camp who stole the sun - o'Lord ✘ sunbathing

[SMOKESTAR]

He's resting, a rare sight in itself given Smokethroat was a tom who never seemed to stop. He was always moving, always working, barking orders, bothering others to go hunting or on patrol with him; really he was just an endless whirlwind of work and productivity and often times he had to be told to stop. A worried but stern remark from Beesong, a gentle order from Cicadastar, Cindershade picking at him until he rolled his eye and relented, so many other cats who he cared just enough about to even consider listening to. In the end, today of all days, he had made the choice himself. He felt listless, uneasy, there was an itch in his paws that made him want to run; to go sprinting out across the territory as quickly as he could, to shred something into pieces to sate his sudden destructive urges. Overall he was tired, mentally exhausted and even he knew when to quit, so he'd selected a sunny spot to stretch out across. It was a shame that dozing at Sunningrocks was now not a possibility, ThunderClan still continued to insist it was theirs and battle won or not they had no right to just take another clan's territory; he'd heard the last hunting patrol had managed to go unbothered. He wondered how the forest clan might respond in turn given the scent was surely still lingering in the area...
Smokethroat yawned, tongue lulling out and mouth wide to display his teeth. At the very least, he was in fit condition to clash his claws against anothers and they still owed WindClan some bloodshed in turn; the quiet peace might as well be taken advantage of while it lasted.
Tucking into himself he closed his eye, listened to the faintly rolling river in the distance and the soft tapping of paws moving around him through the temporary camp and the sun was a warm blanket draped across his back; until he felt it darken as a shadow formed across him. Someone had approached, but without opening his eye or lifting his head he stifled a yawn in response.
"You know..." The dark tom rolled out in an almost purr to greet who had stepped close, "...maybe retiring as an elder one day won't be so bad...just napping all the time." He had always felt he'd die in battle, go out in a blaze of glory and hopefully taking his opponent with him; bathed in blood and torn to ribbons. The honorable death of a warrior, but now he wasn't sure if that was something he wanted anymore.
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[Tallwave]

A rare sight indeed! Tallwave is just as shocked as any other cat when, during her ritualistic sunbathing hours Smokethroat of all cats comes and joins herself and the others who were laying about in the sun. When she had seen the dark furred tom stride over she already held an excuse at the tip of her tongue. 'oh I would go hunting but I promised the elders I would help them get that hard to reach spot on their backs later' but it seemed, this time, there was no need because Smokethroat had plopped himself right into the sun and joined them! Was the forest freezing over? She blinks in surprise but a warm smile spreads across her face and she dips her head in greeting.

She stands now, makes her way over to him so that she could sit with him and chat, a rare occurance since Tallwave does not believe she had ever really talked to Smokethroat before. Simple passing words was all that had ever been exchanged between the two but she is determined to change that.

She laughs a bit too loudly at his comment about retiring, the sound booming and loud. "Aye" she agrees, nodding her head "I didn't know yee were that old Smokethroat" she says good naturedly "Don't worry you'll be in there napping and snappin at us youngens before yee know it" her loud voice is accompanied by another loud laugh

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[DogTeeth]

Drenched, the fisherman trots across the shell pebbled ground to deposit a small perch onto the pile and shake himself to no avail. His curls too dense, his tail still drags on the ground as he high-steps towards a nice place to lie down and succumb to heavy breaths and a tired sniffle that turned to a sneeze as a few droplets trickled into his nose.

He can hear Smokethroat near him, and a loud vivacious voice and laugh that made him angle his skull to peer at the grey molly, his cheek pressed to the ground. A lopsided smirk on his blonde maw, " well if anyone deserves an early retirement " the it’s you is silent. The small tom’s ribs swell and fall with each breath as he regains his energy.

" I’m going to be the crazy old storyteller when I’m old and grey. Teach the wee-ones how to braid fur " he blinks dreamily at the thought of being silver haired and wrinkled around the eyes.

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OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• — Dogteeth PINTEREST
  — twenty-eight moons
  — 2023 VOICE & ACCENT
  — warrior of Riverclan
  — gay | crushing on n/a
  — small curly-furred blonde and tan tom with blue eyes.
  — very gentle voice and laugh
  — deals a nasty bite
  BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
  
• 
  
  

