Yup. She totally named him Raven. To her credit, there’s a real reason behind this. Once upon a time, Raven belonged to her mother. She refused to give him a real name because he was basically her babysitter. An entirely unwanted babysitter. So she called him Raven to be spiteful and bratty. And eventually, when he’d managed to slip into her heart despite wearing her mother’s eyes, when he’d earned a real name, she’d grown to used to calling him Raven. The name just sort of stuck, and even when he disappeared and she found him in an egg again, he was still Raven.

She watches Raven in his attempt to make friends. It seems to work pretty well with Lyra, who shrills loud enough to shatter glass at the little stone. She really wishes Raven could understand words, because she has so many catty remarks she’d like to share with him. Instead, she just internally rolls her eyes at him and his rocks. Though they seem to do the trick, the other companion coming down long enough to at least examine the gift. Raven hops around, eyeing the glowing moon on the Zephyr’s back like he’s trying to figure out how to steal the marking.

Dumb shit, she thinks, regardless of the fact the words don’t register with Raven. The sentiment does. He turns to glare at her with those beady black eyes, as if to say that he can totally steal a marking. At least very least, he can just stare at it as long as possible. Between Lyra and Lucius, he’s well entertained.

He hesitates on the word for his own form, and she wonders what he’s thinking. Monster maybe, but it’s a beautiful thing. Why are monsters so terrible, anyway? Maybe they are just misunderstood. They fight to protect themselves, attacked by those that are scared and simply throw the first stone. Besides, monsters come in all forms. She is a monster, but she hardly looks it. “I’d argue that the correct word isn’t strange, but badass or awesome or fantastic. It’s a badass combo.” She can’t help but imagine the damage she could unleash on a battlefield if she could shift into that. Instead, she can try to claw out some eyes and hopefully not get skewered in the process.

“Nah, normally I’m a horse too,” and just because Weaver has never been good at staying still, she shifts back. In this instance, she really wishes she could throw a few pops of smoke around or something just to add some fanfare.

Instead, there’s just a lot of pain that accompanies the shift, though she’s growing used to that pain too. Her body, in general, is used to hurting. After a moment, she’s back to her usual self, black and white with raven wings and a tiara of horns, the rune of death on her chest. And then, because it feels weird to be standing, she plops herself back down in the grass and does her best to cross her front feet as if to copy him. It’s pretty awkward and hilarious, but she rolls with it.

- weaver -