- Aug 1, 2022
- 214
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The cinnamon tabby has been so anxious, nervous wreck wringing nervous paws scribing nervous thoughts, and can Clearsight even blame him? Everything that's gone on these last weeks...
Cicadastar had brought them to the river for safety, for peace. And though Beesong came unwilling, Clearsight has seen the tired way the healer holds themself, has seen that same weariness reflected in sage green eyes. They'd all hoped for some kind of solace in the wake of the war.
A luxury they won't afford yet.
Still the blue-swirled tom will do what he can. Two sets of paws trek through the reeds, an evening walk in sunset light. He murmurs something he hopes will make Beesong laugh, whiskers twitching with amusement as he regales a moment from last night's hunting, a fishing incident that had ended with two cats drenched. (He leaves out the way the patrol had ended-- shots of thunder ringing through the sky, smoke and blood and prey dead on the ground. How they'd fled, crouching low to the ground as they raced back to camp.)
He had offered a walk and the other feline had accepted, and he's really glad. Clearsight suspected that Beesong really needed to get out of that den-- and to sit with someone who'd listen. He'd do his best to provide both.
"You're doing so much," Clearsight murmurs as they reach an open spot near the river, sunlight shining on cinnamon curls. "For all of us."
When was the last time someone did something for you? he doesn't say.
His eyes soften as he takes Beesong in fully-- the tension there so ever-present it's easy to forget it's there, to forget the gentle tabby could look any other way.
"How have you been holding up?"
Cicadastar had brought them to the river for safety, for peace. And though Beesong came unwilling, Clearsight has seen the tired way the healer holds themself, has seen that same weariness reflected in sage green eyes. They'd all hoped for some kind of solace in the wake of the war.
A luxury they won't afford yet.
Still the blue-swirled tom will do what he can. Two sets of paws trek through the reeds, an evening walk in sunset light. He murmurs something he hopes will make Beesong laugh, whiskers twitching with amusement as he regales a moment from last night's hunting, a fishing incident that had ended with two cats drenched. (He leaves out the way the patrol had ended-- shots of thunder ringing through the sky, smoke and blood and prey dead on the ground. How they'd fled, crouching low to the ground as they raced back to camp.)
He had offered a walk and the other feline had accepted, and he's really glad. Clearsight suspected that Beesong really needed to get out of that den-- and to sit with someone who'd listen. He'd do his best to provide both.
"You're doing so much," Clearsight murmurs as they reach an open spot near the river, sunlight shining on cinnamon curls. "For all of us."
When was the last time someone did something for you? he doesn't say.
His eyes soften as he takes Beesong in fully-- the tension there so ever-present it's easy to forget it's there, to forget the gentle tabby could look any other way.
"How have you been holding up?"
// @BEESONG