camp STARVING, UNQUENCHABLE FIRE ☆ FREAKING OUT

[CICADAFLIGHT]

// CW: blood mention and (accidental) self injury.

" Stars damn it! " Smack! The bitter, half - choked shout mingles with the slap - shred of some errant kit's mossball under his forepaw. His heavy bottlebrush tail, twisted midway through, smacks the ground with the force of its lashing in wild, eelish arcs as the warrior storms back and forth just outside the thick veil of olive sedge largely concealing his sister from view. Great swathes of sand are dislodged, a claw - raked path winding back and forth in a tight loop where he's been pacing.

Crack! A hollow log splinters under his claws, the warrior's back rippling as he rears back and slams his forepaws down onto it, snarling under his breath as he whirls back. The space on the sand where he's been pacing is blessedly bare, the rest of the Clan presumably out at patrol—and those left giving him an understandable wide berth.

Mismatched eyes are blown wide under a knotted brow, flicking back and forth frantically, seeking something that wasn't another living being to break under the weight of his paws. Hard breaths nearly steam around his open mouth, gap - toothed fangs bared and muzzle furrowed into a snarl so deep it seems permanent, resting behind curled lips. Messy curls are spiked up into spires of black and white, tufted ears pinned back against his head, thick eel tail snapping behind him with each pacing step.

Cicadaflight looks more like a frenzied hound than a cat as he paces before the medicine den's entrance.

Why can't Moonbeam just let me in? His sounder mind would know that the white medicine cat needs to focus to mend his sister's wounds, that his presence would do nothing for an unconscious Beefang and only hamper the healer's efforts—but his baser impulse is screaming for him to tear down the sedge walls and rip away any cat who would stand in his way until he reaches his sister. Until he makes sure she's okay. He barks out again between clenched teeth, " Damn it! "

Crash! A pile of stout willow branches—no doubt set aside by some well - meaning warrior for den repair—goes to pieces under another heavy swing, the warrior's tail thumping the ground as he slams his paws into the boughs over and over until blood spatters his forepaws and the branches are reduced to little more than splinters.

// Set immediately after Beefang is brought back to camp/while she's being treated.

" speech "

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[claythorn]

Claythorn had gone out right after Beefang was returned to camp to ensure the border was cleared. The rogue scent was gone, but she knew she'd recognize it if they were to come around again. Ears were flat as she returned to camp, adrenaline still spiked as she wandered in with the other parts of that same patrol. Mismatched eyes shifted instantly towards the draped den- then fixed to the black and white figure stark against the sand.

Wood chips flew, and a frown only grew on her face. Claythorn inhaled sharply- any one else would be wiser then to approach this rampaging warrior, but she wasn't wise. Or, if she was, she knew better then to let any other approach. Their parents were dead- something she could identify with- and any kin would likely not reach him well. "Cicadaflight." Her voice cut, sharp and strong, through a silent camp. Eyes narrowed as she stepped in close.

Any expression on her face was cold, neutral. She wasn't a warm figure trying to coddle him, but the destruction to camp and materials meant to build they dens back up? The noise created whilst Moonbeam was trying to work? It needed to stop. "You throwing yourself around won't help your sister recover, or Moonbeam work." Claythorn stated. Blood be damned- if she was a rogue's child or Riverclan born didn't matter at this point. She couldn't understand the stress he was under, being an only child, but she knew well enough he was stressed.

Eyes flicked towards the blood now on the ground, splinters digging into his paws, likely. "And now you're creating more work for Moonbeam." She uttered, eyes lifting back towards Cicadaflight. "If you need something to hit, hit me." She stated, shifting to stand directly beside him. "It will exhaust, and keep you moving. I can take more blows then what is needed to keep camp together." Hopefully she was speaking logically. Hopefully, he'd take her offer.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┌── WHO ENCRYPTED YOUR DARK ⋅❁⋅ GOSPEL IN BODY LANGUAGE? ──┐‎

• "speech"
  

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• CLAYTHORN she/her, warrior of riverclan, fourteen moons.
  ⭃ LH chocolate torbie with mismatched golden eyes, scars across her right cheek and over her left ear. cold exterior and threatening glares, built for stamina/battle and not swimming (tall/muscled)
  ⭃ mentored by darkbranch (npc) / / mentoring no one
  ⭃ padding after otterbite / / only child
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[Pinepaw ⭒]

