TW: Sensitive Content Open Territory LAZARUS, COME FORTH ☼ waking

[cicadabuzz]

{$title} tw: description of the aftermath of death

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

Darkness folds around Cicadabuzz like wet earth—heavy, suffocating, dense. But it is not empty.

The first glimpse is moonlit. A ring of medicine cats sits beneath a thinning silver sky. Clouds cast long shadows as wind rustles the pelts of those gathered. Bug is among them—hollow-eyed but whole. Someone speaks, but the words are lost. There is no sound, only the flicker of fireflies dancing between the branches. Noses touch to a faintly glowing stone, bodies settled into comfort.

The image shifts. The moonlight fades into the cold blue of dawn. Cicadabuzz stands beside Sablestar. Sablestar's face is taut with concern or warning. His mouth moves, but there is no sound again—only the slow turn of his head as he looks toward the horizon. Bug follows his gaze. A storm brews in the distance, lightning flashing behind charcoal-crested clouds.

Then—sunlight through reeds. Magpiepaw crouches beside bug, his tiny claws scritching stone as he pulls leaves from stems. Cicadabuzz presses a paw lightly against his to correct him—light motions, less waste. Magpiepaw looks up at bug with wide, eager eyes, nodding as if a lesson had been delivered. He turns back to his task. The den is quiet. Peaceful. Safe.

Darkness again, lit by a single glimmer of red. A single deathberry rests beneath bugs paw. Bug does not do anything with it immediately. Bug simply stares, unmoving, as though weighing a truth too heavy to hold. Bug looks away, out of bugs den, and there is a twitch in bugs features. Bug pulls the berry closer.

The vision shifts once final time.

Two cats stand by the thunderpath. One is taller, tense with purpose, fur ruffled by wind and something deeper. The other seems familiar in posture but distant in detail, a shadow given form. Bug sees them only in silhouette—but then the taller one turns. Just barely. Just long enough.

Bug knows those eyes.

Sablestar's gaze is unmistakable. Stark against the blur of the vision, it burns through the dark like a glint of frost beneath starlight.

A breath—a blink—and the world lurches back into focus.

Cicadabuzz's eyes fly open. The taste of blood still clings to bugs tongue, thick and coppery, congealed thick at the edges of bugs lips. Bugs shoulders scream with every light movement. The damp earth beneath bug has dried around the shape of bugs body, and flies buzz faintly overhead. But the killing wound—Serpentberry's gift to bug—is sealed. Poorly. Awkwardly. Wrong. Bug tries to speak. A wheeze escapes instead, a rattling hitch of breath that scrapes raw behind the scar that now cages bugs throat. The world around bug blurs with heat and exhaustion, but bug moves.

Bug plants one paw, then another, trembling as bug drags bugself upright. Bugs limbs wobble beneath bug like saplings in a flood. Blood still weeps sluggishly from bugs shoulders, soaking dark tracks over the wings and down bugs legs. Bugs jaw tenses against the pain. A wet cough wracks bugs frame. The sound—croaking, jagged, barely a breath—precedes the spitting of thick, tar-like blood, half dried where it had filled bugs throat, bugs lungs. But bug is standing. Still standing. Bug reaches back with one paw, tail flicking forward, and claws clumsily catch on the silky strands always wrapped around the end. The cobwebs are sticky and wrinkled from moisture, but Cicadabuzz peels them loose, pressing them haphazardly to the worst of the wounds along bugs shoulders. It's not clean. It's not precise. But it will slow the bleeding. It will do. It must.

They look once, just once, in the direction Serpentberry's scent has fled. No anger burns behind their eyes. No fear, either. Just the dull, empty silence of something that has died, and risen once more.


[ wait for @Magpiepaw to find bug first please :) ]

 

[Magpiepaw]

He'll learn your face by heart

BUT YOU'LL BE IN BLACK & WHITE IN HIS EYES

Magpiepaw is not far from his mentor, occasionally his head lifts from his scrounging about to glance over and locate the copper and bronze pelt amidst the dark foliage for his own comfort before he resumes his scratching at the earth; he is digging for the joy of digging - distracted in his task of gathering the horsetail only a tail length away by the wriggling of worms in loamy earth. They were interesting critters, cut in two they would continue on as separate entities and wriggle off in opposite directions and he enjoyed observing them inch along the ground and burrow by rubbing their head (or tail? It was hard to say which end was which) into the dirt.
He doesn't see Serpentberry arrive, spitting fire and venom, but he hears her and it's enough to flatten his ears to his head as he stumbles in a circle to face that direction, from where he stands amidst the hanging vines of the bent willow he is all but invisible, blessed with his father's coat of shadow.
The kitten apprentice does not quite catch all of the words, only that she is angry and his mentor is cool and collected as always. Bug does not often bare their teeth and Magpiepaw so rarely saw animosity outside rare moments, so he assumes as he always does that the situation will be soothed easily; mended like any wound.

