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

In silent agreement with Rookbriar's assessment, they placed their broad twig aside, blinking down at it in thoughtful consideration before moving on to the next of the collection. Slowly, as the pair began to work their way through the pile, and the stripes began to transform the rocks into grey forests of muddy tree trunks breaking its surface, Fawnheart amassed a few they liked- The big stripe stick, the thin stripe stick, and the wiggly stripe stick, named as such for its warped, swirled base that made a wavering, fuzzy stroke in place of the others' straight ones. In an effort to test his own restraint, he'd all but removed any tapered twigs, too paranoid at the thought of a sharpness managing to pierce through the soft petals of their test flowers and leaving their bee torn to violent shambles.

With three twigs ensured, and a canvas of stripes to choose from, Fawnheart idly grasped at the broadest once more, flexing his paw firmly yet loosely about the diameter as they searched for the best position; In all their striping, between the tension of his paw and the nerves fraying his precision, even the cleanest marks seemed to have a shaky edge. Maybe kits wouldn't notice, but... While there was no escaping their usual insecurity, they could at least tackle the dilemma of gripping. More than anything else, it was hard to handle a stick in the same way a squirrel might hold something, with a cat's paws generally being used for little more than than travel. The feeling of not only grasping, but moving something around with purpose, was an alien one, completely counterintuitive to their instinctive moveset. Digging miniature trenches into the earth for practice, they worked on adjusting to that sensation- muscle memory, they remembered from a distant training session, was how you learned to make any motion your own, no harder than breathing in the morning air.

Light-pawed. They framed their paw higher against the twig, worked on dabbing it about rather than stabbing or grinding the tip into the ground. Like batting at butterflies...