pafp THE HUNT IS ON [✦] play fight

[CICADAFLIGHT]

✦₊ ⊹—— it is rare that cicadakit is found play-fighting with the other kits; his siblings, certainly, are a familiar sight in the pack of sandy and inexplicably dripping kits that run about camp, playing and pestering. sometimes he thinks he can feel his papa's gaze on his back, or his dad's, watching the way he lurks beneath the nodding and tired ferns like a corpse in a waterlogged grave. he knows they wish he would be one of those kits, those carefree things who don't care if someone plays too rough or the sand is too hot or the camp too loud. he knows he wants to be one of them, wants his thoughts to become so easy and airy that he could bounce about playing mock-clan without a single trace of thought or (oh, far too much) care.

perhaps he'd been driven by these thoughts, or by some long-buried childish want to play, but today he's finally answered the call of another kit. a relative stranger, not one of his siblings or the nursery's newest arrivals, is this cream-pelted shape; named sandkit or something of that simplistic ilk. he envies the other child, jealousy poisonous in two-toned eyes at their plain name and warrior parents, indistinguishable from the droves of damp cats who move out for patrols every day at his father's commands. everyone tells him that it's such a blessing to be the leader's son, to be called 'kingsblood', to have a legacy already paved out before him. he doesn't find it so; in the deepest hours of the nights when the moon is naught but a sliver, when nightmares dripping with stars and river-muck weigh down his mind, he wishes he was never born cicadakit at all. he wishes he was mousekit or sandkit or puddlekit, born to cats with names ending in claw, pelt, fang instead of star, and then he forgets those midnight wishes made in sleep and guilt.

now he paces a miniature battle circle around sandkit, the thin she-kit before him bracing herself for the play-fight; in a rush of overlong limbs and jutting vertebra he's attacking the cream-furred kit, wrestling a squirming shape beneath the pointed notches of his ribs as the two roll in the sand in a flurry of kitten-swipes. a beat and it's turning too real as he pins sandkit beneath a large white paw, the other coming down again and again in graceless swipes, thoughtless and brutal, until they manage to kick him away. and he can't stop himself, can't stop to think it over before he's lurching forward again, his strikes, clumsy and uncaring as they are, meeting little but air as the other kit dances away.

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

• ooc: please wait for @iciclefang !!
  
• 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 ; 2 ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[iciclefang]

The marbled warrior takes a moment out of her day to sit and groom herself and observe the bustle of camp life. Lean and still dripping with river water from her most recent plunge, Iciclefang takes her time rasping a scaly tongue over sleek, glossy fur. One eye is closed, the other half-lidded and lazy, but when she spots two small shapes ambling toward one another at the edge of camp, both open in their entirety. One kit, little Sandkit, is brave and fearless in the face of the gawking distorted shadow-splashed creature who stalks her. They exchange no words, which makes the interaction a little more interesting. There’s little sense of fun to Cicadakit’s predatory half-circling… there’s something else, though, something driving him, pelt fluffed out around his distended ribcage and angular tail.

She continues her bath. As she strokes her tongue down one long foreleg, Cicadakit rushes Sandkit. His weight, his disproportionate height, is enough to bowl her over and pin her into the grit. His blows are clumsy but heavy—long arms, big paws batter senselessly into Sandkit’s upper body and face. The she-kit squirms helplessly under Cicadakit’s assault, and it takes all of her strength to kick him away from her. He doesn’t stop then, either—he’s relentless, and for the first time Iciclefang can sense a dull anger in the blows that clip nothing but air.

After a moment, the tortoiseshell rises from her spot and pads wordlessly forward. Piercing ice-glazed eyes scour Cicadakit. “That was clumsy,” she observes. “She’s faster than you, but you’re bigger. You need to use that to your advantage if you want to win.” She’s never taken such interest in kit games before—certainly hasn’t gone as far as to coach one kit over another in a fight—but this is Cicadastar’s son, Smokethroat’s son… and she cannot help but be fascinated by the rage burning beneath that bony, ill-proportioned frame.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

​

 

[FERNGILL]

Cicadakit was curios, Fernpaw had witnessed it for himself. Still was the fiery tom in shock from how the kingsblood kitten had wandered over to him of all cats to ask for advice; he was no exemplary warrior, no expert. But... well, he couldn't rightfully grill a child on why he'd done something, could he? Especially not a child like Cicadakit, one protected so fiercely, and watched so heavily...

