- Aug 1, 2023
- 139
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Anyone who's familiar with Cicadaflight knows he likes to fight. For some unknowable reason, he's been honoring his and Sandpelt's grim tradition of their occasional spars for moons now, despite his barely - disguised distaste for the tan - hued warrior. Any time there's a spar—especially during his recent, extended tenure in the confines of camp, banned from raising his own claws—he can often be found on the sidelines, watching the brawlers' every swing and pounce, sitting silently as he analyzes their form and makes notes for himself.
Anyone who's familiar with Cicadaflight also knows he's pretty good at fighting. All that time he's spent studying form and motion, sparring with his mentor and Sandpelt and anyone who'd take him up on it as an apprentice—it had been startling to see him so battered by the rogue that had stolen away part of his face, though not without the expense of nearly losing their life. The spars he so regularly hosts against his enemy always, invariably, end with his victory.
So, naturally, there are two things startling today—one, that when the warrior had finally been cleared for duty, he had made a beeline for a spar. That, in itself, was not exactly surprising; what is, however, is his choice of partner. Sandpelt is disregarded, a time - honored tradition ( of hatred ) forgotten for the time being. Two, that he's losing—for there's no other way to frame it, as the warrior's impromptu spar has ended with him flat on his back on the sand, pinned by his opponent. For those familiar with the tom, or with his fighting style at least, there might be more than a hint that he's obviously letting himself be beaten, havng made no effort to use his powerful hind limbs to kick his opponent off.
" I yield, I yield, " he mrrows good - naturedly, poking @Driftwood gently in the chest with one snowy forepaw. This is also uncommon; both the tom choosing to yield, which is damn near unheard of for him, and his voice being a meow rather than angry silence or a snarling hiss. White lashes coast low over two - toned eyes, moon - round pupils, his heterochromatic gaze flicking upwards towards Driftwood's face. Off - hued eyes practically shine as they meet clear daybreak - yellow then snap away, the tom's ears flicking backwards as he feels flame - warmth lick their tufted tips. A raspy chuckle breaks out of his chest and he jokingly protests without much genuine annoyance, " I yield, get off me already! "
Anyone who's familiar with Cicadaflight also knows he's pretty good at fighting. All that time he's spent studying form and motion, sparring with his mentor and Sandpelt and anyone who'd take him up on it as an apprentice—it had been startling to see him so battered by the rogue that had stolen away part of his face, though not without the expense of nearly losing their life. The spars he so regularly hosts against his enemy always, invariably, end with his victory.
So, naturally, there are two things startling today—one, that when the warrior had finally been cleared for duty, he had made a beeline for a spar. That, in itself, was not exactly surprising; what is, however, is his choice of partner. Sandpelt is disregarded, a time - honored tradition ( of hatred ) forgotten for the time being. Two, that he's losing—for there's no other way to frame it, as the warrior's impromptu spar has ended with him flat on his back on the sand, pinned by his opponent. For those familiar with the tom, or with his fighting style at least, there might be more than a hint that he's obviously letting himself be beaten, havng made no effort to use his powerful hind limbs to kick his opponent off.
" I yield, I yield, " he mrrows good - naturedly, poking @Driftwood gently in the chest with one snowy forepaw. This is also uncommon; both the tom choosing to yield, which is damn near unheard of for him, and his voice being a meow rather than angry silence or a snarling hiss. White lashes coast low over two - toned eyes, moon - round pupils, his heterochromatic gaze flicking upwards towards Driftwood's face. Off - hued eyes practically shine as they meet clear daybreak - yellow then snap away, the tom's ears flicking backwards as he feels flame - warmth lick their tufted tips. A raspy chuckle breaks out of his chest and he jokingly protests without much genuine annoyance, " I yield, get off me already! "
OOC : No need to wait for Driftwood to post!☆