Summer’s Muse || Fawnheart & Rookbriar Hang Out!

Although not entirely at ease since Rookbriar's stumble, her enthusiasm couldn't help but bring a slight smile to their face. Nothing big, just a little tug at his mouth. But for Fawnheart, that much was still enough. It was funny, just a bit, to hear the other cat describe their haphazard idea as something brave and bold. A daunting journey, beyond their wildest dreams. For someone like themselves, it was the kind of idea that could never fully be realized, never be translated over to a warrior's life. For them, for Sunclan, there was little uncertainty besides the onslaught of enemies that would occasionally give them grief. A cat might never know the dangers of a bee's life. Certainly not a cat like him, anyway. It was an experience they couldn't connect with, but maybe that was the point of stories. Making exciting things a little more real to cats who would ideally never have to undergo anything but peace.

Drifting back to attention, they glanced towards their companion, gaze growing a tad wider as they realized she'd gone about following in his actions. At this rate, they really hoped it would amount to something, if Rookbriar had put so much faith in their technique... "Oh." But.

"That looks a little thick." Fawnheart spoke automatically, merely voicing observation, but quickly retracted the statement in an embarrassed fluffing of their tail, eyes rounding out to match the surge of panic. "O-Oh- Not very much though! Um. I know it's just a test. I.. didn't mean to be rude. I'm sorry."

As they managed to recover from the pounding of their blood rushing fast and uneasy in their ears, Fawnheart padded closer to peek at the other cat's paws, as if to measure for himself another warrior's claw size- before promptly remembering that, although well out of practice, they had claws of their own to examine. With utmost nonchalance, they flexed a cream paw slightly against the shoreline, staring down at the resulting clawtips pricking out as if they were totally alien to him. In a way, that wasn't too far from the truth.

Seeing their own body poised so unnaturally, their claws slid back into obscurity almost immediately, without need for a conscious shift. Suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable, they looked around the river bank for an alternative to the initial proposal, even if it was just another flower. It almost felt a waste to potentially pluck another plant only to use it for such a disposable task, and that kind of waste shouldn't be taken lightly.. The stems could weaken if not rigid enough, the shape of the flower itself could leave an uneven path, so on and so forth. "Well.. We should use whatever's closest, since we already walked here. If.. we walked back to the meadow, or wherever, it'd be. Ah... inefficient." Turtlefang echoed the word in the back of his head, scolding as always. But correct nonetheless.

Instead, Fawnheart peered further up the treeline to search for something more reliable. Something solid, something precise and easily maneuverable, and most importantly, something that would neither be wasted nor waste their time fetching it. "..maybe a twig?" It'd take the same careful, stable motions to smear the mud as using a flower, and would lack the control of the claws, but might allow for safer strokes with a broader, blunter end... Depending on the stick. They came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, after all. Fawnheart picked their way back upshore a few paces to begin picking among the tree litter, calling back a follow-up to the other immediate issue. "Oh, um. Maybe we could practice on the river rocks, too. The stripes, I mean. So you don't have to get muddy. I saw a few good, flat faced ones..."

"Oh.. That's a really good idea," Fawnheart replied sincerely, seemingly just as eager as Rookbriar to reassure one another of their good ideas! That was something friends did, and it helped that his friend in particular was extremely good at thinking up smart plans. They supposed you sort of had to be good at that on the fly thinking, when you were a mother of five and had all that and more to keep track of. That, and Rookbriar was just a free spirit, if the brief anecdotes of her kittenhood had been anything to go off of. Blinking wide and thoughtful towards the point, clearly giving the options all their serious consideration, they finally spoke back up after that intermittent pause. "I think... you should definitely look for rocks. Because.. you already have such good ideas for them. So, you'll see the perfect rocks even easier..."

Well. It made sense in their head, at least. Ears warming a little, the warrior ducked down a bit into the riverside grass, as if to make a show of how committed they were to the busywork of finding the perfect twig to go with Rookbriar's perfect rocks. As much as they didn't want to slow down her progress, with how quickly she'd narrowed down the flowers from before, they were just as eager to hurry back to her and go back to working as a team. "I'll find a good few sticks, too. So, um. You can help pick! From a selection..." That seemed like a solid plan. A second opinion had carried him this far, and he trusted it to carry the both of them all that much further.

As Rookbriar went off, Fawnheart peeked after her in a lingering, uncertain sort of way- Had splitting up really been the right call? Ah, but. I made the decision. So... That was that, then. There was no time to start doubting themselves now, just after mustering the determination to call for the split in the first place. Commitment came first, when you made decisions like that, and so he padded further towards the treeline to start nosing the woody litter that'd accumulated below from arboreal disruptions and particularly hazardous winds... Generally, birds were good at picking that sort of stuff up and away for their nests, but the brooding season had come to an end for most of the forest flocks. That, and the warriors did a particularly good job at limiting their numbers throughout the bountiful new-leaf. It'd left plenty of little twigs lying about, far enough at the bank that rapid decomposition hadn't claimed them yet in the moist, muddy earth that broke down tissue more easily. Over some of them, he could even see a few ants crawling around, as if in search of their own materials.