Then the viper strikes. His violet gaze widens imperceptibly as if not fully realizing what he was seeing, the tighten and coil of tortie spotted limbs and the flash of teeth is so quick his mind at first rejects it. Like the limbless danger of her name she is slithering away with blood stained teeth and a look on her face he can only describe as self-righteousness and Magpiepaw still does not move. Neither does his mentor. Cicadabuzz does not twitch nor quiver, there is no faint movement of breath that would be apparent from sleeping cats, no twitch of whiskers of flicking tail; the stillness makes him hold his breath, willing himself to be just as unseen. The black and white leader's son does not know what fear really is, he had never felt it before in a way that mattered - lingering worries and fretting hardly compared to the way his blood chilled to ice and his nostrils flared as if desperate to keep his own lungs filling where his mentor's did not. He thinks he understands now why death can be so scary.
A worm would rise again in two, or even when not fully cleaved drag its dangling tail behind it as it squirmed. Cats, it seems, are not like worms. His paws itch to move, his fur bristles as he remains sitting stiffly in the warm breeze as if his statuesque visage could spare him the same fate, purple eyes flitting to the thunderpath as if afraid to see that spotted belt come back for more blood.

Cicadabuzz is not a worm, but somehow there is movement still and a stiff-limbed stagger upward that makes his already wide eyes seem even more disc-like in their horror; his pupils blown out like a moonless night. There is an almost spider-like quality to the way the other moves as if unsure how bug's own limbs work any longer, it felt almost like watching something else wearing that burnt umber pelt attempting to walk in a way unfamiliar. It sets off every natural instinct inside him that tells him to run, warns him to go scurrying back to the safety of the camp screaming for someone to do something, but he remains rigidly still instead. Fleetingly the kitten wonders if this means his survival instincts are poor, but when black eyes meet his own he feels himself relax slowly; Cicadabuzz looked a fright but was still the same. Mostly.

As the other wraps webbing over wound the kitten forces his trembling legs to carry him forward on awkwardly bobbing steps with the discarded pile of cobweb he had collected early in his mouth to offer in silence. Magpiepaw doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do but there was a hurt needing fixing and it was the easiest thing to think about. Shaky black paws lift up to unfurl the strings of the webbing between his paws, claws curling under to catch them and stretch as he sat up on his haunches to help apply them. He doesn't even know how long he sat out there in petrified silence before he saw movement, his awareness of time was gone, his mind reeling - he didn't even know if what he saw was real but the wounds peppering copper fur spoke the truth. Oh no...oh no...

In the flick of a feather, he flies to your side

MAGPIEKIT

— kitten of shadowclan
— He/They
"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
— Solid black w/low white & blue-violet eyes.
— Has 'wobbly cat' syndrome.
#9272ee

 

[Coalstrike Coalstrike]

The scent of blood was the first thing to reach him, sharp and unmistakable. Coalstrike halted mid-step, a frown etching itself into his features as he lifted his head, nostrils flaring. Fresh. Too fresh. Amber eyes narrowed, ears flicking back in quiet warning as his thick tail lashed once to the side. Something was wrong. Without hesitation, he followed the trail, paws silent against the earth, every sense alert. Then he saw them. Cicadabuzz, injured, bleeding. And beside him, smaller, wide-eyed... Magpiepaw. Still a kit, really. Barely out of the nursery, and now faced with this.

Coalstrike didn't speak at first. His eyes lingered on the young apprentice, unreadable. Then he shifted his gaze to Cicadabuzz, expression hardening. They were alive. That mattered. Sloppy work, untrained paws doing their best, but it had likely made a difference. Perhaps, with moons of learning, Magpiepaw would become something more than a fumbling kit in a storm. For now, Coalstrike's sharp gaze swept the underbrush, scanning for movement, signs of whoever had done this. But the forest offered only silence. Whoever had drawn the blood was gone.

