private alpine shepherd boy — iciclefang

[RAVENSONG]

"Not busy, are you?" Ravensong's low, foreign-accented voice suddenly cut into the quiet hum of camp life. A shadow had crossed his path and he looked up to see the patched figure of Iciclefang. The last time they had spoke an actual conversation—they were both in quite different spots than they were now. Ravenpaw, freshly orphaned from his mentor and without his name, and Iciclefang wounded from her attempt to save Ashpaw's life.

He wondered what she thought of the ginger tabby's return. Needless to say, from his limited view of what happened at the border—something had gone wrong. Whether Iciclefang had any part of that strange altercation was none of his business. Still, of course, curiousity gnawed at his gut. He had enough sense—now, in comparison to his warrior apprentice days—to know when to keep his mouth shut.

"I need help making another nest in the den. Some kits tore one up trying to play with Catfishpaw." His ear flicked his annoyance. An apprentice task, perhaps, but it had to be done.


@ICICLEFANG

​

 

[iciclefang]

“I’m always busy, but if you need assistance, then I’ll help you.” The tortoiseshell warrior turns to face Ravensong, her light blue eyes as flat as her tone. She would rather be surging through the water or through the wetlands in pursuit of prey, or marking their borders, but there is more to being a warrior than hunting and brawling with the other Clans. She knows this, despite the dour expression threatening to shadow her features. “Kits should be kept away from the medicine cat’s den,” she murmurs, but she flicks an ear in acknowledgment. “Are we in need of more moss, or do you have enough stored?”

She sits in the mouth of his den, examining the place where the other young cat lives his life now. Beesong’s scent still lingers—is still strong enough to force a phantom of themselves into existence—and Iciclefang feels a cloud of sadness build within her chest. Beesong had seen to her kitting, and the kittings of all the young cats who’d been born after her. It won’t be long, that Ravensong is bringing Cicadastar and Smokethroat’s kits into RiverClan, Willowroot and Poppyslpash’s. “How are you getting used to your new role?” She aimlessly paws a scrap of some herb that’d fallen from a cat’s sloppy jaws. “I imagine it’s strange… being in this den alone.”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white markings and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

Always busy. An ear flicks backward in guarded amusement though this was not unusual for Iciclefang. "I do." He replied with a curt nod. He assumed life of a medicine cat was much more inactive and physically demanding than a warrior's job—his chores resembled more of an apprentice's than battling and patrolling. He rarely left camp, but he did not miss what he used to have.

"You're right." He agreed. "Though Silverkit is a wormy one." Ravensong explained as he led the way to the entrance of his den. In the back of his mind, he was reminded of how much weight he had to carry now that he was alone. Occasionally he could get Hazecloud to watch over the den when he was not present, but he could not force the warrior into those duties all the time.

"I have some stored." He replied. "I have some feathers to weave in. I want them extra comfortable." Raven gestured to his supplies, taking a clump of moss by the teeth and began kneading it.

That question was one he did not like to answer, but by now he understood that it was usually an attempt by his Clanmates to gauge how he was doing. Ravensong looked better than he did during the immediate weeks after Beesong's death, but Iciclefang was right. Beesong's scent lingers and Ravensong felt alone.

"I've accepted it." He ripped into the moss. "It is all I can do." He does not tell her that he did not see Beesong in StarClan.

☾₊ ⊹ темная ночь — dark is the night

•  
• 
  RAVENSONG of RIVERCLAN
  — LH BLACK POLYDACTYL MALE (CARRYING CINNAMON, DILUTE) a tall, slender creature with pitch-black feathery fur, large ears, and a sharply angled skull held up in an aloof manner. smells of dried herb, speaks with a low and rumbly accent and walks with an elegant slinking gait.
  — born in twolegplace and orphaned at a young age, he joined riverclan at its inception and began training as a drypaw warrior known for a bitter temperment until beesong made him his medicine cat apprentice. after his mentor's untimely death, he had been named ravensong at the moonstone, young heart revitalized with anger and guilt. he is a somber and thorough medicine cat that guards every word spoken in the confines of his den.
  
