Open Camp Territory song of the hartebeest ] herb gathering patrol

[CICADABUZZ]

CICADABUZZ, 32 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 moves with quiet precision, bugs den cloaked in the faint perfume of leaves and roots. The air is cool inside, shadows swaying as light filters through the woven branches overhead. Bugs tail swishes gently across the ground, a living bundle of green and brown. Leaves snagged among the fur, stems woven with deliberate care—but now, one by one, bug begins to strip them free. The motion is methodical. With a paw pressed firm, bug pulls a sprig of marigold loose, sets it down neatly alongside other bright petals. A curl of horsetail follows, the sharp tang of its scent fresh as the day it was gathered. Cicadabuzz pauses long enough to check for damage, discarding a useless stem into a pile near the back wall before tucking the rest among the neat bundles. Bugs movements are unhurried, steady, as though every leaf deserves reverence.

When bugs tail is bare enough to make space for what bug will find today, Cicadabuzz gives a small flick, smoothing the fur with a rasp of bugs tongue. Bugs gaze lingers briefly over the den—herbs stacked, nest neat, cobwebs stretched and stored. Nothing out of place. Nothing forgotten. Bug rises, muscles stretching beneath bugs shaded pelt. The quiet of the den breaks as bug steps outside, the sounds of camp brushing against bug—soft pawsteps, idle chatter, the hiss of pine needles shifting in the wind. Cicadabuzz's pace is unhurried, but there is intent in the way bug moves. Bugs paws carry bug toward the camp's entrance, tail light now, ready to bear new burdens.

At the threshold, bug pauses, nostrils flaring as bug tastes the air beyond. The world outside smells damp with promise, soil rich from last night's rain. Herbs will be ripe for the picking. Without another word, Cicadabuzz slips forward, bugs figure folding into the shadows of the trees, as much a part of the forest as the roots themselves.

 

[Stoatstream Stoatstream]

——————————————— Together, we'll make our way home ✦

It wasn't as if Stoatpaw had forgiven Cicadabuzz after the raid of Riverclan, but in the same breath, she hadn't spoken her resentment of the chimaera. Holding her tongue was a learned thing, but even so, she hadn't gone out of her way to show the medicine cat kindness, and neither was this any such thing.

Instead, it was more so for Magpiepaw; the young tom was busy at work learning to help heal the clan, too. She didn't have the time to talk with him as much as when he was a kitten, but even so, she held the younger apprentice just as close in her heart as her siblings. Not kin of her own, but as Sablestar's son, she still treated him with the same affection. That's how she ended up out in the territory with a held tongue and scanning the area for any useful herbs for bug.

It had been... Moons, many of them, since she had offered to join a herb patrol. She was far from as adept with plants or herbs as the medicine cats; she simply found a beauty in the plants that thrived in such a damp, muddy environment. How most were used, she had no idea. But she often followed the scent of florals or sought bright colours against the dull earth of the pocosin.

A flash of purple in her periphery was enough to make Stoatpaw take pause, hesitating in her stride. So late in the greenleaf season, rich, bright blooms had to come across, but tucked near a spindly tree, a cluster of bell-shaped flowers caught her attention. Stoatpaw lowered her tail, bristling the fur, a silent notion of her finding an herb. She knew her tongue was sharp so she would rather use her pawspeak to communicate with the medicine cat, lest she get into an arguement again before her warrior ceremony.

Padding away, her sights were set on the purple flowers. From afar, she assumed there were multiple stalks, but rather that the bells were populating one singular stalk. The flower didn't stand alone, but she stooped down and only plucked two stems of the flower, while leaf-fall was imminent; plucking too much would prevent more from growing in the meantime.

But, as she snapped the stalks between her maw, Stoatpaw immediately made a noise of disgust, dropping the flowers as she spluttered desperately. The sudden, foul, bitter taste that laced her maw made Stoatpaw's face scrunch up in horror. Spitting out the sudden welling of saliva in her maw and grooming away the taste on he pelt, the apprentice grimaced down at the flowers. 'Serves me for not knowing my poisons...'