His voice, when it came, was dry and even. " Do I need to carry you back to camp? " he asked, eyes returning to Cicadabuzz. He didn't offer comfort, never did... But the meaning was there. If needed, he'd lift the medicine cat himself and see them safely home. No fanfare. No praise. Just action.

___________________ I DON'T FORGIVE, I DON'T FORGET ☆ A wound's a warning, a debt is a debt. ___________________

• "speech"
  

• 

• COALSTRIKE he/him, shadowclanner, sixty-six moons.
  ☆ a lh black cat dangerous amber eyes. has a mane around his head, is huge [ grandiose ]
  ☆ mentoring vanillapaw
  ☆ loyal to sable, despises thunderclan
  ☆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ☆ penned by lion ↛ lionharted on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 

[GRAVEL GRAVEL]

Take you to the grave, I'll ghost

——————————​

The first thing to strike was the scent of iron, thick and sharp. Gravelthroat's nostrils twitched, drawing it in, registering the blood as her father did. Her dull, half-lidded eyes shifted, but they held no alarm. She moved without hurry, trailing a few paces behind, posture taut despite her measured steps. She expected a corpse—a smear across black stone—another life snatched by a monster. Her expectations even ventured that a carcass was being picked clean by some hounds, as nearly happened to one of their apprentices just days before.

Instead, when she slipped through the underbrush, her good eye swept over a different scene. Cicadabuzz, the medicine-cat, bloodied but upright, hobbling forward like a newborn with the aid of their apprentice. A mess, yes—but not dead.

Gravelthroat said nothing. Her presence landed like a stone, solid and but unmoved. There was nothing to say. Help had already been offered. Her gaze drifted to bugs face, then to the apprentice's wide, glassy eyes.

Without a word, she paced a few steps farther, turning her focus toward the border's direction. Then she turned, a single ruined eye fixed on Coalstrike, waiting...

————————————————————————————————

I know I can be so cold

 

[Fleapaw]

-

The patrol had been uneventful—until blood hit the air. It slammed into her like a wave. In an instant, she was back there—red pooling, copper tang clawing up her throat, the forest spinning as she endured the agony of her flesh tearing.

Days later, she was still reeling from it. But hell, if she was going to let that delay her assessments. Back there, she'd almost lost it all, but what was new? Fleapaw had been faced with death so many times that it just didn't surprise her anymore. So fuck it, that didn't matter. What did matter was that she survived to fight again. What mattered was that her assessments weren't going to take themselves, and she hadn't cried and bled and fought with tooth and claw just to fall behind again. Froststorm and Jadethorn would have an apprentice to be proud of. Possumgrin would regret throwing her away. Fleapaw would make damn sure of it.

The ruddy she-cat glanced toward the night guard and mirrored his stance, toes spreading as she sank into the undergrowth. Her steps tender—each one driving pain up her leg where scabs cracked and tugged, damaged muscles screaming as she forced them to move. Her teeth clenched against it, breath shivering through her nose. Her heart was pounding, a drowning thrum in her ears as they came upon—

Magpiepaw? The scrawny tom stood wide-eyed and trembling. Fleapaw looked him over, searching for wounds, but he looked alright. The blood was coming from...

She straightened slightly, weight shifting to her good leg. When she caught sight of Cicadabuzz, any relief she might've felt curdled in her chest. The bug looked like a shit—his eyes wide and dark, fur matted in so much blood that it was hard to tell where the wound even was. For a second, she half-expected him to collapse, but they kept moving.

After all these moons that bastard finally got a somethin' back. The tiniest taste of what was deserved. After everything they put her through, she couldn't spare any sympathy. Her gaze flicked toward the thunderpath—had a ThunderClanner done this? If so, they did a real shitty job.

Amber eyes snagged on Magpiepaw. Her favorite little extortionist was trembling, trying to brace his mentor with paws that looked ready to buckle. Sometimes she forgot how young he actually was. Though what really pissed her off was that for a moment, she actually considered lending a paw.

She didn't give a damn about Cicadabuzz. Fleapaw wouldn't even pretend to. But Magpiepaw… he helped her, even if that did include wringing her dry for every shiny scrap of junk she had stowed away.