He'd noticed, definitely, that Iciclefang's gaze often wandered over to the kittens of her former mentor. He supposed it was only natural, wasn't it? Despite having graduated earlier than most, the bond she had forged with Smokethroat had not died with her apprentice name. He had little to compare it too- Mudpelt and Fernpaw too had a strong bond, a (slowly) productive regime, but... what part of that was teacher-and-student and what part was father-and-son was difficult for him to distinguish.

Cicadakit seemed frustrated, almost... and he could tell the swings were powerful! And he had it pinned down. With a fox's jaws around his neck he wouldn't have guessed Iciclefang would interject, though- offering advice, unasked for but genuinely useful. Interest dancing in his single sighted eye, Fernpaw offered a bright grin from a little ways away. "You'll be as good at battle as she is, I bet," he hummed, jerking his head toward his sister. Especially if Cicadastar were to notice a possible connection between these two... and what an honour that would be for Iciclefang!​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[PIKESPLASH]

He didn't believe that Cicadakit was destined for greatness because he was 'blessed' with being their leaders son. It may have sounded like a remark that was born from envy, but rest assured that is not the case. He in no regard has any hatred or envy towards his leaders family. He still very much fears Cicadastar and Smokethroat, so if there's anything it would be that. What he means is that he doesn't believe that kits born from leaders are automatically blessed. They are separate beings from their parents, the choices they make determine whether or not they were great. Of course, he understands the sentiment. Both Smokethroat and Cicadastar were powerful cats, so it would make sense that their kits would be powerful. However, this only means that their kits have some rather large paws to fill. Who knows? Cicadakit might want to take a path different from his parents. Nothing is set in stone. He's just a kit after all.

Green eyes watch with the scuffle between Sandkit and Cicadakit with interest. He's seen Cicadakit roll around in the sand with his siblings that it is not unusual for him to see Cicadakit tussle with someone else. However, he is puzzled as to why dark kit circles Sandkit as if she is a mouse. A predator is what he means to say. It is a bit disturbing. However, he must trust in both kits to know when to stop. It is not his place to reprimand either, however he can't help but feel anger simmering in his gut watching Cicadakit take things too far. Sure, one could say that this was proof of his blessing with battle prowess so young, but if it was left unchecked it could be dangerous. A breath he had been holding is released when he sees Sandkit manage to push Cicadakit off her. He is proud of Sandkit for knowing when to walk away.

Pikesplash can't help but feel unsettled. Kits sometimes struggled with play, hurting each other and having to be cuffed here and there to know what was acceptable and what wasn't. However, what he saw didn't seem like a scuffle between kits. It was as if they were witnessing a true battle. I don't know. I just can't let it go. Maybe I'm crazy, but that just seemed wrong to watch. I can't explain it. He's Cicadastar's son too. Would I be stepping out of line? That just seemed too far. Unaware he is that his paws have led him to follow Iciclefang and Fernpaw. Both voice support. Iciclefang was Smokethroats apprentice right? I get it. I do but it's still bothering me.

The others have finished speaking. He opens his maw only to close it and shake his head towards the kit. After a moment of silence he mews, "You're good at battling Cicadakit, but with how you fought Sandkit... You lost. Warriors are able to control themselves. I won't deny that you're strong Cicadakit, but all I'm saying is that you need to control yourself." He doesn't mean to grill Cicadakit about this, but he is simply worried that one day he will take things too far. Strength is not a bad thing if you know how to wield it properly.

 

[BEEFANG]

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳˚❥ Beekit can't help but watch from after having been occupied with one of her moss ball games and when she had turned around, she had been surprised to see Cicadakit actually playing with another kitten that isn't herself or rather, he hadn't been coaxed to play by her and a small part of her feels proud and happy that he had heeded the call of play from Sandkit. She hooks her moss ball with a claw tempted to ask the two if they wished to play after their little roughhousing but then she notices how Cicadakit seems to put his strength and anger into those blows, she feels her insides tighten and knot with worry as she ditches her previous game to make sure that he doesn't end up hurting himself or Sandkit for that matter. But by the time she arrives, Sandkit manages to squirm and dance away from her younger littermate and she casts the other she-kit an apologetic look and listens to Fernpaw praise her brother while Iciclefang criticizes Cicadakit.

