Private the horse & the infant ──▹ cicadabuzz

[Fleecefur]

"You must be the one I've been waiting for."

Her form almost seems to seep from the walls of the den, the shadows clinging like webbing to her pelt as she slinks forward from the depths; at a glance she might have been perched in the corner waiting but a more skeptical look would show that part of the hollow far too narrow for a cat as tall and long-limbed as her to be sitting fully out of sight. It was if the point molly materialized from nothing, chipped ice eyes narrowing in mirthful amusement at the autumnal cat before her, their pelt like crunching leaves, their whiskers quivering long and curled as if detecting her scent or lack thereof.

"Cicada, was it?"

Their name suiting, a delight, a creature crawling from the cold earth to scream defiance at the stars; shrill cries demanding acknowledgement of its existence. They seemed too humbly quiet for such a thing, poised and calm in face of what she was sure a part of their mind was warning them unnatural. She knew she was an unsettling visage, ichor dripping and wounds looking fresh as they day she received them; one blue eye seemed almost lopsided in the nest of scars on her face.

"ShadowClan needs a healer, an ambassador to speak for them to the shadows under paw; a cat I can communicate with more easily."

Appearing before Sablestar had been taxing in some ways, conjuring her form in this world took more effort than she dare admit but to do so in dreams, to walk within the edge of a peripheal seen and unfocused; that would be easier.

BAA BAA BLACK SHEEP HAVE YOU ANY SOUL

NO SIR, BY THE WAY, WHAT THE HELL ARE MORTALS

• 

  FLEECEFUR

  
  — Dark Forest Denizen | Former ShadowClan Deputy
  — She/Her
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  — A tall black color point molly with blue eyes.
  #b84d47
  

 

[cicadabuzz]

Cicada remains composed as the shadowy figure emerges, their golden-green eyes steady, their posture relaxed but attentive. The faint herbal scent clinging to their fur seems out of place in the oppressive atmosphere of the den, a subtle reminder of their purpose and presence. They incline their head slightly, acknowledging the she-cat's words without flinching at her spectral appearance or the wounds that seem to bleed perpetually. "I am Cicada," they confirm, their voice calm and measured, each word deliberate. Their tone carries no trace of fear or awe—only quiet resolve. The description of ShadowClan's need and the eerie, otherworldly manner of its delivery do not seem to unsettle them. If anything, they appear to weigh the information carefully, like one assessing the ripeness of herbs or the stability of a fractured bone.

"ShadowClan's need for healing is reason enough for me to tend them," they continue, their gaze unwavering as it meets the chipped ice of the molly's eyes. "I would mend their wounds regardless of your appearance or intentions. Healing is not contingent on favor or form. It is simply what I do." There is no pride or boastfulness in their statement, only the steady assurance of one who has dedicated themselves entirely to their craft. Cicada steps forward, unhurried and purposeful, the faint swish of their tail breaking the stillness. "If I am to serve as a healer or... an intermediary, as you suggest, then it must be clear that my role is to serve the living. ShadowClan's cats will have my aid, but my loyalty belongs not to shadows or visions, only to what is real—wounds, illness, survival. If your interests align with that, then we will work in accord."

Their gaze flickers momentarily over the molly's battered visage, not with pity, but with clinical curiosity and a touch of clinical interest. They wonder briefly at the scars and wounds that seem to defy natural healing, but they do not voice the thought. It is not relevant—not yet. "I will not pretend to understand what you are, or what you claim to represent," Cicada says, their voice soft but firm, "but I will listen. If you offer guidance that serves the living, then I will heed it. If your presence here will disturb my work and my forest, my cooperation will not be guaranteed until you prove that there is reason to acquiesce." They take another step forward, standing closer to the apparition now, their poise unshaken. "Speak your purpose plainly now. What is it you would request of me?"

 

[Fleecefur]

They face her blunt and cool, seemingly unbothered; it is quite the shift from the stiffening of limbs and prey-like eyes she had gotten from Sablestar on first meeting, both annoying and intriguing all in one.

"Long ago the stars spotted the sky so brightly they blinded any who looked up, caught in their radiance a cat would lose themselves to that light; to lose focus on what was important: the world below their paws and not the shimmering hope that lay at the end of life."

There were cats like her who did everything right until they made a choice in the best interest of their clan and were thrown from grace so swiftly, so cruelly. She sees her fate play out again in amber-flecked eyes, she watches a striped chocolate tabby paw descend on a white throat - unfair, unjust.

"The stars cast any who they deemed unworthy into the black pools beneath the reflection of the skies. A forest thick and cloaked in thorns that tore pelts as one would wander through them lost and aimless. A cruel fate. A fate I would not wish to see of cats who seek only to do what is right for theirs, cats like Sablestar."

Her black lips curl, there is a haughty defiance in this one-a calm that prickles her pelt and drives her smile to clench into something forced and rigid,

"The Dark Forest wants the same thing ShadowClan does, to thrive, to survive, to exist in spite of those who would wish us to quietly disappear."

Her time in the sun was possible now, once a lofty dream but with cats who knew of her now and those still left in the maze of briars and brambles, there was a chance once more to go beyond a whispered memory, a chip in a gravemarked stone, a caw of a nightbird. Her heart, cold and wretched felt fleeting hope and Cicada's disinterest would not dampen this - if anything she would push them harder now.

"Cicadabuzz is what you will be known as now, a name granted to you by the shadows themselves."

A buzzing, irritating sound, shrill in her ears and testing her patience.

"When you seek guidance do not look up, look down and whisper for me."

When you were alone in the dark, what better ally than the dark itself; who needed eyes to see in pitch black when the pitch black was ones eyes. Her jaw tensed, burnt ash flaking from an outstretched paw as she offered a smile that was all teeth and flickered away into shreds of crumbling gray down like the most macabre drift of snow.

BAA BAA BLACK SHEEP HAVE YOU ANY SOUL

NO SIR, BY THE WAY, WHAT THE HELL ARE MORTALS

• 

  FLEECEFUR

  
  — Dark Forest Denizen | Former ShadowClan Deputy
  — She/Her
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  — A tall black color point molly with blue eyes.
  #b84d47