ThunderClan RiverClan ShadowClan SkyClan WindClan it never hurts to give thanks to the local gods // half moon

[rowanpaw]

☆ So much has happened since Rowanpaw first thought of the idea of a moonly meeting between the medicine cats of the clans. Both with herself and everything around her. When she'd first thought of it, she didn't know… she didn't know Cicadabuzz was going to rob Riverclan, nor that her mother would… that Serpentberry would attack her. Could a peaceful meeting really happen now? Or was it always just a pipe dream…?

But she goes to fourtrees anyways, and Serpentberry does too, and Cicadabuzz joins them, still looking slightly worse for wear. There's a look on her mother's face when she sees bug– something Rowanpaw can't place. She doesn't ask either, not right now. She so badly wants this to work, to be able to learn… learn everything she can, so that she can help, so she can be useful.

The trek to the moonstone is long and tense. If Serpentberry and Cicadabuzz speak, Rowanpaw tries not to listen, unwilling to learn of her mother's transgressions. She's grateful when they bump into Swallowpaw, Jinglemoon, and his apprentice– Rainpaw– though the arrival of the Riverclanners don't really do anything to make things less tense and awkward.

Rowanpaw falls into step next to Swallowpaw, and breathlessly whispers, "Swallowpaw," as her tail just barely brushes against Swallowpaw's. "It's uhm… it's good to see you again. I hope you've been well…?"

Just then, she spots Gladebloom and Meadowpaw in the distance, half hidden by the tall grass as they walk. "Oh, there they are…! We all came," she says, just as breathless, eyes wide. "I can't… I can't believe it."

Everyone is here. The high stones are in sight, the moonstone tucked between them, and they're all here.

☆ ROWANPAW. 11 moons
mentored by serpentberry,
adopted daughter of serpentberry and thornstar
sister to maplefrost
peaceful powerplay allowed
ooc - @serpentberry @cicadabuzz @Magpiepaw @SWALLOWPAW @Jinglemoon @Rainpaw

 

[cicadabuzz]

CICADABUZZ, 31 moons / shc + med. cat
a SH cinnamon tabby/chocolate tortie chimera w/ black eyes
parent to cloudberrypaw, hemlockpaw, mistletoepaw ; mentor to magpiepaw
a reserved, pragmatic healer driven by duty rather than sentiment

Cicadabuzz walks with the rhythm of a wound that never quite stopped bleeding. Their gait is steady, but strained—dragging through leaf-littered shadow, every step stiff with the memory of fangs at their throat. The wounds on their shoulders tug and pull beneath fur still split in places, their copper-and-bronze pelt matted where it hasn't yet grown clean again. A cicada's husk clings stubbornly to the edge of shoulder scars. When they enter the meetingplace, the tension between Serpentberry and them is not spoken. It doesn't need to be. It crackles in the air between their pelts, quieter than insect song in the deep of night, but no less present. Cicadabuzz does not look at her, and does not speak. The bite on their throat flares with each breath, a cruel reminder. Words catch on it. Scrape raw.

When Rowanpaw's voice rises from the hush—gentle, searching—Cicadabuzz's ears flick, but they do not turn. The apprentice is sweet, well-meaning, flitting from cat to cat with a desperation that feels almost fevered. Cicadabuzz recognizes the scent of hope. They know how easily it curdles. They pause only once on the slope, letting the others pass. The wind rises around them, catching in the dry weeds like wings brushing bone. Their gaze turns to the stone ahead, the jagged teeth around it, the cold promise it keeps. Everyone is here. And still it feels thin.

Cicadabuzz finally speaks, their voice a rasp dragged from beneath the bark of a dead tree—crooked, cracked, and low. "Indeed." Disbelief is an acceptable reaction to the notion of this meeting. Their throat throbs from the effort. The bite scar stretches taut. They shift their weight forward again, continuing on, closing the distance, moving like a beetle with a fractured shell—never still, never safe, but alive through stubbornness alone. Peace does not bloom simply because the petals are arranged neatly to make a beautiful picture. A low breath rattles loose in their chest. "Magpiepaw. Stay by my side, will you?" The peeling bark that is their throat creaks again as more words spill forth from beneath. Their eyes linger on the viper curled neatly in the grass.

"Serpent," they greet, head tilted in a facsimile of curiosity. "You're well, I hope, little snake?" No venom drips from their tongue, not like that which spills from her fangs.