She can't help but frown and flicks her ear, she wouldn't know a lot about combat like Iciclefang does but something about her taking such interest in her brother during mere play or what she had believed to be playing at first makes her feel uneasy by just a little. When Pikesplash approaches, the river princess can't help but agree silently that her brother had lost control though she's unsure if he had lost given the fact that Sandkit had fled the fight. Still this is her blood and kin, she cares for him even if it seems at times that he is troubled. Her bicolored gaze turning to Cicadakit and offering a gentle smile before speaking in a lighthearted tone "You'll get em next time, Cada." It would be best to offer encouraging words to her brother and she would've offered to take him on instead but having seen everything unfold with Sandkit, well, Beekit thinks that it would be best when her littermate was calmer. ​

[ KILL EM WITH THE MOJO, CINEMATIC SLO-MO ]​

 

[CICADASTAR]

" pikesplash, you will watch your tongue around my son. "

it’s a bladed snap, sharp as narrowed icicle eyes and fangs jutting from the marred - black side of his maw as he emerges. willow tree cloaked, shadowed where he’d observed cicadakit and sandkit where they square together. his son is gangly, long - limbed and not yet muscled to cover his jut of awkward bone and his edge. he is all sharp edges and blunt paws, not so much brimming in strength as he is restless, nervous energy. flitting eyes and flexing paws, a shaky eagerness that has him half - circling. pacing, vulture - like, eyes on each side of his enemy — a good warrior watches every angle, knows each potential step his opponent takes, and he does so with instinct. eyes narrow approvingly, an ear swiveling as he’s made keenly aware of iciclefang nearby. she watches close, and he remains fixated as well until.. a battle erupts.

he charges — rapid strikes like a flurry of crow, flashes of oil - black and striking ivory coiled tight around his jutting vertebrae and bony arms. strength, he does not have.. but power is hereditary. he quakes with it, clumsy but unbidden. sandkit buckled beneath his younger kit, and he makes a note of it ; the she-cat would be placed upon the paws of experience, when she reaches her apprenticehood. she struggles against cicadakit’s onslaught until finally, finally, she weasels from his grasp and out of range of small, rapid fire paws. she is uninjured, but embarrassed, he could only assume.. to have been put on her tail by a younger tom? his tongue clicks, and before him, iciclefang’s voice lifts — a shadow of smokethroat in her criticism, authoritative and sharp - eyed. clumsy, she says, and he would hum in agreement should he not be lounging back in silence.

but it is pikesplash’s voice that draws him, finally, out from the dark of stone and willow. a lengthy thing, the boys predecessor in more than name and blood. they are mirrors, a phantom before death — future sight into the moniker he’d been given at birth. pikesplash scolds him — has the gall to scold him, despite the inability to hold himself to those his age. absolutely not, absolutely not ; his son would not be a milkdrinker past kithood, as pikesplash had so chosen. the man, viperlike, sneers his teeth briefly, dominantly at the blubbering feline before his gaze turns towards the subject of all this — cicadakit, ” cicadakit, pay no mind to pikesplash. kittypet dust does not cling to your pelt, and you will not act like it. “ each word is pointed, throned, an airing of a past he remembers from the dawn of their creation. the tom had hailed from such a life that he could afford frailty.. no twoleg pet would have his children killed with his fear and simpering fragility, ” now listen well to iciclefang. your father trained her.. you remember, ja? “ a short nod, a narrowing further of salt blue ; still blazing with the remnants of fury around dark slits. his expression, however, is straight — save for the slightest gleam of approval in the brief incline of his sloped muzzle.

but beekit — oh, beekit, who’d approached during the warriors spiel. she stands shocked, and quietly, his air leans soft. a close step, shielding her from the horror and warming it into something natural. it is only natural, their very way, ” bug, my darling.. “ it’s a gentle pivot to his sharp exterior, head dipping like a shadowed crane towards his frightened daughter. a thick tail comes to curl her softly within his bottlebrush tail, eyes heavy and whiskered brow furrowed to hold her attention in clear blue eyes — she is startled, and it is pikesplash’s minnowbrained words that caused it, he is certain. a slow, comforting rasp of his tongue across a gently curled forehead and cicadastar is lifting up just a bit, ” there is nothing to be frightened of. see fernpaw? he is proud of cicadakit, because he knows that when it comes time for his training, he will be able to defend himself from nasty predators just like him.. just like the ones in your stories. “ nightly recounting of battle and grandeur within a mossy willow tree, a life of glory that had born him each scar along their fathers pelts. what it meant to be a warrior, and survive for the ones she loved.. instead of a cowardice that would leave her clanmates bloody at the paws of their enemies.

