dumb it down a little — ravensong

[dovethroat.]

Dovepaw was a walking mess of incongruences—contradictions and things that did not make sense if you did not know the precise way the pieces of him fit together. He was still an apprentice, and yet he bore the form and figure of a warrior beyond his years. He was quiet and off-putting and awkward to many, resulting in very few friends, but he was undeniably quite magnanimous, believing in a sense of duty to do good for a common clanmate. While he was capable of holding the most virulent, stomach-churning grudges, he also held some sort of pointless, stupid worship of ceremony and niceties, figuring that there was a "specific way" to go about some sort of things that was just right. Even if he did not like it, he was going to do it.

That was how he found himself in his current grumblings. Dovepaw's anger had not simmered down when it came toward Ravenpaw—he could hardly even bear the thought of thinking his new name, which was shameful to admit. If anything, it had curdled like milk into a resentment that lived outside of him, a sort of consuming force that followed him like noxious gas and polluted conversations about either party. Despite that, he knew that it was the right thing to do to give some sort of gesture to Raven (his superego seemed to have decided to go with the shortened version of the medicine cat's name to keep the other parts of him from going insane) as a congratulatory measure. Especially after he looked so shaken up. Not only did that hurt Dovepaw on his principles, but it hurt more because it was Raven. Raven had been his friend, even if he held very unsavory opinions toward his actions.

The gift was a smooth, polished, almost crystalline looking rock that was the blackest Dovepaw had ever seen. He had found it near the riverbank, buried deep under layers of mud. It was hard not to think of Raven when he saw it, to be perfectly honest. Alongside that were bundles of flowers that—to Dovepaw's knowledge (and hope)—were solely for decoration, without any real medicinal value. The fact that he wasn't sure frustrated him, to be perfectly honest.

His ego, however, had won out in a meaningful way—Dovepaw's intent was to drop the stone, covered in flowers, outside of the medicine den and then leave without a second word. His gift would be anonymous, and Raven would never know.

However, just as he dropped the rock and turned tail to saunter back to his own nest, he tripped on a stone jutting from the ground and let out an undignified yelp as his face met dirt. Cursing StarClan and any associated concept, he scrambled pointlessly to his feet, failing to get his footing for quite some time.

@RAVENSONG

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[RAVENSONG]

Ravensong jolted awake at the sudden commotion right outside his den. His pupils shrank and he glanced hesitantly toward the drapery of moss over the medicine cat den. "Hello?" He called out, eyes tracing a rather large and imposing shadow struggling on the ground. Like a snake did he pull himself from his nest, his nose appearing first behind the curtain and pulled away to reveal his sharply-angled face.

A mess of light tabby fur and golden eyes greeted him and Ravensong instinctively raised the fur along his spine.

"You dropped something." Ravensong commented idly, eyes casting down to the shiny obsidian stone that was neatly presented at the foot of his den. Almost too neatly, he thought with a shake of his head.

He had not seen much of Dovepaw since his return from the Moonstone. That was to be expected. And while Ravensong offered no consolation toward the other apprentice, he did think of him often. After all, it was not RiverClan or Cicadastar that he thought of the most during his ceremony—it had been Dovepaw. To treat beyond rivalry. How could he not think of his friend-turned enemy at a moment like that?

His tail tapped expectantly against the ground.

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[dovethroat.]

Perfect. Of course Raven had heard him—why wouldn't he? Just his luck, he thought over and over with growing bitterness as he tried his best to bring himself to his feet. The stars seemed crossed against him, however (which, regrettably, he seemed all too familiar with at this point), and by the time he made it steadily back to standing height, he was turned face-to-face with Raven. Seeing the fur prickle up on the medicine cat's back, a sour look painted itself upon Dovepaw's face, seeming thoroughly unthreatened by the display. Though he was undeniably a worrywart, physical threats from Ravensong had long since become ineffective.

"I," he opened his mouth pointlessly, only to be cut off by Ravensong's rather rude remark. At this point, he knew how thoroughly hypocritical of him it was to expect politeness from Raven, but that would not stop the most base instincts of his mind from continuing to nag at him about it.

