Hello and welcome to Purrgatory! We are an 18+ Warrior Cat Roleplay set in an AU where the clans were unable to leave the forest territories and perished!
It has been 100 or more years since then, the clans of the forest are but distant memories to any cats still alive, stories passed down to kits of strangely named wild warriors and leaders with nine lives but the time of the clans is upon us once more and the stars shine yet again.
Cicadabuzz moves through the camp, paws soft against the ground as they walk, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath them. Their movements are slow, deliberate, as if they are attuned to every shift in the natural world, as though their very bones are woven from the same fabric as the leaves and stones around them. The herbs they gathered earlier in the day are tucked neatly within their fur, the faint scent of crushed leaves and sap lingering in the air around them. Each step is purposeful, as though the task at hand is not one to be rushed. The camp is quieter now, the hustle and bustle of the day having given way to the gentle hum of evening. Cicadabuzz's gaze sweeps over the familiar faces of the other cats, but there is little interest in their conversations. They have no need for idle chatter. It is the rhythm of the land, the subtle shifts of the seasons, and the cycles of life that hold their attention. Their mind drifts—constantly seeking, constantly watching.
Cicadabuzz sets down their herbs and begins sorting through them, their paws moving with practiced precision. Each leaf, each root, is handled with care, a ritual as sacred as any other. They don't look at the herbs—they don't need to. The knowledge of what each plant can do is ingrained within them, settled into their very bones. They know the feel of a healing root just as they know the taste of rain on the wind. Their senses are fine-tuned, constantly measuring the balance of the world around them. Their mind wanders again, but it is not to the others that they turn. It is to the earth, to the silent wisdom it offers. They know their place here, but they are not of this place in the same way the others are. Their role is one of observation, of quiet understanding. It is an existence that demands patience, but Cicadabuzz has never minded that. In fact, they thrive in the stillness, in the spaces between actions.
The flicker of a shadow moves across their vision, but Cicadabuzz doesn't react. Their thoughts are their own, and the world spins on, as it always has, as it always will. In time, they will tend to whatever is needed, as they always do.
Cicadabuzz sets down their herbs and begins sorting through them, their paws moving with practiced precision. Each leaf, each root, is handled with care, a ritual as sacred as any other. They don't look at the herbs—they don't need to. The knowledge of what each plant can do is ingrained within them, settled into their very bones. They know the feel of a healing root just as they know the taste of rain on the wind. Their senses are fine-tuned, constantly measuring the balance of the world around them. Their mind wanders again, but it is not to the others that they turn. It is to the earth, to the silent wisdom it offers. They know their place here, but they are not of this place in the same way the others are. Their role is one of observation, of quiet understanding. It is an existence that demands patience, but Cicadabuzz has never minded that. In fact, they thrive in the stillness, in the spaces between actions.
The flicker of a shadow moves across their vision, but Cicadabuzz doesn't react. Their thoughts are their own, and the world spins on, as it always has, as it always will. In time, they will tend to whatever is needed, as they always do.