THOUGHTS & BUTTERFLIES - intro

[COAST]

"Ooooh, the wind, the tide and the seaaa~" theres a quiet, sing-song voice at the shore of the river, the owner of it all tucked up in to a little loaf. The black smoke was staring down in to her reflection, though it was obvious her thoughts were elsewhere. Shes back to racing along the shore with her friends, laughing as salt water foam tickles their faces, mmmmm, oh she wished she could go back.

But the company here was just as nice, she just missed the expansive roll of the deep blue ocean. "Wont'cha come back to meee~" she finishes, rising to her paws as she begins to step in to the water. The frigid liquid was a very welcomed sensation, different from the ocean where warm currents were a constant, but the hot summer air was sweltering and she was hot. She pads further, until she could barely stand and hummed in content, closing her eyes. She let the water flow around her, thank the stars that the river was calm today, and just enjoyed being out in the sun as she cools down.

But she waddles out further, and from there shes just kinda... Awkwardly floating. It does not seem to bother Coast as she floats, a purr rumbling in her throat. She had always loved the weightless sensation as she swam, oh, the water was her favorite. If she had a choice, she'd spend all her time in here, but alas, if she did spend all time here then she'd become shriveled up and old! Or maybe she'd be a mercat, ooooh, the latter was a very fun thought and so she slightly giggles. She'd look just like a fish!
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"speech"​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

His relationship with the river was actually apparently not quite the norm for most RiverClanners. For the most part the clan acknowledged its protection, its source of prey and water, its presence. But the surprising number of cats who couldn't swim, preferred hunting on land and even didn't visit the riverside often was a lot higher than he expected. He stayed here in the soft marsh-like territory because it was where he'd lived before the battle, it was what he preferred, he'd always respected the water but quite a lot of the others seemed tolerant at best. He found that dangerous really, Smokethroat worried that they would have incidents of cats drowning due to their inexperience and refusal to adapt but thus far things had been fine. He was on his way to the river now, in fact, patrols set up (with only minor shuffling and chaos due to his and Willowroot's struggling to learn still) and he had finished his hunt for the day; the water called and he'd answer.
The dark tom paused midstep as he reached the pebbled shoreline, ears flat and then upright at the high and light sound of what he thought at first was a bird but was quickly revealed to be someone singing. Stepping further along he finally reached the edge of the river, the current gentle and smooth despite its furious whirl of a storm only a few suns prior that had set it into a roaring snake of foam and water biting at the edges of the shore so intensely it had ripped logs and bits of ground away in its wake.
Both orange eyes quickly located the source of the sound he'd heard, locking onto the dark form of another cat just lazily floating along without much care or concern. This was not a drypaw.
Smokethroat turned, trotted along the edge of the rocky cobble to the large fallen oak that overhung above the river at just such an angle you could dangle your tail in the water and not get swept away. He clambered atop it, pausing to crouch over and observe for a moment before asking loudly, "I don't think I've met you proper."
It was part of his duties now, right? Knowing cats? Knowing who was good at what to assign jobs? He vaguely recognized the other as having been one of the cats joining and cheerfully reuiniting with Willowroot. A old friend? A relative? He couldn't say. He should probably introduce himself first right...instead of demanding she did?
"....I'm Smokethroat."


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[CLAYFUR]

The sight of a cat in the river is not a rare one, but it still sends a bolt of concern through the brown tabby every time it happens. The cat in the river—one of Willowroot’s siblings, if he recalls correctly—looks relaxed, and he calms down quickly upon realizing that Smokethroat isn’t panicking, either. The brown and white tom stands at the end of the fallen oak that the lead warrior is perched upon, gaze darting from Coast to Smokethroat and then back again between the two. He’s not bold enough to stray any closer to the water, but wishes he could follow Smokethroat out onto the branch. His avoidance of the water won’t last forever, he keeps telling himself. Someday he’ll get the courage to try again, and hopefully not give himself head trauma next time.

