The raven had hidden in his stone after a while.

Well. No. Hiding is a strong word. More like he had simply decided that getting up was far, far too much work.

But the light had changed in the cave, and so the small poetic part of him decides he must change his view as well.

Shaking himself free of his chrysalis after a few well places kicks and pecks, he scowls. Gross, simply disgusting, now I have to dry. Phah.

The sight that greets him after he clears his lungs and feathers of the fluid would bring him to smile, if he could. But instead, the feathers below his chin and around the edges of his crow lift in awe.

It's... vastly different.

Not cleaner, no, not by any means. But in the way he can see is a work in progress- sometimes mess comes from organization, after all. With that in mind, he opens his wings and takes flight to hunt down some food. Something not rotted, no, he wants to preserve his snow white feathers as well as he can for as long as he can.

The low orb light makes his spine thrill with the possibilities, and he wishes for a witness, if only for someone else to remember how he knows he stands out in the relative dark.

"speaking" and thoughts

The raven had hidden in his stone after a while.

His hunger makes part of his magic... tweak. Alighting near the inner part of a branch, he decides to pull on it- it feels like projecting something, so he aims for the crook of the branch and concentrates.

On what? He's not sure.

Oh.

He eyes the large, shimmery yellow... thing. It's clearly food, he sighs to himself, and tries to figure out how to open it. The outer flesh reminds him of a rind of another fruit he's seen, so that must mean the inside has seeds and a good deal of plentiful flesh.

Able to get his beak into a small split into it, he begins to eat.

"speaking" and thoughts