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 "​
  
  
  

​

 

[CICADAFLIGHT]

✦₊ ⊹—— he hadn't considered that cats might take notice of his and sandkit's supposed play, might feel the need to comment on it. in that respect he is a different animal from his father entirely—it's visible in his slumping posture and dull eyes that he gives little thought to how he is perceived, worlds away from cicadastar's high-reaching neck and glimmering salt gaze. the first cat who feels the need to comment as he finally ceases his fruitless strikes, clumps of unkempt curls dusty from the small tussle, is iciclefang. he knows little of iciclefang - she was his pa's first apprentice, he knows, and she reminds him of his dad in some respects; cold eyes and a colder voice which, unlike cicadastar, does not soften for him at all.

shoulder-bones shift like wings, tenting his thin black pelt, as he warily eyes the tortie warrior. clumsy, she comments, and a two-toned gaze flicks downwards towards his large paws. how, he wonders, is he supposed to be anything but clumsy when he looks like this? iciclefang, with her well-proportioned muscles and glossy pelt, is a far cry from cicadakit's bony joints and oversized limbs. still, he offers a nod as he balances on those storklike legs, his gaze flicking back towards where sandkit cowers against the earth. he is bigger than her. even at nearly three moons, he towers above nearly all of the other kits and perhaps a couple of the younger apprentices, height outpacing the rest of him.

fernpaw's bright grin and cheery words are unfamiliar—warmer than his sister, certainly, something more akin to beekit's happy gifts and gentle words. still, in the face of the events soon to follow, the ginger tom's words will be lost to cicadakit; happiness slipping between paws that were supposedly star-blessed. anger is not a blazing thing to him, nor the sharp glacial dominance of his father's displeasure—to cicadakit, anger is the dull ache settling into the joint of his long jaw, something as bleak and nondescript as his dark ungroomed pelt, a hateful reality. still, he knows what is expected of him, and so he nods and murmurs, "okay. i want to be as good as iciclefang."

and perhaps that might have been the end of it; perhaps he would have given sandkit a bleak nod of apology and gone on with his day, iciclefang's knowledge imparted. but - pikesplash speaks up, the blue tabby's words pinning him into the moment as easily as his own paws had held down the other kit as he'd hit her. anger is the dull rhythm of his bent tail on the earth as the warrior speaks, the boy's long limbs trembling with what could be exertion or rage. you lost, he mews, and cicadakit can feel the bite that is surely imparted in those words, unhappiness thudding against his brow like clouds impending a storm. control yourself, is the next scolding - warriors are able to control themselves, he says, and the boy eyes him warily. he wasn't a warrior. he and sandkit were just playing—perhaps now she was cowering against the sand, yes, but they had just been playing.

he casts stormy eyes in the direction of his playmate and appears to be giving some real consideration to striking her again, small claws sinking into the sand; his sister's arrival, luckily, seems to soothe his rage, if only momentarily. her tone is lighthearted and gentle as ever and he curls his tail about his length hind legs, dull and unhappy eyes flicking between her and pikesplash.

the boy is nothing if not a temperamental beast, though, and his father's arrival sends his mood spinning again. the cream-pelted kit he battles says nothing, cowed by the rage with which the other kits never played, and he cuts his eyes sharp and sidelong towards her where she picks herself up from the ground. cicadastar's scolding is not lost to the boy, directed as it may be towards pikesplash, but the damage is done - the game is ruined, for better or worse. again he seems moments from aiming his teeth towards the other child, lip lifting to reveal a canine in an eerie imitation of his father, but he settles, anger dull and pulsing in his jaw, his paws, his veins. his voice is a rasp of unhappiness, "yes, father."

his father's fury is something quickly familiar—no longer a strange creature to cower from as he shouts, it's becoming a close friend, a confidante. something that nests itself within his own river-blooded heart and presses against his temples. the child's eyes are dark and furious as his father's blaze, but they catch the barest glimpse of the river king's approval as he lifts his muzzle, sloped like cicadakit's own. his father's judgement is pleased this time, a balm to the kit's stormy soul, something that he wants to catch between his paws - but it slips away like water, moment draining away and leaving sullenness behind. the game has been ruined, and though the boy's rage is directed at pikesplash, at everyone who watches, deeply he knows it is because of him. finally he growls low, barely a glance afforded to sandkit, "forget it. it - it was a mistake."

