you are so goddamn beautiful. Please tell me it doesn't make any sense at all so I can sit here by the river and teach you to fish for the rest of my life.


The key to fishing is patience, Clearsight says, and suddenly all of Clay’s success—or lack thereof—with fishing makes sense. He’s never been a particularly patient cat, never grown out of that bit of his childhood self. He used to be the type to give up if he wasn’t immediately skilled at something, though, and he likes to think that particular kind of impatience has disappeared, replaced with firm determination.

He’s drawn back to the present when the other warrior leads him to the water’s edge. The ripples in the water lick at white paws, and he stiffens. He’s not comfortable enough around the water for this, he thinks, but he has to learn. He can do this. "Okay," he sighs out, trying to force himself to relax.

Clearsight moves in a bit closer, voice dropping quieter, and isn’t that just… something? He swallows down the urge to do something truly ridiculous. The blue-swirled feline tells him to get into a position he could remain in for a while, and he bites back a quick, thoughtless response.

Any position is comfortable when you’re right beside me. He starts to say it aloud, but wrangles the urge before he gets a full word out. Instead, he blinks once, twice. "I’m not very good at holding still," he whispers. "Or being quiet. I think I can manage the shadow thing, though. Just gotta, like, keep facing the sun." He glances directly at the sun for just long enough to make spots appear in his vision, then blinks rapidly until they fade.

After repeating the explanation, Clearsight presses his nose against the brown tom’s face, and Clay calms a bit more, the lines of his shoulders going lax and comfortable. The water at their paws isn’t bothering him as much as he thought it would be. He’s thinking about—well, actually, Clayfur is fairly certain he isn’t thinking anymore, hasn’t been since the other tom touched him.

He meets blue eyes and stares, for just a moment. Taking in the sight. Then he offers a dumb grin, chirps, "Uh… yeah, makes sense!" If he sounds a bit breathless for reasons besides his nerves, then that’s between him and StarClan.

Clayfur takes a stance that echoes the one Clearsight showed, settling onto his haunches with one forepaw lifted a bit off the ground. One of his hind legs is stretched out to the side as it typically is, tail resting atop that limb. It’s a pretty poor imitation, he thinks. "Like this? How long do you have to wait?" He doesn’t look back up at the other tom, gaze narrowed and focused on the river.