Recent content by dovethroat.

Once full, a spot in the medicine den is now eerily empty. Dovethroat had spent the last moon recovering from the ailments he seemed to have caught as he journeyed on with his comrades in pursuit of lungwort. It is unclear what it was, but it seemed it was not fatal, not dangerous. It was not as...

Even though he has had a few days of rest, the albatross that is the journey and his prolonged stay on it clearly weighs on the returned warrior. It seems that the stress, the high-octane anxiety that had ruled him for that entire time: it is finally catching up to him in the absence of such a...

Having traveled back mostly on his lonesome after aiding in the return of Stormpaw (and managing to turn himself completely around and get lost for a few days over what had been allotted), it is really something of a miracle that Dovethroat seemed to appear basically completely unscathed...

Dovethroat had meant for his rhetoric of having planned to give the feather back to Ravensong to impart a meaning of I always meant to come back, not in any sense the sort where he was denying the thought and care that Ravensong had put forward in order to give him the artefact. That was why he...

Dovethroat nearly balks at the word, looking like he was not even remotely expecting Ravensong to say it outright—even though, logically, that is perhaps the most unintelligent thing he could have thought at the time. There was no confusion about it; so Lichentail had not been lying, after all...

On his way rushing back into camp, Ravensong had technically said something to him. However, after what Lichentail had told him, his blood had been pumping so fast in between his ears that he had not been able to make out even a syllable; perhaps not even a semblance of a sound of what anyone...

Dovethroat nearly jumps out of his skin; he is so tired that he does not seem to have even remembered his senses to realize when people were coming close to him. Shaking out his stood-up fur, he blinked. "I, h-hello—yes, yes, I n-need—need t-to see, um, him—I wanted to s-see him," silently, he...

Unlike any other member of the RiverClan delegation, so to speak, Dovethroat had been one who had offered to stay back in order to help Stormpaw best get home as safe as possible. Though there was the looming, ever-present threat that had spurred them on toward their journey in the first place...

Dovethroat is, as he was before, stuck. The fact that he had gone from a scrawny teenager to an altogether quite burly young adult seems to have never properly registered in his brain, and this was not the first (though it was probably the most disastrous) time that he had wound up with his...

The Dovethroat wonders how he is able to conjure such a real image—his consciousness, existing as it does in this dream, should not be able to know many of these things. And yet it feels like he knows everything: everything he needs to, anyway. "Hello," he blinks oddly, feeling like he has...

It is the second defeat ThunderClan has endured. Loyalties tell him that he should not care, at the very least. This did not impact him, this did not impact his home. If anything, he should be annoyed—like so many others seem to tacitly be—that this may prolong the disaster that has been facing...

Openness is nice, but Dovethroat finds he only enjoys it when he knows it is still. Where there is uncertainty, the presence of things that are for sure is much more relieving. In an open plain, all one can guarantee is the earth and the sky. No trees, no brush, nothing of the sort. It's...

Whether this—the being to be represented—is Dovethroat or not is up for debate. Is it physically, truly Dovethroat? Probably not. That is not the likeliest of truths. Is it a representation, an abstraction? Perhaps. The truth is, it is somewhere in between. Could it be Ravensong seeing...

Dovethroat recoils back, shaking out his head like a stunned bird who had fallen out of the sky. He is a more emotional, more sensitive soul—even if he tends to the quiet side, everyone can tell. Even if sometimes he thinks that he is hiding it well. Hazecloud has treated him very kindly so far...

He is not a fighter. He could be; especially with other cats, he's got enough weight to throw around comfortably in a one-on-one—but even then, he still is not a fighter. Every time he had been in battle, he had wound up doing very little of note. He came away with more cuts than he had dealt...