-ˋˏ ༻ ❆༺ ˎˊ- When ivory tangled in blood-soaked black had come stumbling into camp, Pinekit’s attention had been caught, glued to the carnage that dribbled crimson onto camp's floor. Curiosity is a fierce itch in the girl's side, only pushed further when the medicine cat and Beefang disappeared into the depths of the medicine den. After Robinheart and Rivuletkits run-in with the hound, Pinekit had been quick to learn that her nearly envious feelings toward the latters up-close seat had been out-of-place compared to her clanmates dismay, Shellpaw’s terror. Pinekit doesn’t dare edge too close, and it rewards her with some sort of entertainment of her own as her abandoned moss-ball falls under a frenzied warriors claws, his curse bursting into the air with the smack her her toy being destroyed. Normally, Pinekit may have more care to something of hers being so ruthlessly broken- but honeyed hues are far too busy following the tom to his next demolition site.
Low to the ground, Pinekit edges only a tail-length closer, mis-matched brows drawing together in both judgment and confusion. Cicadaflight look little more than a child in the middle of a conniption fit, breaking everything around him because his emotions had gotten too big. Pinekit wonders, if she was bigger, if it had been gray, lilac, or ginger fur stained crimson being whisked into the medicine den- would her reaction mirror the warriors? Could she really lose all bodily control, just because she was a little sad?
Pinekit vaguely recalls a purposefully buried memory, there’s a echo of an I hate you being thrown into the direction of a frosted gaze. She had forgotten herself then, so perhaps she was capable of this, too. Willow splinters and more droplets of blood go flying, and Pinekit leans back, trying to take in the picture as a whole while Claythorn gives the frantic brother a soft chastise, tells him to hit her. Teeth sink into a delicate inner cheek, pupils flicking wildly to and fro as she braced herself. Would Cicadaflight really strike a clanmate? The tiny tortoiseshell waits in agony to find out.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── AND I BEG TO BE TESTED ⋅ ࿏ ⋅ BY GODDESSES RESTING ──┐‎

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  PINEKIT ✩ she/her, kit of riverclan, 2 moons.
  ⭃ plush-furred tortoiseshell she-kit with white dipped forepaws, tail tip, and muzzle and round, honey hued optics.
  ⭃ daughter of Iciclefang && Stormywing ࿏ sister to Cragkit && Crabkit
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Noor ↛ @toyangel on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[Driftwood]

Frenzied scrapping and wood splinters flying, oh my. Curious eyes sparkled from afar, uncertain whether to be amused or have a reason to avoid the scene. Perhaps a stick would hit their face if they got close, but Claythorns approach made Driftwood leap from their perch.

Blood Driftwood sees and their expression narrowed briefly to concern as they trotted over. Oh, but one as such wouldn't want much fretting over and pity. Especially in this state, he might snap. "Oh friend, don't scold too much. You're right, yes. But you see he is not in the right mood?" Driftwood attempted to touch their tail against Claythorn's shoulder in a nonthreatening gesture. Hopefully she wouldn't take it personally, it was a logical answer- but in Driftwoods eyes it wasn't just right in this state of mind. "Cicadaflight, you should go sink teeth into some fish and splash a bit to cool off. Maybe throw about pebbles to get it out. I can accompany you and our friends here, or just an escort?" They mewed with a lazy smirk, scanning the center of attention for an answer. Surely, if he was ripping about sticks and hurting himself, he'd need a task; something easy enough to get the mind away from it's state. Driftwood knew they'd prefer it over scolding over. It was understandable, to have a loved one injured and anger to a refusal of visits when one was in a bad state. It was closure for oneself to see this someone, to beg to hear if they were okay. Not that they could sympathize with past experiences, but it was just common sense in their view.
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[FERNGILL]

"No, don't tell him to hit you, Claythorn," Ferngill said sternly, looking back at Pinekit for a moment warily. That wasn't the impression he wanted his niece to be having- that it was alright to strike your Clanmates in any circumstance. He gave the calico kitten a look, level and intenting to wordlessly communicate that she should keep her distance for the moment. She was a curious soul, and he loved that about her... but this wasn't the sort of whirling temper he wanted her to get close to...