With unsheathed claws, she picked the things up and tucked them into her tail, face soured by the betrayal of the pretty flowers having a foul taste. She supposed it had reasons for it, so animals like her wouldn't eat them, but at least smell bad so she knows what to expect... Stoatpaw's mouth still stung with a bitter taste, but she had spat out any remnants of the plant (she hoped), so rather than linger, she returned to the trail with Cicadabuzz. "I found... Some sort of purple flower, I'm not sure I've ever come across these." The medicine cat likely knew what it was down to its uses, so she had no reason to suggest or theorise on it as much.

——— While you were sleeping,

Everything changed at once. ———

• 𖧧 Coin Flip: Heads - Success
  𖧧 1d7 Roll: 5 - Poisons
  𖧧 Herb Found - Foxglove
• 
  Stoatpaw
  ✦—Shadowclan apprentice | 12 Moons
  ✦—She/Her
  ✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK, PAWSPEAK
  ✦—A slender white cat with faint lilac markings and blue eyes.
  #96d5f1/#50BBF0
  
  ⤷ Written by Phoenix ​

 

[CICADABUZZ]

CICADABUZZ, 34 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's head turns as the sound of pawsteps stirs the stillness around it. Borage sprigs lie freshly tucked among the fur of its tail, their star-shaped blossoms peeking pale blue from the dark tangle like fragments of sky caught in shadow. It brushes a paw once across the fur, ensuring the stems are set firm before looking up. Stoatpaw's approach is not unexpected. The apprentice moves like one dragging weight behind her, restraint clamped over the sharpness of her tongue. Cicadabuzz observes her with its usual unreadable calm, the faint gleam in its eyes betraying no judgment, no invitation. Only quiet notice.

When Stoatpaw lowers her tail to reveal the stalks, Cicadabuzz leans forward slightly, gaze steady on the cluster. The bitter tang still clings faintly to the air around her muzzle—so she has already learned something of it the unpleasant way. Its whiskers twitch, a breath of dry amusement breaking through its otherwise solemn stillness. "Foxglove," it says, voice as even as the earth beneath them. "Pretty, but poisonous. Your mouth knows it now. Too much of it, and your heart would fail before you could run back to camp." The words are not softened; Cicadabuzz does not dull the edge of truth. Its tone is neither scolding nor kind—simply factual, as though remarking on the weather.

It tilts its head, studying the flowers for a moment longer before flicking its gaze back to her. "They have their use. Their poison has its place, in small measures, and their beauty is no less for it." Its tail gives the faintest flick, the borage shifting like an echo of its thought. With that, Cicadabuzz steps forward again, its paws drawing it back onto the trail, the silence between them falling like a second skin.


𖧧 Coin Flip: Heads - Success
𖧧 1d7 Roll: 2 - Aches
𖧧 Herb Found - Borage

 

[Sealdawn Sealdawn]

Plant some seeds when you're alone
Let the blossoms

grow

.

Quiet pawsteps signal Sealdawn's arrival, blue eyes silently watching the proceedings. Unlike Cicadabuzz and Stoatpaw, she had no tail to stuff leaves with or wind roots around. Or at least not effectively. If she wanted to help she would have to use her mouth to carry what she found. That meant her mouth would be full and she'd be unable to ask if what she found was useful or just some weed.

A flash of orange catches her attention as she follows behind Cicadabuzz, a rare splash of bright color in the otherwise gloomy pocosin. She swerves to investigate, the smell somewhat familiar. The flowers are unmistakable. Easily recognizable. Sealdawn gently reaches a paw down to feel the petals. Poppies. Cicadabuzz had used some of the seeds when Marbleshine had been hurt... "Poppies over here," She calls gently over her shoulder. "Is it just the seeds or are the petals useful too..?"

She had seen bug use the seeds, but could not recall if the petals were ever used for anything like marigold was... If they weren't useful, maybe she'd keep a few for her nest...

15 moons

◆

shadowclan warrior

◆

she/they

◆

bio

Inside Your Chest

SEALDAWN

— Shadowclan Trapper
— "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
— Grey Rosetted Tabby With Blue Eyes And A Bobbed Tail.
#70d8e5

𖧧 Coin Flip: Heads - Success
𖧧 1d7 Roll: 3 - Broken Bones
𖧧 Herb Found - Poppy Seeds

 

[WOLFPACK]

AND I AM SORRY MY CONSCIENCE CALLED IN SICK AGAIN

______________________________________________________________________​

Wolfpack had been trying-- really trying-- to be helpful. Cicadabuzz was one of the few cats in camp the deputy might actually respect and admire for how far they were willing to go in pursuit of perfecting their craft, and if it appeared they needed something, he was usually of the mindset to try and provide it. Hell, the bug could probably demand a fresh body to shove poultices on, and Wolf wouldn't have thought twice about dragging some rogue back for them to experiment on.