Curled ears twitched as Coalstrike spoke, but she lingered on Magpiepaw, pitiless eyes softened just a smidge. Ugh. If it were just Magpiepaw—maybe—but no way was she helping them. The only way that was going to happen was if Coalstrike flat-out told her to. But fuck, what did he need her for? He could probably carry all of them on his back if he wanted to.

Wings, hearts, some things are meant to be torn apart

FLEAPAW

8 MOONS
SHE/HER
- Undersized cinnamon solid with folded ears. She's thin but stubby with very messy fur.
"SPEECH" - crimson | 'THOUGHTS/EMPHASIS' - crimson

Fleapaw values family the most with survival at a close second. In conversations, she is blunt, fun-loving, and clever. She is guided by her desires which often leads her astray. Despite her abrasive personality, she cares deeply for those she loves and will do anything to protect them. Due to her experiences, Fleapaw is corrupt and has minimalistic, if any, morals. She does not care for the warrior code and its restraints. Neither does she believe in StarClan. Growing up in a kitten mill, being separated from her mother, and ending up on the streets have deeply affected her view of the world.

Faith, hope, some things are meant to be gone broke

 

[SABLESTAR]

There's a sharp sever within Sablestar that felt like his pulse had been cut through with an eagle's talon. It sent a jolt through his body, lurched him from the darkness of his den and in the confusion of his sudden waking his paws began to move on their own. With purpose did he step out of ShadowClan's face, though not with an assured expression to match. The swamp's earth felt dry beneath his paws as if the wetland ran away from the weight of his steps- had greenleaf's arrival only meant the loss of what he loved for his home? The frogs still croaked, the dragonflies still buzzed and dipped with the breeze but the scent of petrichor had not graced his senses in so many sunrises now.

Is that what disturbed him from his sleep? As if some beast within him could no longer withstand the dry air, craving contact with the memory of what the pocosin was when he first entered it. It certainly craved something, but not for the shallow ponds he stormed passed. The mingling trails of his Clanmates drew him near, wrapped with the ichor of blood and something far more sinister. He had felt it before in moons past, in a moment of desperation. In the moment where he would have done anything to get what he wanted- the moment when he did.

Eyes find the back of Magpiepaw's head with a quickness, seeing them crouched beside their medicine cat who wore a blood-stained muzzle. "You did good, son." Sablestar reassured breathlessly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He tried to find Cicadabuzz's gaze as bug stared out into the open air, but not aimless."You will live." It is not a question or a command but a want, as selfish as it was. He could not afford to lose a healer, an advisor, a friend. Not now, but when could he ever?

"All of you, quit your gawking! Find who- what- did this. I don't care what amount of muck you have to dig through or what Clan you meet, there is a debt to repay." Blood for blood, that would be the only answer to satisfy him.

this heart beats cold like the devil his own

• "mew"
• 

  SABLESTAR— he/him ･fifty-eight moons ･leader; shadowclan ･penned by gonkpilled

  a black and white tuxedo with dark amber eyes

 

[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

Pain is no longer a sharp thing—it has sunk into Cicadabuzz's bones like rot, familiar and lingering. Bug doesn't register the others at first, not even Magpiepaw, though he's close enough for bug to feel the breath of his trembling steps. Bugs body is locked in the rhythm of survival. Stand, breathe, move, stay upright. It's only when the apprentice stumbles close—small paws brushing against bugs own, his eyes far too wide and full of everything Cicadabuzz doesn't want him to learn yet—that bug truly returns to the moment. Magpiepaw's offering is wordless, fumbling, and perfect. Cicadabuzz doesn't thank him, but bug lets the webbing rest against the ruin of bugs shoulder where his tiny claws place it. Bugs own breath is thin and scraping, each inhale crackling like dry bark. There's no words to be pulled forth, not yet, but bug nods, barely. Just once. The movement is stiff and faint.

Then another shape parts the green—Coalstrike, quiet and keen-eyed. Bug doesn't startle. Bugs expression doesn't shift, but bugs eyes meet his with slow certainty. No explanation. No plea. Cicadabuzz is upright, and that is the only answer bug has to give. Do I need to carry you back to camp? If bug could laugh right now, bug might. Instead, a shallow, shuddering wheeze passes through bugs unbroken throat. Bugs ears flick back once, and bug gives a shake of bugs head. Not pride, not stubbornness—something else. Bug is not ready to be lifted. The act of standing, bleeding, and walking on bugs own legs is the only control bug has right now.

