Jun 7, 2022

The afternoon sun beats down upon the thin blue silk of their fur, making the young feline uncomfortably warm as they stride through the marshland. The weather has changed, becoming warm enough for some of the land’s scarce flowers to begin their annual blooming, and a gentle gaze rakes over the few flowers dotted here and there along their path. The blue and white feline pads along with a gentle smile upon their muzzle, trotting into the middle of a patch of plain white blooms. They’re struck by the urge to flop onto their back and roll around in the flowers, but they don’t wish for the white of their pelt to be stained greenish for the rest of the day, so they refrain from doing so with a wistful sigh.

The child carefully plucks flowers by the stems one by one, humming to themself until they’re disturbed by the sound of another set of pawsteps nearby. "Ah, care to join me?" They question, still not looking up from the flower in their upturned paw. Whoever has decided to join them must already be prepared for their questions, if the other has followed them all this way. "It can be relaxing to spend time out here, do you agree?" Delicate paws begin to arrange some of their plucked flowers into a circle on the ground, as Plover still hasn’t decided what they want to do with the newly picked plants.
Little Wolf isnt exactly the kind of cat who is keen on lazing about camp. There was an itch in her paws that begged her to go to get out, to explore and see things and oh my stars did she yearn to be anywhere else but this putrid swamp. But alas, her family was here and anywhere they went, she would always follow. She loved her family, after all. They were hers as much as she was theirs and by their sides she would always stay, except of course, when she was exploring though her explorations never took her far.

When she comes across Plover in the flower patch at first she is surprised. She wasn’t expecting to run into someone so early in the morning. She wasn’t wanting to either. Dreading social interaction she tenses the moment she is within sight of the other cat. Alas, it seemed she was too late to turn around and pretend she had never seen her fellow group member. Her presence had been sensed.

She stifles the urge to murmur a curse under her breath and forces herself to join the other on the ground. “I could do without all the mud here” she says with a small grunt as she settles into place, legs tucked underneath her and tail firmly pressed to her side. She then peers down at the object that have captured the attention of her peer. “Pretty. What are you planning on doing with them?” She asks, her curiosity piqued by the small circle at their feet.
During the warmer months, Briar utilizes the cooler hours to do most of her hunting and duties that require her to leave the cool comforts of the darkness. By early morning, she is still on the hunt and her wanderings in fruitless search of prey draws her into a conversation between two of her groupmates. Plover and Little Wolf, two cats she was not particularly close to but appreciated all the same. As she approaches, jaws empty and not a bit of luck with hunting, she dips her head to them politely. "Good morning."

As she reaches the duo, her eyes find the neat arrangements of flowers that Plover has plucked. There is a strange beauty to a lot of the plants that grow nearby, though Briar does not stop to admire them nearly as much as she ought to. Nowadays, her mind is too cluttered with the inevitable conflict boiling between the two groups who occupy the forest to pay attention to such minute things. But since her hunt is proving unsuccessful, she supposes she can take a few moments now. "Those are pretty," she comments, nodding her head to Little Wolf's question. What did Plover have in mind?

Berry often found himself among flowers. Blooms were crucial to a well-constructed nest- he was partial to weaving blue flowers through plush moss bedding, the sweet smell and his favourite colour guiding him by the hand into his dreams. But flowers and moss wilted- so as often as he changed his nest he too changed the flowers within it. Often it lead to his construction taking twice as long, for as careful and precise as he was, this approach impeded his speed greatly.

Better for it to be long in the making but flawless then slap-dash and sloppy, however.

Many whom he shared this land with preferred crouching in darkness, sinking into mirk and shadow. Therefore, when he crossed the fading threshold into a flower-dotted clearing, he expected not to be greeted with familiar faces. Yet one, smoky and serene, sat wistfully with a pawful of blooms whilst Shadow and his sister close in. He said nothing for the moment, nose to the ground- his search would continue, regardless of a background conversation.

Finally Plover tears their gaze from the flowers, angling their head up to see two nearly identical black she-cats, both somewhat small compared to the others in the group. Have there always been two of them? The child can’t recall Briar having a twin sister, but they come to the conclusion that they simply haven’t come across her yet. "Good morning, both of you," they offer to the duo in a chipper tone. To the first black-furred feline they nod in agreement—the mud in this land is something that Plover could do without, especially when it dries between their toes. They deposit the single flower they’ve been holding onto the ground in front of Briar and not-Briar, deciding that their circle can do without one extra flower.

They agree that the flowers are pretty, but that isn’t Plover’s only use for them. "I think… flowers like these are nature’s gift to us, a reward for surviving through the cold-time." Their voice is soft, and they move to continue laying down flowers. "They’re supposed to bring good luck to anyone who stands in a circle of them." Once they’ve laid down the final flower, they carefully arrange all four of their paws inside of the circle they’ve created. They could use some good luck, after all—perhaps it will bring back Grebe from wherever he’s disappeared to.

They spot a tortoiseshell pelt out of the corner of their eye, but the familiar tom doesn’t seem too interested in flowers, so Plover goes back to their explanation. "Wearing flowers is also a symbol of good luck. They ward off evil. So if anyone sneezes while you’re wearing a string of flowers—they’re probably evil in disguise." The words are said with a small, serene smile, and Plover tips their head to the side. "Do any of you have a favorite color of flower?"

The voice of the smoky one buzzed pleasantly in the background of his musing, askew eyes scanning the meadow for something azure, anything. No luck, no luck- though he didn't believe much in luck. There was technique for everything, and it could all be learned. As he thought of fortune his mind tuned in to the similar conversation happening nearby- silken tones spoke of good luck, and evil being expelled. Confusion- but, of course, fascination- sparked in his gaze then, flickering over to the trio.

A question was asked, and he realised then that he had been rather foolish to shrug off the possible functionality of conversation. Others were there to help him achieve his goals- and though he was often more efficient alone, there were times when others simply knew more than he. One day he would know the most, he was sure of it, but he was still young and still learning. At Serene's question, he answers with a simple word- "Blue." Perhaps they would be inclined to point him in the direction of his desired florets.