Cicadabuzz moves like mist through the undergrowth, paws barely stirring the leaf litter as they weave deeper into RiverClan territory. The others have already fanned out behind them, their pawsteps swallowed by distance and forest hush. They're distant enough now that their scent is not quite strong enough to pick up on from here; out of sight, and out of range. Only Wolfpack remains close, his larger frame casting long shadows across the dappled ground. Cicadabuzz neither looks at him nor speaks; his presence is accepted, like the wind or the sun, the rain or the dark. The air is damp but fresh, touched by the memory of morning rain. Cicadabuzz pauses near the base of a gently sloping rise where the earth softens and the sun seeps in between broken canopy. Here, nestled against the edge of a rock still slick with dew, they spot it—thyme.
The sprigs are short but sturdy, clustered in a pocket of warmth where stone meets soil. Cicadabuzz crouches low, brushing the pads of their forepaw across the tiny leaves. The scent is sharp, calming. A good find. Carefully, they lean down and begin to nip off a few stems with their teeth. They say nothing to Wolfpack, but their body is fluid with purpose, every motion quiet and precise. A few sprigs are tucked into the dense fur of their tail, the rest placed in a small pile for Wolfpack to carry, should he cooperate. Their ears flick once—listening, always—but their focus stays grounded in the task. But, as they know they must not overharvest, they take only what's needed. Finally, they glance sideways, not at Wolfpack directly but in his general direction—a slow, unreadable movement of the eyes that might be a check-in or a signal to continue. Then they rise, swift and silent once more, to continue their search.
[ this is taking place at the same time as this thread and this thread; please don't post in this thread if you have posted in one of those! ]
[ please wait for @WOLFPACK to post ]
1d7 Roll: 2 - Aches
Herb Found - Thyme
The sprigs are short but sturdy, clustered in a pocket of warmth where stone meets soil. Cicadabuzz crouches low, brushing the pads of their forepaw across the tiny leaves. The scent is sharp, calming. A good find. Carefully, they lean down and begin to nip off a few stems with their teeth. They say nothing to Wolfpack, but their body is fluid with purpose, every motion quiet and precise. A few sprigs are tucked into the dense fur of their tail, the rest placed in a small pile for Wolfpack to carry, should he cooperate. Their ears flick once—listening, always—but their focus stays grounded in the task. But, as they know they must not overharvest, they take only what's needed. Finally, they glance sideways, not at Wolfpack directly but in his general direction—a slow, unreadable movement of the eyes that might be a check-in or a signal to continue. Then they rise, swift and silent once more, to continue their search.
[ this is taking place at the same time as this thread and this thread; please don't post in this thread if you have posted in one of those! ]
[ please wait for @WOLFPACK to post ]
1d7 Roll: 2 - Aches
Herb Found - Thyme