Still, he knew Cicadaflight was hanging around, waiting for Beefang- that his frustration was borne out of a pure-hearted worry. And how well he knew that emotions could barrell into you when you weren't ready for them- how overwhelming the could get. Ferngill's jaw tightened, and he neared at Driftwood's side, head slightly tilted. "Moonbeam knows what she's doing," he tried to assure the curly-furred warrior, keeping his tone soft, as feather-gentle as he could manage. "You won't have to wait much longer. Especially now that you've, uh... done that." Ferngill motioned to the pile of shredded splinters at Cicadaflight's paws. That had to have hurt... but maybe the panic was overriding it?​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[pebbletail]

(☼) he can't get the crimson out of his head. it coats his brain, spilling over into the rest of his body. his paws feel sticky with it, his eyes hazed with the color. he's seen blood before, but starclan, not like this. the apprentice sits quietly with his horror as his cousin rages with the same. beefang had been dripping gore, painting the reeds with her own life, her eye socket dark and warm and empty. he feels his fur crawl with the picture of it, turns quickly to lick at his own flank, and finds no ruby there, only stone blue and snow white. moonbeam tends carefully to the injured she-cat within her reed den- pebblepaw trusts the medicine cat with his life, and therefore with his cousin's as well. he's seen the way they look at one another. the girl will not allow death to permeate the camp this day.

so, pebblepaw sits quietly, and cicadaflight rages, and nothing is right, and everything is wrong. it is only the crack of splitting sticks between twisting claws that causes the apprentice to look up, finding his cousin's frenzied gaze, noting the new scent of blood. "cada," he murmurs, his voice hidden under layers of others' smarter advice. ferngill takes charge of the situation, and pebblepaw gets to his feet, padding over, closer to the curly furred warrior than any of the others. he and his cousin are not the closest, but they are kin. ember eyes, the same hue as one now gone, blink at the patched tom. "moonbeam's got her. she'll help her."

I DO NOT HAVE WINGS, LOVE ☼ I NEVER WILL

• // " #848DAE"
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  PEBBLEPAW ☼ HE / HIM, APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN. MENTORED BY FOXTAIL. 8 MOONS OLD, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a large blue tabby with low white and vitiligo. pale blue fur covers the length of pebblepaw's stocky body, sliced through with darker tabby stripes and spots. baleful orange eyes peer out of heavy set sockets, and his muzzle, paws, and tail tip are dashed with white.

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[MIDNIGHTASH]

જ➶ What happened has spread with relative ease. Well, seeing it had been something else. A mere rogue able to topple one of their own. Her maw flexes as she thinks about the one that had been toppled. Beefang. The viscera clear as blood streamed from her head and across the ground. Moonbeam quick to help. Her maw twists slightly before she relaxes her facial features. No thoughts move beyond that as she finds herself wondering about that rogue and how they did it. How they managed such a tearing wound. Her tail snaps againdt the ground and she is about to make her way to the apprentice den when the sudden sound of crashing takes place. Her skull whips around as if danger is near only to visibly see Cicadaflight going mad in her eyes. Stomping on what has been collected for camp. Making more work for those that put the effort to bring all that in.

Her eyes narrow as she witnesses the blood. Smelling the heavy iron and she watches as everyone moves forward to help. To calm him. Claythorn wants him to hit her, a fool hardy choice. Driftwood gives a more reasonable choice of fishing and awimming. Ferngill tells him that everything will be okay and she merely stands there watching with burning ambers. For a moment she doesn't speak and she sees how this effects little Pinekit. "What a waste. I guess I'll go out and gather more branches for the den." Her care is lacking but she isn't the type to give it to folly.​

 

[CICADAFLIGHT]

Claythorn, ever the logician, is quick to step close—so close that the unexpected proximity makes him freeze, splinters sinking into the soft meat of his forepaws. Her voice is cold and clear as river - cut ice, slicing through his hard - won pants and raspy insucks of breath. She's right, he knows it, but the live - wire disease snaking through his veins eats through him like rot, a foreign thrum in the seeping veins of his forelegs. He knows it won't help—knows it's hurting, if it's doing anything, but he doesn't know how to do anything else.

" I can't do that— " he splutters through copper—when had he bitten his cheek? Does it matter? Eyes blown wide are swallowed by pupils like moons as he pants, red dripping onto the sand; what is she saying? That a cat can see the damage he's done—the same damage he's seeing now as his vision clears of crimson mists—and ask it to be dealt to themselves instead? The revelation of what he's done hits him like claws sunk into his chest, the sight of a wide - eyed Pinekit cinches it, and he crumples into a sitting position, panting over his two - toned forepaws as his shoulders shudder.