Waiting for Raven to finish speaking, Dovepaw took a breath before he supplied his response. "...I d-did not d-drop anything. I w-was g-giving a gift to you." He spoke professionally, as if they were two diplomats sitting across from one another. "As... c-congratulations. Housewarming. Something l-like that."

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[RAVENSONG]

Ravensong—or Raven simply as Dovepaw dubbed him—remained quiet as he listened to Dovepaw's explanation. The apprentice was right—Ravensong had known what the rock meant. The sheen of obsidian was close to the stone that Fernpaw had given him. Now he had a matching one. He knew why Dovepaw's stone hurt his heart much more than Fernpaw's ever had.

Since his full acceptance of medicine cat, Ravensong had grown remarkably more somber, more gloom. His voice lacked inflection, and he moved slowly about himself as if he were in a dream. Despite being so young, he seemed to have taken up a mantle of silent, unnerving, pure intelligence. He was not quite wise. He was not old enough for that yet. But certainly, he felt older.

"A gift? Congratulations?" Ravensong echoed, half-lidded eyes masking his true emotions.

"May I ask what for?"

I know what it's for. I want to hear you say it.

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[dovethroat.]

Though Dovepaw's behavior had undeniably changed ever since his falling out with Ravensong, perhaps he viewed it in a way that was different. He felt no older, no more wise, no more intelligent. If anything, he just felt upset. Angry, bitter, and sad. It was likely a byproduct of his quite literal, societal arrested development—having been confined to the apprentice's den for over a moon too long. It had not encouraged such somber, silent behaviors in him. Dovepaw was always a quieter person, but a difference existed between such types of quietness.

However, Raven was the soul that was always somehow so capable of pulling reactions that nobody else was able to elicit. It was a draw that was at the same time both irresistible and absolutely sickening.

"I–y-you know–you know what it's for," he spoke dully, his face falling in a show of displeasure. Letting out a loud sigh, he turned his gaze to the ground and took a long pause.

An attempt to speak at first failed, though he eventually found his voice. "Mee..." he huffed. "M-Medicine... cat. Thing."

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[RAVENSONG]

Ravensong's eyes widened in faux innocent ignorance. He did not let Dovepaw win, keeping silent with that same expectant look until the tabby broke and admitted his generosity.

Admittedly, he had not been expecting such a gesture. Ravensong was not quite sure what to think of it now that he had pulled out what he wanted (admittance) from Dovepaw like a rotting tooth. The satisfaction he had over winning over his rival quickly turned sour when he realized just how rude of a decision that was.

Ravensong reached one slender paw over to curl around the stone, feeling it cool his paw-pad. Dovepaw had no idea how frustrating that entire ordeal had been. His lip curled thinking of it.

"Dovepaw." He said sharply, tucking the stone closer to his body where it absorbed into his void-like fur. "Thank you." He meant it this time. But he trailed off. There was really nothing else to say. He looked over at the apprentice, who seemed even bigger than Ravensong himself now.

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[dovethroat.]

He felt hot-faced and embarrassed, like he was a kit being caught misbehaving. The righteousness he felt over his moons-long quarrel, alongside that, made his anger and resentment compound like curdling milk. Dovepaw blinked, looking down at the ground and then over at Raven as he tucked the stone closer to him—making it disappear. Nothing ever disappeared against Dovepaw's pelt; it all stuck out in terrible ways. When he had slacked on cleaning in the lowest depths of his slump, it had become immediately clear. Some of the younger apprentices had teased him for it. Some were a touch more understanding.

Needless to say, he became much better at attending to physical hygiene after that, regardless of how bad he was feeling in the moment.

"Y-Yeah," Dovepaw managed, voice stilted and awkward. A moment of silence passed between them, too long and so palpable one could feel it. And then several more passed. "Well, ah, n-now—now that I've embarrassed m-myself, I'll g-go."

Except then he did not start moving.

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