Oh. They were getting sidetracked again.

With a shake of the pelt for focus, fluffing out their fur as if to self ventilate, Fawnheart began nosing among the sticks, finding long, scraggly ones that were on the brink of disintegration.. short, stout wood caps that were far too bulky to stripe with... fresh, prim little pieces that were so new off the trees that there was still a hint of moisture within their inner bark, glinting a pale green... So many to choose from! With the very tip of their nose, he poked and prodded the end of each piece, testing for the perfect diameter and beginning to sort those that qualified into a small pile... and from that point, looking even closer at the special candidates to measure their length and gauge their durability. It was a very timely affair, and as Rookbriar was rolling up her perfect rocks, Fawnheart was only just narrowing down the selection. But regardless of the exclusivity with which they rolled the wood about, it came to a point where there was at least a solid pawful of some smooth, whisker length twigs that resisted bending when he tested them in his mouth and applied light pressure to the ground... The only difference was in the very ends, some of which were tapered, others being blunt and flat cut, and a few having some interesting grooves in them. But no matter their differences, they were usable.

Without a word of affirmation yet, they swept up the sticks into a small bundle before picking the collection up gently between his jars, looking for all the world like a medic might carrying back a special bunch of herbs. From where they perched upshore, they looked back towards the queen, gaze lighting with relief to see her own process had gone just as smoothly. Then, on the same careful paws, Fawnheart weaved back towards her, twigs in tow.

With the warmth of Rookbriar's praise, they ducked their head momentarily in their trek, orange ears dipping in bashful acknowledgement as he stopped before the stones, resting the twig bundle to assess them in turn. Needless to say, there wasn't much to falter over. Immaculate! And, the tops glisten so beautifully in the sunlight... Oh! With the bats of dark paws came a pleasant pitter patter, too! Stones that were so talented, so well shaped, that they might create such a nice sound. "They're perfect," They murmured in awe, leaning to blink at eye level where the other's pad molded gentle over the smooth tops of the rocks. "Everything.. looks good!"

The moment of truth had finally arrived. As if entranced, Fawnheart watched Rookbriar's claws move about in alternation, the ebb of flexing muscle passing over each toe like a wave as the sharp tips peeked from their sheathes one by one. Something special that only six clawed cats can do? Had they not been so preoccupied, they might have tried it themselves, their own paws twitching with interest... but the instance the queen lifted one of the many sticks, that interest dissolved like sea foam, the remaining bubbles converting into something brand new and fizzy in his anticipatory stomach. With bated breath, they tracked the careful motion of the twig into the mud, into the air, into the proximity of the stone awaiting its uniting slash. I almost can't look!

Fighting the urge to wrap their paws over their eyes, Fawnheart settled for turning his head at a slight angle, peeking in a near peripheral wince towards the other warrior's poised wrist. Then, like a strike of lightning, like a viper from the long grasses, it struck! In a silent gape, he blinked wide again towards the mud mark, ears straining forward for the cracking sound they'd almost come to expect from all the tension of watching the stroke brew in midair for those long, sluggish few seconds of waiting. "Oh my..!" It was all they could say as they leaned in to sniff at the rock, a new fascination sparkling in their gaze. "You've made a stripe! It's... like a bee..."

A bit thin in the coating and off-centered from a true bee, it wasn't a perfect streak. Yet, Fawnheart was utterly taken with the visual, shocked at the product of their collective imaginations regardless of the refinement needed. Because, no matter the state of the stripe, it was a stripe nonetheless. It had been created! In a soft murmur, an unconscious observation escaped him, uncharacteristically casual. "Cool..."

"Um..." Fawnheart slowly lifted their gaze from the stripe, drifting now onto the stick pile in deep thought. "..Yes." That was probably cue for him to start helping. A tad embarrassed to have spent so long just staring at Rookbriar's work, they took the step or two closer towards the twigs, giving the selection a thorough nosing. Generally, having been the one to pick out the collection, they had a good idea of which might serve their purposes best... especially with his clanmate's trial run helping him to notice the possible room for enhancement. For instance, a broader stick might make it easier to avoid having to do all the backwork of filling in, or perhaps they could start with a big stick's stripe and follow up on detailing with a smaller stick?

In either case. Regardless of what might be best, he couldn't help but probe the pile with an element of chance at play, letting their nose guide them to what felt like the most fateful twig of all- Indeed, a slightly wider one, now with a blunter end than the twig the other had used. With anticipation beginning to tremble in his chest, they carried it towards the unofficial workplace, mimicking Rookbriar in obtaining a dab of mud, aiming for a flat rock, and- Just like that-

Albeit a bit shaky from nerves, there was a thicker, dark stripe decorating the previously unmarked rock. "This one's.. for big stuff. Maybe." Already moving onto the next stick, they tried a bit harder to feel less anxious as they prepared for a new stroke.