So when he'd caught the healer heading out with a small group trailing after them, the mottled deputy had decided to go along. He knew essentially nothing about herbs, vague memories of a sedge-something and a sweet smell crossing his mind, but they both knew it wasn't his job to recall that sort of thing. Wolfpacks world was violence and strategy and action, not the delicate game of life and death Cicada played with.

Today he had no such luck in his attempts to locate something useful, and eventually huffed before ripping up the nearest patch of greens he could find. As he trudged back toward the medicine cat, it was with a sad cluster of stringy weeds dangling from his jaws and a bored look in his eyes that betrayed how much fun he was having.

"This good for anything?" he asked, barely waiting for the look that said 'why are you wasting my time?' before rolling his eyes and tossing them aside. They both knew the answer was 'no', and that Cicadabuzz likely wouldn't waste their breath on repeating it for him. "Right. Whatever. Just put whatever you guys have found in my fur and I'll carry it back."

Might as well be useful for something on this patrol, and the fur along his neck, shoulders, and tail was definitely long enough to tuck the leaves, stems, and flowers into.

---

​

OOC NOTES . ◭ . CHARACTER INFO

• ooc : — 𖧧 1d3 Roll: 3 - Failure. You found a useless weed.​
• shadowclan deputy - male - a large, black & blue chimera with moderate white splashing, mismatched eyes, and several scars.

 

[CICADABUZZ]

Cicadabuzz moves ahead of the others with that same unhurried, measured tread—its paws soundless against the damp earth. The air breathes around it, heavy with decay and life in equal measure. Where others see only tangle and muck, it reads a map, a subtle language of growth, scent, and shade. It pauses now and again, eyes sweeping across the sprawl of reeds and moss, the faint shimmer of water pooled beneath roots. The borage still rests in its tail, catching fragments of light through the canopy. Its tail brushes against the ground as Cicadabuzz crouches beside a shallow ditch, its nose dipping low. The air here is sharp, tinged with something acrid beneath the sweetness of wet earth. It pushes aside a clump of grass, and there—half-hidden among the shadows—stand the pale umbels of water hemlock.

"Hemlock," it murmurs under its breath, not a warning so much as acknowledgment. Its gaze lingers on the elegant pattern of the leaves, deceptively fine, the stems streaked like veins beneath skin. Few plants hold such quiet violence. Cicadabuzz harvests with care, gripping the stalk near its base and snapping only a few stems free. It tucks them carefully into its tail, sealing them apart from the safer herbs already nestled there. Poison has its place too, though few trust themselves to touch it.

A soft voice pulls its attention from the ground. Sealdawn stands nearby, her gaze bright against the dull colors of the bog, poppies spread before her in a wash of warmth. Cicadabuzz pads closer, tail swaying lightly. "Only the seeds, for pain and for sleep," it answers, its voice low, steady as ever. "The petals have little use in healing; they are simply a pleasant thing to look upon." Its tone carries neither reproach nor warmth as it responds. Then comes Wolfpack, the thud of his pawsteps a counterpoint to the hush of the swamp. Cicadabuzz turns its head slowly, meeting the deputy's unimpressed stare as he drops a clump of weeds at its paws. The look it gives him is quiet but unmistakable—a flicker of weary amusement mixed with resignation. Rather than grace him with an answer they both already know, it suggests, voice deadpan, "You could weave it into your nest if you're feeling decorative."

Its dry tone borders on humor, though its expression remains still. When he offers to carry the herbs, Cicadabuzz dips its head once in acceptance, no further words wasted. It steps closer, untangling the borage and hemlock from its own fur to firmly secure it in his. The motion is deft, unhurried.


𖧧 Coin Flip: Heads - Success
𖧧 1d7 Roll: 5 - Poisons
𖧧 Herb Found - Water Hemlock