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[CICADASTAR]

the sun is blazing. newleaf graces the lands once again, reed and river flower rustling with the barest breeze — the curls of his pelt ruffle with it, cooling the heated skin underneath. he and @Hazepaw had been out since the early dawn, their catches retrieved from where theyd buried from the riverside. his fur is only just beginning to dry in the warm air, ringlets coiling where they aren’t waterlogged when they split the reed back into camp. the sprawled shadow of his mate draws his attention quickly, as it so often does — stretched leisurely across the sand - laden ground. as he ventures close to despite his kill into the pile, he overhears that rumble of a voice, and nearly snorts with amusement. the trout is dropped unceremoniously, paws turning to make the short way towards the accumulating group, " and if you think i’ll be picking the ticks from your lazy pelt, you’re sorely mistaken. “

it’s a playful quip, undercurrent of tenderness giving its invalidity away. still, the sun beats down in brilliant golden rays, lighting his fur a fiery russet - black and the leader finds himself settling down into a loaf. icy eyes flit towards his apprentice, ” rest. wel’ll be going out at dusk as well. “ he was running them ragged, though the hardness in glinting eyes rings intentional.

his attention turns away from them completely then, to the rest of them. he still watches the youth from his peripheral despite the way a laugh bubbles at dogteeth’s words, ” ja, you’d only need the grey fur. “ the mottled tom teases, flashing rows of needle - like teeth through scarred lips. a crazy storyteller.. that was the blonde, alright. age had little to do with it. cicadastar tucks his chin, eyes lidding half - mast in the sun’s heavy warmth, ” starclan knows i’ll be a crotchety old thing, should i be so lucky. someone has to keep the young ones in line. “ young ‘uns, in his accent, didn’t have the same impact, he realizes. retirement.. would starclan allow him this? would he age, just as smokethroat did? as wasprattle did? how long would these lives outlive them? the thoughts are dismissed as quickly as they come, despite the flicker of something that crosses his bicolored face.

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  
  
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, mated to smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

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[Hazewish]

TRAVELER, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (AND NOW YOU MUST GO) ⋆⁺₊⋆

Hazepaw was so excited to finally become an apprentice and get the freedom that comes with the right to leave camp — it figures that they should end up with the most tyrannical mentor they could possibly have. Even the joy of surveying the territory has lost its luster now that the patrol routes have become familiar, repetitive, and painful treks rather than adventures into mysterious expanses. Stumbling home with the day’s catch, damp fur weighing down their weary body, they can only dream of finally finishing training for the day.

So when Cicadastar tells her that this is only a break and that they’ll be leaving again at dusk, she feels that it’s a reasonable reaction to stop in her tracks and simply flop onto her side in the sunlight with an exasperated groan. The warriors around her are discussing aging, becoming elders, and for the first time she feels a spark of envy at the thought. Stars, would that she could just lay in a den all day, and be free to wander to her heart’s content, with no one to tell her what to do or send her on patrols of any kind! Wistfully, she sighs, ”Old…” and lets her eyes fall shut.

They better enjoy this while they can: knowing their mentor, he might pluck the sun from the sky just so they cannot become too soft from enjoying its warmth, or some reasoning of that ilk.

[⋆]​

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[LILYBLOOM.]

"Don't worry Cicadastar, I'm sure there'll be plenty of apprentices to see to any ticks you might have," Lilybloom purrs in amusement from where she is sat nearby to the assembled groups. "No need to pass that duty to Smokethroat." Tick duty was bad enough for an apprentice, she couldn't imagine it would be much fun for an elder with stiffer joints and less mobility. The tortoishseshell had listened quietly as the conversations had begun, opening her eye to pay attention to her clanmates as they discussed what they might all be like as elders. She could definitely imagine Dogteeth as the eccentric storyteller, digging out tales of old to excite and entertain the future youth of the clan. Cicadastar being the crotchety old elder conjures up quite the amusing image. "I'd like to be kind of elder to share stories and memories that would surely embarrass any future kits of mine," Lilybloom said after pondering things for a moment. Stars, she bet Mudpelt would be like that by the time he got into the elders den.​

 

[WOLFGLADE]

જ➶ They are quiet and thoughtful, watching ad they speak about growing old and becoming elders. Talking of telling stories to the young kits of tbe next generations. Getting ticks picked off of them and they come to realize very slowly that they don't like the notion or becoming what they think is useless. Sure he can understand to a degree that those that reach elderhood have done their share but sitting around and being waited on leaves a bad taste in their maw. Huffing the feline shifts their paws and keeps their head bowed in thought. Frowning deeply before shaking their head. No, they would rather go out with their claws fighting for the clan they decided was worth calling home. Their Shadowclan origins are something that have long since faded into the past considering they helped to found Riverclan from the beginning. Glancing up they finally pull themselves to stretch out and lay their head on tense paws.

"I'd rather not grow old. There is nothing for me to want to be an elder." The moggy would work till they couldn't work anymore, fall over and return to the stars they supposed.​