  — secretly loves "the stars but not so much what inhabits them"
  — openly suffers from chronic migraines
  — single, but "it's complicated"

​

 

[iciclefang]

Ravensong’s tone is as blithe as hers had been, assuring her he does need her help. Iciclefang does not protest further. She follows him to where he gestures to his stores of moss, eyeing the stock passively. “Silverkit.” She snorts. “The queens certainly have their paws full.” She bends an ear to affirm she’d heard Ravensong’s order. Though he has a different kind of authority over her than Cicadastar or Smokethroat, she respects it all the same, even if it is grudging.

She tears into the moss, setting aside the scraps. “I know.” She spares him a glance, but is quick to return to their materials. “Sometimes it feels like we are the playthings of StarClan… or if not them, then someone. Like some kit is batting us all around like mossballs and using us for war games.” The tortoiseshell thoughtfully paws at a stray feather. She’s thinking of Ashpaw, but then she’s thinking of Fernpaw yielding to the fox’s fangs, to her sister’s visage cleaved in two by a ThunderClan warrior.

“Do you feel…” She pauses—not because she does not know what to say, but because she does not know how to word it. “Do you feel capable of doing all this alone?”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white markings and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

He huffed to show his acknowledgment of Iciclefang's remarks, still gauging on how to approach her about her feelings of the now returned-from-the-dead Ashpaw. The overgrown apprentice had caused quite the stir, and perhaps not in the good way. He's good at waiting games, so he continues to weave the moss into nests. There is plenty in here. Depending on how fast Iciclefang could make them, he had her for at least an hour he guessed.

It's her next words that startle him and Ravensong looks up briefly at the tortoiseshell's face when she makes her remark on the agency of StarClan. Iciclefang, with her fierce, steadfast, and loyal nature seemed the least likely to place that little step forward into—what could he call it? Blasphemy was too strong, and it was not necessarily a measure of unfaith—but either way he recognized the pull within her that challenged something that perhaps was not meant to be challenged. The lightning scorch underneath Sootstar's place on the rock proved Ravensong of this theory at least.

"Interesting idea." He murmured, keeping it to himself that he had felt such a way.

He's already listening in well enough to not be caught off-guard by her next question. "Do you think I can't?" He simply asks, taking a duck feather and weaving it along the bottom of the nest he was building.

☾₊ ⊹ темная ночь — dark is the night

•  
• 
  RAVENSONG of RIVERCLAN
  — LH BLACK POLYDACTYL MALE (CARRYING CINNAMON, DILUTE) a tall, slender creature with pitch-black feathery fur, large ears, and a sharply angled skull held up in an aloof manner. smells of dried herb, speaks with a low and rumbly accent and walks with an elegant slinking gait.
  
  — born in twolegplace and orphaned at a young age, he joined riverclan at its inception and began training as a drypaw warrior known for a bitter temperment until beesong made him his medicine cat apprentice. after his mentor's untimely death, he had been named ravensong at the moonstone, young heart revitalized with anger and guilt. he is a somber and thorough medicine cat that guards every word spoken in the confines of his den.
  
  — secretly loves "the stars but not so much what inhabits them"
  — openly suffers from chronic migraines
  — single, but "it's complicated"

​

 

[iciclefang]

She’s a slow weaver, and her paws are frustrated at being forced to twine reeds and bracken to moss. Her ear twitches at each fumble, at each snap of her material, and she nearly gives up and asks Ravensong to force an apprentice to help him at one point. Her paws were meant to be churning water; they were meant for racing through the wetlands, meant for springing at prey or launching a well-placed blow at a foe. The tortoiseshell’s mouth is set in a grim line as she concentrates on her work. “It’s the sort of thing I’ve wondered about recently.” She does not look his way, but she feels his moss-colored eyes hanging on her sleek pelt. “I never would have thought about it… before.” She lets her answer hang there, precarious.

