PAFP Camp nowhere were they holy ] late arrival

[cicadabuzz]

Cicada's paws are quiet against the forest floor, their movements deliberate as they weave through the undergrowth. The scent trail of Sable and his followers has grown stronger the longer they follow the path, but it is clear that they are far ahead. It does not matter; Cicada has always had patience. Each step brings them closer to the camp where the castaways have made their home, and though their destination is near, their mind is elsewhere. The kittens. Cherry's cries during the chaos of the battle still echo in their ears, and though Cicada knows that the kittens were alive and well when they left, the healer in them aches with uncertainty. They could not linger to watch over the newborns while blood still stained the earth and Sable's exodus was fresh, but it does not sit well. Not knowing.

They pause beside a stream, lowering their head to drink while the babbling water cools their weary paws. The reflection staring back at them looks more tired than usual, fur unkempt from travel. They sigh softly, the sound almost lost in the rustle of leaves above. This will not take long—just a day to assess, to understand, to see if Sable's group is as secure as the trail suggests. Then they will return to where they departed from, where the real work awaits. When they arrive at the edge of the camp, the scents of mingling cats reach them first. They step carefully over the boundary, their presence unannounced but deliberate. The air is thick with the musk of new territory being claimed, with Sable's scent strong and laced with purpose. Voices murmur in the distance, but Cicada does not rush to meet them. Instead, they stop and take in the scene before them.

Cats move about with the energy of a group still finding their footing, finding or making dens and marking boundaries. It is rough, unpolished, but there is a sense of cohesion in their movements. Cicada watches a pair of apprentices struggling to drag a branch toward what will likely become another den. They're too clumsy, too inefficient, but they're trying. Their eyes rest on a familiar face, and their paws bring them towards @SABLE quietly but resolutely. "Sable," they greet in a neutral tone, a barely noticeable dip of the head offered as acknowledgement as they stand in front of the other. "I've come to confirm you're not leading them to ruin." Cicada meets his gaze without flinching. "Serpent is remaining with those who stayed behind and fought for Hawthorne. Therefore I will stay with you, to ensure you retain a healer." Their ears twitch thoughtfully. "I will not be remaining yet." Cicada's gaze shifts, just slightly. "There are kittens born during the blood and chaos that need time to grow. I will return when I'm certain they can survive the trip here. Another week, perhaps."

 

[SABLESTAR]

Cicada's absence had been noted and for a moment, Sable had come to accept one of two outcomes with the cinnamon tabby; either they had fallen in his name alongside many others, or they decided to remain with Hawthorne after all. He couldn't say it would have been a horrible idea if they were as self-serving as himself. Cherry had only just kitted right before it all fell apart. Serpent would not be far behind, and the two had been friends of sorts to his knowledge. There is a duty to be upheld by a cat sufficient with herbs as one was with their claws.

Sable is not as drenched in blood and rain as he was the night before. Within the scrounging of those left in the makeshift camp some had come across a few basic necessities to keep his eyesight intact, but he would be lying if he said the pain was nothing. Opening his eyes had been too painful to do, and he itched to do anything other than continue to laze about and help with tasks far too simple for a cat his age.

Sable/ His ear twitched, quickly lifting his head from his paws to look in the direction of Cicada's voice. "You're alive." He sounded as though he couldn't believe it himself. He painstakingly parted his eyelids to see it for himself, relief rushing where tension had built. Fleecefur's urgency had won him the original fight he sought for, but the reassurance he still had his friend was another pillar to the foundation he was trying to set for this new Clan.

"Do you have a bit of time right now? For us to talk, at least. I think we could go a week without throwing ourselves into a badger or fox." It's a weak attempt to jest, but there was enough work to do building their new home. He felt no hunger for another fight, not with the other side of the Thunderpath at least. "I am glad they don't forsake you for your decision, though. To still aid me in the end."

this heart beats cold like the devil his own

• "mew"
• 

  SABLE— he/him ･fifty-two moons ･colonist ; no clan ･penned by gonkpilled

  a black and white tuxedo with dark amber eyes

 

[vampire]

Coils of bramble clog Vampire's jaws as they half-slide down into camp, cursing their own height as they shoulder through the mud-clogged shrubbery. Low oaths escape their mouth as they try to balance the strands of thorns in such a way that they won't get pricked for what feels like the umpteenth time. She almost wishes her expedition with Bone the night prior, a fairly mundane task for an evening so sullied by blood, had been less fruitful. Almost.

As he piles the last of his collective findings in a mass of briar, ready to shield a den or build a wall, movement catches his ever-watchful eye. Alertly, tufted ears perk and dark eyes follow the stranger lingering around the edges. Vampire is not quite familiar with their rough group yet, but she thinks she doesn't know this strange red-dappled face.

Just as curiosity gives way to suspicion, their fearless leader cracks his marred eyes wide to meet the stranger. Politely suppressing a grimace, Vampire lingers on the edge of their conversation with velvet pawsteps, the brambles momentarily forsaken.

A healer? As if in response to the notion, their unattended chest wound ripples with a burning outcry of pain. Outside of her personal complaints, their injured are more than enough to demand they accept any conditions this cat might offer, not that they seem intent on it. They seem intelligent, at least, this stranger; pleasantly practical.

Narrowly resisting the temptation to offer an unasked voice, the pale cat drifts back over to their lump of brambles. Perhaps they could offer a nice shield for housing all the orphans that seem to be underfoot.

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