Acclimating himself was beginning to become easy- and how wonderful it was to be right! This place was wonderful, soothing- the dappled light matched his scruffy fur, and went between warming him up and cooling him down depending on his whims. Under the oak canopy it was easy to manipulate his sleeping position whilst hardly having to move- though after a day of research, Berry had already grown bored of lazing about.

In this Clan- a word that insinuated kin- they would look to him to contribute. All the investigations he had ever done would not be cast aside- the knowledge he had gathered in his life was sitting comfortably in his mind, waiting to be used. So out he had set, searching for particular wads of moss- the greener, the plusher. That rule was one he weaved every nest by, and once adequate bedding had been gathered he would be on the hunt for flowers. Forest flowers were diverse, vibrant and more dainty than the blooms of the marsh. Fascinating, really- that between borders, so comparatively close, the foliage could be so starkly different!

From his expedition the crooked tom soon returned, eventually settling in a warm spot in camp and beginning his long-practiced technique. Creating a strong foundation with thin, woven twigs- easily found strewn across forest floor- was, of course, mandatory. Then, the moss- it already looked heavenly, but Berry's standards were not yet met. Within the surface of the moss did the dappled tom weave vibrant violets, crowded like gossiping queens on one side. A petalled pillow, one of which the sweet smell would lull one into easy dreams. It had always worked for him.

Setting out from the beginning to provide a service, and not a selfish wast of time investigating a task he had long ago perfected, Berry's hooded eyes soon lifted to look at those around him. "Anyone want this?" A casual question, it hung in the air with the skill of a hoverfly, ready to be snapped up by playful jaws prepared for a pleasant slumber.
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*:・゚✧*:・゚✧ TEXT Becoming a member of ThunderClan has been rewarding so far, in Quail's opinion. In a flash, she's become used to the chattering of other cats, the camaraderie, sharing tongues, sharing prey. She won't admit it aloud, but this way of life was built for her, and she's happy to contribute what she can to Ember's Clan.

So far, this mostly involves hunting and helping the newcomers explore the territory, but she feels as though there is more she could be doing. But what?

Her bones, for today, need a rest, however. She lowers herself to the dust on the camp floor and sighs. She's no kit, for sure, but she is capable of so much when her body will cooperate. The warmer months make it easier... it's when the cold hits that she'll suffer.

Green orbs flit to the tortoiseshell with the protruding fangs. She flicks her ears with interest. The tom is using delicate paws to strain flowers through moss, having composed a nest of sorts that looks soft as a verdant cloud.

She's never seen anything like it.

"If you're offering..." she's half-joking, but her muscles scream at the thought of resting on something so fresh and comfortable. She flicks her tail, uncomfortable with her own eagerness, and instead continues: "But I would like to learn to make my own, if you've the patience to teach an old molly. I've still got my wits, you know." Her voice crumbles into a purr.
Whisker was having a difficult time settling in; there are so many faces to remember, too many names to recall. Their head swims with the overwhelming information, and they're ashamed to admit that they've not committed a single name to their poor memory. Too many... There's just too many.

The voice of a tortoiseshell draws them from their frustrated thinking. Whisker looks to him, and they're at least fifty percent certain that they've seen the crooked-jawed tom dozing in the camp before. But his name is lost... Has anyone even told them his name before? Either way, it does not click in their head.

The tortoiseshell is offering a nest... It's woven with such perfection that surprises Whisker. They've never seen such a beautifully crafted nest! Then again... They'd opted to sleep on a pitiful mess of twigs and moss that could hardly be called a nest for most of their life.

They linger nearby for a few heartbeats, watching a fluffy torbie she-cat approach while they dwell on the perfect choice of words. Only when they know exactly what they're going to say do they sidle over. "You're very good at this," Whisker motions towards the nest with one paw, smiling at the tortoiseshell tom. Then, they nod to the torbie she-cat. "I would love to learn as well — if you have room for two, that is! I wouldn't want to, uh, overwhelm you, you-you know? Hah..." They let out a nervous chuckle, ducking their head. You stumbled over your words, you fuzzbrain! They probably think you're inarticulate now...

The first to approach was a familiar molly, though her name came to him far from easily. On the pilgrimage to their new home- and now, all about the camp- he had run into her, but his brain brimmed with so many thoughts that names had never stayed with him for particularly long. Never one to catch the nuance of words, the half-joking tone that she had adopted translated to the tortoiseshell as a direct request, and one he was happy to oblige by. With a crooked muzzle he pushed forward his construction, ready for her to take to wherever she desired to drift off.

Though, she lingered. And by her side joined another, a feline with an incredibly unique pelt.

You're very good at this, they murmured, and a trace of a smile grew readable upon his dappled features. Berry dipped his head in wordless gratitude, a slow, thankful blink blinding him for several moments. "I'd be happy to teach you both." His tail twitched in anticipation- how thrilling that part of his new group had come to him to learn! Much of his life had been dedicated to perfecting this art, and finally his goals were beginning to come to fruition- in fact, they had been presented to him on a gilded platter. To Forest-eyes and Half'n'Half his vision flickered before signalling to the slew of spare materials that slumbered beside him. "First thing you need is twigs."
Whisker nearly buckles to the ground with relief when the scruffy tortie, who they've momentarily dubbed Nest for his beautiful craftmanship, glances over their stupid mistake. But they force themselves to remain upright, returning Nest's crooked smile and grateful blink with a nod. He says that he'd be happy to teach both of them, and Whisker cannot help but to notice the twitch of his mottled tail. ... Was that an excited twitch, or an annoyed twitch? Their paws shuffle, one ear turning downwards. Oh, what if he's annoyed with them? What if he wasn't actually happy to teach the pair? But Whisker couldn't back out now... That would be inconsiderate, wouldn't it?

They're too caught up in fretting over subtle body language that they nearly miss Nest's first instruction. Whisker shakes their head, angling their ears towards their tortoiseshell teacher. Focus! They manage to catch the tail-end of his words; twigs. He motions to the pile of materials beside him, and Whisker guesses that he's listing the materials that they would need first... Yes, that makes sense, doesn't it? "Twigs! Got it."
Quail purrs as Whisker clambers up to them, asking nervously if Berry would be willing to teach them as well. Berry obliges, and the palpable relief coming from the bicolored feline is enough to make Quail's heart ache. "He's got time enough for us both," she reassures Whisker with a smile.

Berry states they need twigs. She nods. "For the, ah... the base?" She isn't sure that's the right word. She means 'structure' but the word won't come to her. She assumes the twigs are the foundation for the soft and floral bits Berry is currently working on.


Again blind to the fretful cogs of Half'n'Half's expression, Berry nodded and offered another smile their way as they expressed enthusiastic response to his instruction. He had never been one to second-guess body language- in fact, he hardly offered it a first guess. His eyes, dull in colour but not in enthusiasm, followed the two as they gathered up that which he had instructed them they would need. Though crooked, his near-undetectable smile settled still, faltering for barely a moment. It was these moments, when he could pass on his research and knowledge, that truly brought happiness to him.

"Yep- the base." It was a perfectly fine word, though he often preferred to use foundation. "Weave them like this- one, two, three, four." White-toed paws demonstrated with his own paws as he gave step by step instructions, slowing his pace so it was hopefully easy to follow. Each twig was woven to eventually form a stable structure, but still moveable- he had learned his technique from studying bird's nests, and it was likely easy to tell.