He pushes that feeling down, a goofy grin crossing his face. "You are too serious, dude," he chirps, waving his tail playfully in Smokethroat’s direction. This guy, he’s quickly decided, sucks at social interaction. So Clay rolls his eyes, returning his attention to the feline in the water. "You look comfortable! How long have you been swimming for?" Some kits—kits!—in RiverClan have learned to swim, and Clay can’t help but feel behind. Maybe if he asks around enough, he’ll find another clanmate who hadn’t learned to swim until they were older.
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[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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[Harry Styles]

【CLEARSIGHT】
riverclan warrior. 32 moons. tags

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Clearsight approaches, blue tabby pelt gleaming silver in the sun with white-cap spirals. He's just returned from a swim himself. The warrior hasn't bothered to lick himself fully dry-- droplets still clinging to his coat, long and glossy and classic riverborn.

He purrs a greeting as he joins the little crowd, drawing close to Clayfur and brushing up against the tom, a friendly physical hello. River-blue and clay-brown fur grazing, flank to flank, a moment's tactile affection. "Morning," he murmurs near Clay's ear, voice low and fond. "You look nice today." Maybe an especially well-groomed pelt, or maybe the sunshine, or maybe it's just that tomfool smile. Flaxen-gold eyes rake over Clayfur's pelt, appreciative, and possibly a touch beyond friendly.

But just as quickly he's stepped away, maintaining a respectable distance, easy as breathing. He chuckles at Clay's tease, but out of respect for Smokethroat he doesn't comment. "How are you all doing this morning? I thought I heard singing over this way."

Turning back to the molly of the hour, Clearsight adds, "Mind if I join you?" Clayfur's right, she does look very comfortable in the water-- significantly more comfortable than he is on land right now. It's hot.
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𝄞 — A DREAMER, A SOLDIER

 

[BEESONG]

The melodic singing is what draws Beesong over, his ear twitching as his head pops out from a clump of reeds to watch Coast. The bundle of herbs he'd been collecting drifts to the ground, and the cinnamon tabby quickly chimes in, "Oh, how fun it is to be..." What rhymes with sea and me? ... Oh! "A fleaaaaa!" His voice is much harsher than the dulcet tone of Coast's, but he doesn't seem to notice. He continues, rising onto his tippy-toes. "A flea on the sea, that is me!"

Once they fall back onto their paw pads, they shimmy the rest of the way out of the reeds, gathering up the askew herb bundle. Singing had quickly grown boring to the sporadic medicine cat, and their grin falls back into an expression of neutrality. "Escaping from the sun?" Beesong quirks a brow as they stop at the water's edge and drop their bundle once more, before they plunge their forelegs into the cool stream with a quiet sigh. They're certainly trying to. The scorching Greenleaf heat reminds them too sharply of the bright, blazing fire.​

 

[COAST]

There are cat voices that sing through the air, the first one being a black tomcat with an awkward clear of his throat. He introduces himself and she flicks the tip of her tail, still content with floating in the river. "Coast, I'm Coast, dearest." she smiles a smile that seems to betray just how far away her thoughts are right now, for they're still stuck on the mercat.

One after another their voices sing in a rhythm that finally brings her out from wonderland, blinking once, twice before theres another kind smile upon her lips. "Since I was born, Fawn Legs," she notes his long legs and brown appearance, she giggles. He looks like a fawn. "Mommy dearest didn't quite care for us much, hm? So I liked to swim with my loves before I was so rudely taken away." she may be oversharing but in her voice showed pride, pride for her siblings, the upmost love and care and respect for all of them.

Then approaches Clearwater, whose voice is low as he speaks to her fawn friend over there in a soft rumble of affection. Her ears perk up. Oh, love! How cute. "Yes, you heard my singing, loverboy." she grins cheekily, and then he asks to join her. "How about you bring your little friend over here as well?" she gestures with a teasing glint in her eyes. "The sun is oh, so hot, the water is nice and cool."

