private THERE'S A TUNNEL UNDER OCEAN BLVD ☆ SANDPELT

[CICADAFLIGHT]

He's so bored. Cicadaflight rests in the herb - perfumed silence of the medicine den, his mauled face propped on one paw and the other splayed listlessly out in front of him, claw tracing swirls in the sun - bleached earth. There's nothing to do here in the cloistered quiet of the sedge - lined den, and he's left in a place he rarely wants to be, alone for long sprawling stretches of hours with his pain and his thoughts. Days pass with indifference to the frantic cycling of the sun and moon, half - hidden by the heavy curtain of mass draped over the den's entry, only the hue of the shards of light speckling the den to differentiate day and night. He's kept company by Moonbeam's everpresent white figure, his sister staring at her with adoration shining in her eyes, Beefang ( once she'd quit yelling at him for being a mousebrain, anyways), and Robinheart, though the latter two are usually permitted to leave the den by Moonbeam now, leaving him the only one truly trapped here.

There's an irritating sound . . . a repeating thump of pawsteps, probably just someone passing by, but each small impact seems to keep time with the dull throb in the ruin of his face . . . stars, he doesn't think he'll ever look at the water straight on again once his cobweb bandages come off. He's afraid of what he'll see, for his disfiguring must be great, if the pain is any indicator . . . Moonbeam's given him something for it, but nothing can wholly blunt the vicious blade of hurt lodged in his cheek. He hasn't really had any visitors, either, which shouldn't surprise him, but . . . his mind drifts to pale fur and yellow eyes, a pain in his paws, dusk - lit conversation . . . he kind of wishes he had at least one. The warrior sighs, sending granules of sand drifting with motes of light as his paw traces nonsense shapes in the sand in an attempt at self - soothing.

" What the hell? " he grumbles with a successive wince, lifting his head wearily off his paw to peer at the entrance. Somebody's pacing, or something, because the irritating intrusion of pawsteps and the flashing shadow of their figure hasn't ceased. Cicadaflight squints, catching sight of Sandpelt's distinctive blonde fur and not dissimilar facial scar, scowling and growling curses under his breath again. " Are you coming in or not?! "

" Fucking—ow— " he grumbles under his breath after the gravelly, barely intelligible shout has left his bandage - constrained maw, feeling fresh pain reverberate through his cheek from stretching his jaw. Two - toned eyes glower up at Sandpelt, who looks equally awkward and equally pissed - off, and he jerks his head roughly at the dozing shape of his sister. " She's asleep and I'm not waking her up just for you, " For the brief moment his eyes stutter towards his sister, they take on a rare shine of affection, brow furrowing a little in concern. At least she seems to be healing well. She still needs her rest and I'm not waking her up for this mouse-brain.

" Lichenstar's recovering in her den, Moonbeam's out to gather herbs, and Robinheart's . . . visitin' the nursery, I think? " he rattles off, all of it slightly garbled and each annoyed word bringing forth further pain in his shredded cheek. Wow, you're lookin' like shit, he recalls, and his glare deepens, two - toned eyes communicating the sentiments the rest of his torn face cannot. The visible half of his mouth downturned, the warrior looks weary with pain and exhaustion, bottlebrush tail flicking eelish behind him, but alive. The tattered moth wings behind his ears, trailing dusty beryl, flutter with another jerk of his head towards the greenery - draped exit; it doesn't even cross his mind that Sandpelt might be here to see him. " Come back later. "

OOC : @SANDPELT !!

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[SANDPELT]

ꕀꕀ If anyone asks Sandpelt, he isn't lurking, or anything of the sort. He's a warrior, he doesn't lurk. And certainly not outside of the medicine cat's den, in plain view of the rest of the camp. Has he been hovering about the den for the better part of the day? Well, yes, but he's got a perfectly reasonable excuse. The storm that swept through the other day—coincidentally the same day that Cicadaflight returned to camp bloodied and hardly lucid—had just caused some structural damage to the den, and Sandpelt is being a good warrior. He's checking the entrance, especially, to make sure it will hold up under the onslaught of more rain that's sure to come. And pacing back and forth at the entrance under the guide of checking its structure means he spots the black and white form that lies within the den every so often. He just can’t quite gather the courage to step inside.

After poking at the entrance’s moss drapery once again, a clanmate shoots him a suspicious look. His eye rolls with exasperation, and he trots over to the fish that he’d caught on his last patrol. It sits atop the fresh-kill pile, still fresh despite the way he’d tossed it aside without care. It’s not his duty, yet he can’t help feeling like he should be keeping his eye on Cicadaflight. But… should he even bother? His enemy is in the medicine cat’s den for the foreseeable future—he should be glad for it. He should be enjoying this while it lasts, not pacing around like a caged animal and hoping that he’ll get the nerve to actually go inside. His decision is made for him, it seems, when a rough, nearly unintelligible voice shouts at him: Are you coming in or not?!

The other tom fixes a glare on him that could shatter the iced-over river in winter, and it takes all he’s got not to flinch. But he stands strong, meeting the harshness of muddied ice with narrowed, piercing sunlight. His pelt prickles with discomfort, and he sets the fish at his paws to respond. "Didn’t Moonbeam tell ya to knock it off with the talkin’?" He likes Cicadaflight more when he can’t properly use his mouth, he’s decided. He squints at the conclusion that the other warrior seems to draw—that Sandpelt is here to visit Beefang, or Moonbeam, or any of the other residents of the den. I’m here for you, idiot. Even if his gaze still catches on Beefang occasionally, he knows that the she-cat has little interest in anyone besides Moonbeam. "Anyway, ’m not here to see any of ’em. Just came to… make sure ya didn’t die." The honest truth spills from his maw, and he clicks his muzzle shut to prevent any more concern from shining through. He doesn’t care about whether Cicadaflight is alright—at least, not past the idea of losing his most frequent sparring partner. If the other tom were to die, who would Sandpelt have to spar with? What lofty goal would he have to reach? What would motivate him to get out of his nest each day?

"Ya still look terrible, by the way," he adds, not to be mistaken for a concerned friend. Yet, he can’t forget about… "Oh. Brought you somethin’." A cream paw gestures to the fish, an invitation for the other to eat. As he moves to push it toward the other tom, though, a thought strikes him—he turns a grimace upon Cicadaflight, uncertain. "Can you even eat it? Wouldn’t wanna damage your fucked-up mug even more."

𓇢𓆸 you get on my nerves

• ooc: —
• 
  SANDPELT ❯❯ he/him, warrior of riverclan
  ❀ pretty, silky-furred tan tortoiseshell with one yellow eye. calm and hardworking, but can become snappy if angered.
  ❀ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ❀ penned by foxlore

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