Regurgitating the glaringly obvious. Of course it is cold, what a dazzling display in deductive reasoning. Truly, there was none to ever have joined the clans so acute a mind for fine observation.
In all earnestness, though, Smogmaw now spontaneous weather chats serve as the invaluable life skill they are. A social tradition Smogmaw previously held only contempt for, they function as the perfect barometre for measuring the depths of one's interpersonal relationships.
For instance, if the deputy were to go "Hmm, yes, it really is a chilly day out," and he received "Kindly evacuate my personal space" in return, chances are this clanmate may not count him among their best friends. This tells Smogmaw he'd have to regurgitate something even more generic next time, so as to achieve optimal camaraderie levels. He may not harbour innate talent for abrupt smalltalk, but through rehearsal - like all skills- he will achieve mastery.
Today's morning presented an opportune window to flex his metaphorical social muscles. There sat Sleepyfawn and Skywish, snuggled up to one another like two bulbs on a berry, remarking on the weather. Others heed the exchange, and swiftly indulge themselves in similar observations.
Mundane drivel ensues, though there's one sight to make his stomach lurch. Chilledstar, in an apparent moment of affection, had taken it upon themselves to wrap Scalejaw in an embrace. Cringe. PDA's at sunrise? Really?
Stomaching that put a knot in his throat, almost a gag, but Smogmaw verges close regardless. He needs a positive interaction to reflect on, to displace more embarrassing happenings in recent days. Snow a-crunch beneath his paws, he shuffles through the clan with head hung low. Posture straightens once in the group's immediate proximity, and after much anticipation, he puts his chit-chat prowess to the test.
"Pretty cold, isn't it?" he meows.
Magnifique.