There comes another one, but hes actually singing which brings joy to the mollys heart. "Ooohhh, I like you, get that funky groove, Rosemary." she refers to the sickly sweet scent of herbs wafting off him, twitching her nose before she smiles. She has lost count of how many times she'd smile in the last few minutes. "You know I am, come join, it's better than sweltering." she invites once more, humming as a cool current runs through the river. Ahh, perfect. Its just what she needed.​

"speech"​

 

[CLAYFUR]

The faintest brush of a familiar blue coat against his side paired with a compliment is enough to slow everything in his mind to a crawl. "Well, you look nicer," he responds without thinking, moving closer to briefly rub the top of his head against Clearsight’s cheek. He doesn’t linger long, allowing a comfortable distance to settle between them when the other tom moves away. Was that platonic? He hopes not. Maybe he’s overthinking it.

I’m going to be gray by the time I reach thirty moons, he bemoans to himself, tipping his head down to glance at Coast once again. She’s a strange cat—in a good way, much the same as her sibling. But they wear it with a certain pride that makes him happy for them. They’re a nice family, much the same as his own, and Willowroot’s siblings each bring their own tales to RiverClan. Clayfur is eager to listen to them all.

He’s about to ask more about Coast when he’s drawn in by the sound of another cat’s singing. He doesn’t quite understand the reasoning behind the lyrics that Bee sings, but he doesn’t think he’d get it anyway. He tips his head to them, grinning. "I didn’t know you could sing, Beesong. You should do it more!" Sure, the medicine cat is a bit pitchy, but Clayfur should definitely be the judge of what is a nice singing voice.

Fawn Legs makes him laugh, tail lashing with amusement. He supposes he does look a bit like a fawn, all disproportionate stork-legs and a head too large for his body. The major difference, of course, is that when fawns are inexperienced and clumsy, it’s endearing. When Clay is inexperienced, he has to find excuses not to touch the river that his home clan is named after. Coast, of course, invites them all to join, and Clayfur shakes his head harshly. "I’m fine out here. Built for the heat and all," he says, lying through his teeth like it’s not painfully obvious. But their comment to Beesong is lost on Clay, and he blinks, confused. "Who’s Rosemary?" There’s only a few of them. Oh no—has Cicadastar changed someone’s name again?
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[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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[SMOKESTAR]

Coast? Coast. That was one of Willowroot's siblings, she had quite a few and you couldn't ask him to remember all their names because he was so poor at keeping up with such things. One by one clanmates arrived and he frowned even despite the good cheer in their tones.

Clayfur had a habit of pointing out every instance of his awkwardness when he was genuinely trying, it wasn't like they just taught cats how to act nowadays or maybe they did and he had just not been given such an opportunity. His mother had been friendly, at least from what he remembered of her, but Moss had been so serious he had naturally picked up her mannerisms so aggressively they might have been the same cat for all anyone else knew.
He's bothered by it more than he wants to show though, dislikes how often it's brought up but doesn't want to call more attention to it by speaking up; so Smokethroat decides then to leave. The dark tom turns to make a swift and quick escape before he's noticed, the talk of songs and the cheerful smalltalk all but overwhelming at this point, but in his haste his paw catches a knot on the branch. The comedy of errors next was almost immediate, his balance was knocked off and in an attempt to not fall his claws went out to grip the large branch; forearms stretched out to desperately keep him upright and on the wooden surface. The shift of his own weight was too much for the branch's bark, his claws easily ripping the waterlogged and lumpen bits to pieces as they scratched down and into the water he went with a sharp, "AH-", and a resounding splash. It was graceless, clumsy, and possible one of few times he was caught in such an embarrassing manner.

His only solace was knowing the splash was just big enough and he was just close enough to the shore that he was bound to have caught Clayfur in its sudden cascade.
Because this was his fault.


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