More figures arrive. Cicadabuzz doesn't shift to meet them, but bug senses them all the same. Gravelthroat's presence is a weight in the air, wordless and solid. Her gaze lands on bug with all the finality of a stone dropped in water. Bug doesn't flinch from it. Fleapaw, too, steps out of the brush, and her gaze cuts into bug like frost. Bug doesn't look at her long. Bug doesn't need to. She's always been easy to read. Cicadabuzz feels the contempt pour off her in waves—and bug doesn't care. Let her spit. Let her sneer. She doesn't matter.

But Magpiepaw does.

And then, another shift. Cicadabuzz hears the paws before the voice. Sablestar. The words don't settle cleanly in bugs ears—they buzz, distant and thunderous, like a memory trying to resurface. Cicadabuzz doesn't move. But bugs head lifts slightly, searching. Their eyes meet. Sablestar's are filled with something raw. Not just rage. Not even grief. Need. A terrible kind of desperation that Cicadabuzz recognizes all too well. You will live. A flicker passes behind bugs eyes. Agreement, but not promise. Bug will live, yes, and eventually, bug will die. It is the nature of things. Bug does not fear it. Bug knows what awaits beyond the veil.

Sablestar commands them all to act. Find who did this. Blood for blood. Cicadabuzz closes bugs eyes, only for a breath. Bug feels Magpiepaw's fur brush against bugs side again, warm and shivering. He doesn't speak—doesn't need to. Cicadabuzz turns toward him, slow as tree-growth, and gives the smallest of nods. Approval.

 

[Mothbite Mothbite]

Still so young, Desperate for attention!

indentttOnce again, Mothbite is running through the marsh after Sablestar. Mothbite has gotten pretty good at speeding through the mud and brush, but Sablestar's got longer legs, and he's tearing through the territory like a madman. It's no surprise that Mothbite is having trouble keeping up.

indentttIt's hard to keep Sablestar in his sight - though, once they near the thunderpath, Mothbite doesn't have to see Sablestar to know where he's headed.

indentttThe scent of blood is thick in their air, enough so that it drowns out the smell of pinesap and rain that permeated the territory. There's a cluster of cats up ahead - Mothbite can already spot Fleapaw and Coalstrike in the fray - but he can't see the source of the blood, just yet. Moving closer, he cranes his head over Sablestar's larger frame to get a better look.

indentttWhat he sees nearly makes him lose the frog he'd eaten earlier. Cicadabuzz is covered in blood. 'Was there a fight? I didn't even know Cicadabuzz could fight. How many cats did they take down?' He thinks, for a second, what could cause the healer to lash out so violently, before coming to a sickening realization.

indenttt'All that blood... Is it Cicadabuzz's?'

indentttThere's no way, Mothbite thinks, for a cat to be standing after losing that much blood. What was going on? Had the medicine cat been revived, the same way leaders are meant to? Or had they simply refused to die?

indentttSablestar chides them for gawking. Mothbite steps back. His fur bristles, the same way it often does when he's too close to Cicadabuzz. Despite their grievances, though, they were still clanmates. Mothbite wouldn't let an attack like this go unpunished.

indentttWith almost uncharacteristic obedience, Mothbite begins to scope the area, just as Sablestar had ordered. Though, he can't help but steal glances back at the bloodied cat at the center of the fray.

indenttt'Is this real? It feels like a bad dream...'

ababaugfbiufhufbdfduibabababa

Mothbite | 23 moons | Shadowclan Nightguardbababbnihfibnfdifdhfhabbabab

 

[GRAVEL GRAVEL]

Take you to the grave, I'll ghost

——————————​

There is a tense period of inactivity—or was it hesitation? She isn't sure what to make of it. It discomforts her nonetheless, but she waits, a slitted eye darting over her father's face, waiting for instruction. The command, however, does not come from him.

Sablestar arrives, breathless, with a fire blazing in his eyes. The moment his voice barks to them, there is motion all around like cogs coming unstuck. Her head jerks, ears cupping forward. Water and mud flick up behind her with the shift of weight. Jaw slacked—just enough to draw in what scent the pocosin hasn't stolen. She does not wait any longer, stocky frame bouncing as she drops her nose to the ground, puffing sharply through her nostrils.

————————————————————————————————

I know I can be so cold