His breath comes tightly, the ghost of his father's fury a vice - grip around his chest, the little tortie's—a mirror - image herself—frantic pupils flying back and forth in the edge of his constricted vision. Driftwood's words are nearly lost on him, ( appropriately ) drifting in and out of perception, their voice winding around his ears. Sink teeth into some fish . . . cool off . . . I can accompany you. They mingle with Ferngill's soothing assurances, concern tinging his soft - voiced words, all of it half - lost to him.

" I'm sorry, " he chokes out once he finds his breath, fangs digging into his cheek to hold back saltwater tears. The reality of his actions, of the cat he'd thought he'd overcome, the cat he becomes now, crashes into his chest anew with all the weight of the brutalizing strikes he'd been directing at the shattered pile of sticks before him now. Sickness, bitter as the herbs Moonbeam spreads over his sister's raw - scraped flesh, rises serpentine in his chest with Pebblepaw's murmur. He repeats the phrase, voice stretching catgut thin, " Sorry. I'm sorry. "

" You've—probably got the right idea, Driftwood, " he murmurs weakly, suddenly weary with the weight of his sins, pulling himself to his trembling and bloodied paws. Midnightpaw's uncaring logic is as lost on him in the loudness of his own head as Driftwood's kindness. He stalks out of camp, murmuring, " But I think I'll go by myself, thanks. "

" speech ( theme week edition ) "

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[claythorn]

Cats were drawn- that was to be expected, given the gravity of the situation. Warriors, kits, apprentices alike, all coming to stare at Cicadaflight losing his mind. Which, it was to be expected, Claythorn reasoned. That was blood family in there, and while Claythorn may never understand it herself, she supposed she may do the same if Otterbite was to end up in there. What a funny thought, protecting the tom who holds a secret above your head.

Pinekit watches, but there was contact against her shoulder. Mismatched golden eyes shifted towards Driftwood, a frown finding her face. She did not move or answer him, vision moving to pin back to the tom who had since sagged over himself, pressed against the sand of camp, ears backwards and vision just as panicked as it was before but in a different light- realization of his actions. Claythorn inhaled quietly at others chastised her for telling him to redirect his anger. Was that so wrong? She could defend herself- the carefully collected materials could not.

Her words come like slow churned water, murky with mud- dull, but still a balm. "Don't apologize." Claythorn surprises even herself with how soft her words were, which caused her ears to turn backwards. She holds her tongue heartbeats longer, as the words of the others sink into his skull. Claythorn could almost imagine herself in the same spot, chasing Asphodelpaw out of the nursery on angered words, the whole of camp turning to glare at her, even if she was in the right. She inhaled quietly before she spoke again. "Be safe." She called after Cicadaflight, before her eyes finally shifted to those still near her flank.

Ferngill is found first, and her inhalation was soft. "I have to apologize for what I proposed, but I do not feel guilty. A healthy spar would have been better anger fodder then destruction of branches, and at length, himself." She explained, and vision shifted towards Pinekit. A frown briefly crossed her face. "I won't lecture you on this, Pinekit, but use words over paw. I am not a good example." Claythorn spoke quietly. Yes, she had made a bad impression upon the kit, but they were raised in worlds seperate. Claythorn's mind was upon her own shoulders, and Pinekit's... well, she should learn for herself how best to settle issues.

It was probably more akin to Driftwood's and Ferngill's suggestions, to which, her head turned cast towards Driftwood. "Mind your tail." She uttered, the only warning she gave before she moved to step away- Pebblepaw given an apologetic- thankful?- nod of her head. Midnightpaw was all but ignored as she departed herself.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┌── WHO ENCRYPTED YOUR DARK ⋅❁⋅ GOSPEL IN BODY LANGUAGE? ──┐‎

• "speech"
  

• 

• CLAYTHORN she/her, warrior of riverclan, eleven moons.
  ⭃ LH chocolate torbie with mismatched golden eyes, scars across her right cheek and over her left ear. cold exterior and threatening glares, built for stamina/battle and not swimming (tall/muscled)
  ⭃ mentored by darkbranch (npc) / / mentoring no one
  ⭃ no current love interest / / only child
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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