Private Leader's Den when in between two places ] sablestar

[cicadabuzz]

CICADABUZZ, 30 moons / shc + med. cat
a SH cinnamon tabby/chocolate tortie chimera w/ black eyes
parent to deathberrykit, hemlockkit, mistletoekit ; mentor to magpiepaw
a reserved, pragmatic healer driven by duty rather than sentiment

Cicadabuzz moves with precise, unhurried steps, each pawstep light against the =earth as they near Sablestar's den. Their tail brushes the ground behind them, the fur decorated with browning leaves and herbs that leave a faint scent in their wake—dried thyme, marigold, the acrid ghost of yarrow. Their expression is unreadable, but tension coils beneath their pelt like a tightly wound spring, each step a study in restrained frustration. They do not wait to announce themself. They duck into the den, letting their gaze adjust to the dim light, and fix their eyes on Sablestar with a steady, simmering intensity.

"I brought warriors I thought I could count on," Cicadabuzz begins, voice low but clear, the tone a dry rasp that cuts clean through the silence. "They were chosen for their strength. For their discipline." A pause. They don't pace, don't flick their ears or lash their tail. The stillness in them is heavier than movement. "And yet," they continue, tilting their head slightly, "half of them came back bleeding. With wounds that were perfectly avoidable had they followed the clear instructions I gave them." Their tone doesn't rise, but each word grows sharper, more deliberate.

"I told them not to engage unless provoked. I told them exactly how this needed to go. I told them that they were to drop the herbs and run if necessary to avoid injury, and yet, they come back here, bleeding, having engaged in an unnecessary fight. Wasting the herbs that I went to retrieve. Now, I have to use them immediately rather than stock up for dry months, or leafbare." Cicadabuzz inhales, slow and cold through their nose. "I was not unclear. 'If it is between yourself and the herbs, you drop the herbs and flee.'" The quote of their own words falls easily from their maw. "'I won't patch any of you up just to watch you bleed again for pride. Do not make me waste what we came to collect.' And yet they prioritized their own thoughts on what to do over the orders that they were given."

Their eyes narrow slightly, more in thought than anger. "I don't care if they're brave. I don't care how many battles they've won. If they can't follow simple orders, they're a liability. I need warriors who will listen. Not ones who run off chasing glory like kits playing at war." Their stare doesn't waver. "Next time I go into another Clan's territory, I want cats who understand that they are to listen when given instructions. If I wanted chaos, I would have asked for your most reckless." A faint beat of silence. Then, evenly, voice unshifting, "This was my plan. I take responsibility for it and for any tension with RiverClan that may follow. But I won't take responsibility for their injuries. I am not responsible for warriors too stupid to follow orders."


[ @SABLESTAR ]

 

[SABLESTAR]

The silence is staggering with tension and he could feel it crackle and pop with every slight movement from the twitch of his whiskers to the lash of his tail. He stood opposed to Cicadabuzz's calm presence, unnerving with the weight of the situation given to him. Enemies before ever possibly being allies- what sort of diplomacy was this? What would theft bring when it could only occur so often before retaliation left such supplies useless. Or when whatever Clan made victim eventually guessed their pattern? What was it that made this Clan so averse to longterm ties and trade?

"My apprentice is a warrior you can count on, now?" The leader snarled interrupted in untamed frustration, bristling as Cicadabuzz informed him of the plan far too late now. Information that should have been passed along before anyone's paws stepped out of camp, before anyone had been recruited for this absurd mission.

"Those warriors are not for you to command for trespassing. I've spent the last how many moons correcting this? Was Jadethorn's humiliation not enough to show you where I stand for this?" Sablestar did not try to hide the anger in his voice or control the volume of his rage. He can feel the hot fury in his chest rise as the same thoughts rotated to the forefront of his mind. Feeding the flames like an insatiable fire.

"Those borders are not OURS to cross without reason- herbs be damned, I haven't heard a single word of this Clan from you. Or anyone! I've yet the chance to see the opportunity we might have had with just a shred of diplomacy, and instead I must prepare for what consequences you've wrought." Hollowmist torn to ribbons, Coalstrike beaten, there is no doubt the rest faced similar injuries if the medicine cat must use all of what they gathered.

Sablestar inhaled with a tight jaw. "The next time you go into another Clans territory to steal, you will go alone. I have no use for enemies, this Clan is not prepared for another war and yet you sit here thinking it is so simple to avoid. You should know better than to believe predictability exists outside of medicine. Since when have we ever done anything wholly to a plan?" Everything fell into place by happenstance- finding the pocosin, reaching Fleecefur, intercepting Hawthorne. It was never a plan.

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

Cicadabuzz's patience does not bend. It folds inward, chitinous and still, and lets Sablestar's fury rush past them like wind through brittle reeds. They do not flinch when he snarls. Their body holds stillness the way a beetle's shell holds rain—cool, glinting, impermeable. They wait until the last echo of the leader's voice dies in the den, then speak. "If that is your decision," Cicadabuzz says, voice stripped to its hard kernel, "then I will go alone." There is no protest in the words, nor resentment. Only the simple truth, hollow and final as a snapped twig. They turn their head slightly, their gaze fixed on Sablestar's, compound and unblinking. Their voice does not lift with anger. It doesn't need to.

"If your choice is to send me without protection into another Clan's territory, then you also choose for ShadowClan to be without a healer if I do not return. That outcome will be yours to carry." Their eyes do not flicker. Beneath their pelt, something ticks—quiet and rhythmic. A cicada's breath in the deep bark of an old tree. They don't rush their next words, letting them fall like dry leaves into the tension between them. "You mistake this for war. It isn't. Not yet. This was a raid. Measured. Precise." They pause. "Until the warriors brought made it otherwise." A soft grinding enters their voice—no louder, but edged now. The crackle of insect wings beneath a boot.

"I did not seek diplomacy because diplomacy does not feed fevered mouths or poultice an infected wound. You wish for peace. I understand. But peace will not keep hollow chests breathing in leafbare. I told no one because I needed quiet, not questions. I needed obedience, not theory. I needed the work done before the rot set in." They shift, not pacing, but adjusting their weight, their presence unchanging—more husk than flame, the ghost of a molted skin left on the bark. "I will not apologize for doing what I must to keep ShadowClan alive. That is my work, same as yours is to keep it from burning." Their whiskers twitch, slight and slow. "But do not mistake me for soft clay, Sablestar. I will take your command. I will walk alone into the maw of another Clan if I must. I will carry the consequences."

Their tone shifts slightly. Not harsher, but cooler. A drip of rainwater onto a still pond. "But if I fall, if ShadowClan's kits die of greencough, if your elders rot in their nests while warriors limp without poppy or marigold, then let no cat say it is my lack of action to cause it."