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 ; 2 ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[BEEFANG]

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳˚❥ Her ears lay flat against her head when she hears the voice of her father, she didn't doubt for a moment that he hadn't been watching them considering the fact that if Smokethroat wasn't normally keeping en eye on them then her other father did. The fur along her back ruffles briefly when she sees him lift from his perch and descend so he could be amongst the rest of them, the words that slip from his jaws cold just as the color of his eyes. Her father tells Pikesplash to watch his tongue around her littermate, she thinks that might be all that he says to the warrior but the next words are notably harsher. Kittypet dust. Beekit can feel her insides twisting and while Cicadastar is busy with telling her brother to listen to Iciclefang, she quickly casts Pijesplash an apologetic look but it vanishes within a few heartbeats when she feels the unhappy gaze of Cicadakit and now Cicadastar's attention on her.

"Bug, my darling..."

Her father's little nickname for her and never let's her actual name slip from his powerful jaws, the river princess glancing up at him before feeling a slow, comforting rasp of his tongue over the curls that lay atop of her head and she listens to what he says. He reminds her of the stories that are told within the willow den and she can't help but cast a quick glance to the ground before focusing her gaze up at him once more with a curt nod of her head "Yes... Yes, father." There's a brief shuffling of her paws, her bicolored gaze turning to Cicadakit who essentially dismisses Sandkit and holds her breath for a heartbeat or two.

She turns to her brother with both ears perked forward and her stance less slouched as she speaks making sure that her voice isn't wavering as she does so "Cicadakit!" Beekit begins trying to find the words that are currently scrambling within her mind, she thinks this would be a better proposition and save the other kittens like Sandkit from the anger that quietly bellows within her younger littermate. "When we become apprentices and we have trained... I want us to spar," It wouldn't be a fight, no, but it could help hone their skills, learn from each other, and perhaps Cicadakit would be less upset in doing so.

Suddenly, that toothy smile of her returns at full on her face and she adds with a slight dip to her head "If you want to, of course." Perhaps it could be something that they end up doing more than once who knows, Beekit cannot see the future ahead but she knows that she wants to be close and bonded to her opposite. Where he was cold, she's warm, where he's dull, she's bubbly... She wishes for them to be a force to be reckoned with and she believes it to be a foreseeable future for her and Cicadakit. ​

[ KILL EM WITH THE MOJO, CINEMATIC SLO-MO ]​

 

[CARP-PAW]

FIGHTING IT IS HOPELESS ————————————​

​

The kits were play fighting. Carppaw's ears perked, and she padded over- but the tense air hadn't faded yet. Her eyes shifted over between Cicadastar and Pikesplash. Her head tilted, confusion written on her features. Snakeblink said that sparring was a good thing, right? But everything came at a cost, a lesson. You were never the best, and you always had to train harder, to make sure nothing happened, right? Carppaw slowly sat, simply listening for a time.

But anyone that knew the young apprentice knew she was like a ticking time bomb. The questions and words only lined themselves up the longer that she sat there and watched, gathering information and thoughts and curiosities like flies on a rotting piece of freshkill. Cicadakit offers some kind of dismissial, and Beekit is trying to open her brother up. Carppaw picks herself up, pushing herself RIGHT into the fray. That's right, Carrpaw is here now! Perhaps she would be more mature, or something else about being an apprentice with responsibilities or the like but stars, she was bored doing that.

And so the flood of questions and words came.

"Well, I THINK that was totally awesome, Cicadakit. Sandkit was doing good at avoiding you but you kept up the assault. That's a good quality, I think, because it will keep you and your clanmates safe!" Carppaw chirped, grinning wide at the gangly kit. He was.. as tall as her already, but that didn't unnerve Carppaw. Lots of cats were taller then her! Just because someone was younger or older didn't necessarily mean that they had to be bigger or smaller, right? (Much unbeknownst to this goofy apprentice, being younger at developmental ages oft did mean that they'd be smaller, but that's okay.)

Carppaw's ears wiggled as she continued. "I can't wait for you all- Cicadakit, Beekit? Sandkit too, I suppose- I can't wait for all of you to be old enough to spar and train with me. We should be friends. I think that way we can all learn to fight together." Carp nodded, all kinds of satisfied with herself. And, finally, her endless tirade of words ended. Clearly, she didn't pay much mind to the warriors, totally distracted and enthralled with those closer to her age.

"speech"
​

——————————————————————————————— sinkin' in your ocean ​