Ravensong’s response to her inquiry is another question, and Iciclefang is not sure if he’s taken offense or not. “Do you think I can’t?” The onyx-coated feline’s voice is neutral, his expression concealed behind whatever mask he’s deemed suitable to don. Iciclefang has never been good at reading other cats, and the medicine cat has had more practice concealing his feelings than she has ever had to. She pauses, flicking silvery-blue eyes his direction. “I don’t think that.” Her mouth twitches. “But wouldn’t you—or any cat with a lick of sense, really—wonder about an apprentice who becomes a warrior before their mentor can say they’re ready?” She stares his way, thoughtful. “I know it’s different. You don’t have to tell me that. But I only got my name because I proved myself to Smokethroat in front of the Clan and because he told Cicadastar I was ready.” Her gaze drifts back to the disjointed nest she’s building and adds, “But you didn’t get that chance. You had to be ready. Sink or swim.”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white markings and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

To hide weakness is an instinct his brain, even if he did not live in a Clan, understood. His precarious position of being woefully untrained, only halfway through what was meant to be his apprenticeship, should be carefully mentioned. And Iciclefang, with her ferocity and tenaciousness, is a cat he cannot see himself making that vulnerable to. Yet, at least.

"I know if I fall apart now, the Clan has no RiverClan medicinal legacy to fall back on." However much he hates it, he understands he has become part of the game. The path he chose was liberating and strange as a medicine cat apprentice, when he had time to coast and be playful. But taking on the full mantle has forced him to think differently. Beesong's knowledge and work ends with me until there is another apprentice.

"I learn at the medicine cat gatherings. Our training really never ends—I suppose my name is only a formality if you think that way. You are right, it is different, but... I think my first step is a mental one. And if I fail in that confidence, well, there is nothing left. Just as you said, sink or swim." He tugged out the duck feather with his extra toe and grimaced, having to reweave it. "Do you understand that?" He exists in a gray area, and the pressure is suffocating.

He sighs and lets the topic settle. "How are things with you...?" He posited, the question of Ashpaw lingering unspoken between them.

☾₊ ⊹ темная ночь — dark is the night

•  
• 
  RAVENSONG of RIVERCLAN
  — LH BLACK POLYDACTYL MALE (CARRYING CINNAMON, DILUTE) a tall, slender creature with pitch-black feathery fur, large ears, and a sharply angled skull held up in an aloof manner. smells of dried herb, speaks with a low and rumbly accent and walks with an elegant slinking gait.
  
  — born in twolegplace and orphaned at a young age, he joined riverclan at its inception and began training as a drypaw warrior known for a bitter temperment until beesong made him his medicine cat apprentice. after his mentor's untimely death, he had been named ravensong at the moonstone, young heart revitalized with anger and guilt. he is a somber and thorough medicine cat that guards every word spoken in the confines of his den.
  
  — secretly loves "the stars but not so much what inhabits them"
  — openly suffers from chronic migraines
  — single, but "it's complicated"

​

 

[iciclefang]

Ravensong doesn’t give her an inch. “I know if I fall apart now, the Clan has no RiverClan medicinal legacy to fall back on.” Plainly said, not distracted from the duties he’s allowed to become part of his mask. The tortoiseshell’s white-streaked muzzle bears the ghost of a smile for only a moment. “True. I guess you don’t have the luxury of not at least pretending you know what you’re doing.” She studies the nest she’s built—haphazard but functional. She makes a click noise with her tongue and the roof of her mouth, but shrugs. “Sorry. This is worse than even Silverkit would’ve done, no doubt, but it’ll work for some poor sick cat, I’m sure.”

Her ivory-tipped tail comes to snake about her paws. He tells her a medicine cat’s education never truly ends. Iciclefang tilts her head. “I guess that’s true, too. You’ve certainly got more to remember than I do.” She huffs through her nostrils—a gentle expression of humor dry as sand. “Sure. I can understand that. As well as any cat who has no interest in that path can, anyway.” She spots a bit of fluff secured from a flowering cotton plant, and she tucks it randomly into a crook of the nest she’s finishing. “What about the StarClan thing? Is that intimidating?”

A far more boring topic—how are you doing, a wave of his ebony paw indicating things Iciclefang hadn’t expected him to ask about. Her brow furrows, but smooths within the span of two or three heartbeats. “I’m fine as ever.” Ice-pale eyes glitter with unspoken thoughts. “There’s nothing different about my life, and that’s the way I like it. I patrol. I hunt. I defend my Clan… no matter who is or isn’t in it.” She turns her gaze away, to a bit of reed poking into the nest. She tucks it so it won’t poke into the patient’s ribs.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white markings and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

​