Originally Posted by Dipper
"What? No, it's… good," he reassured but winced at the reeds that Frostflight had tangled into the wall already, some requiring to be fixed. "I mean, there's uh, this spot here that looks fairly decent, and— oh, wait." Fawnpaw had done that one, so he quickly cleared his throat. "It's still better than having no help at all, mostly." Although he didn't pass judgment on him since his handiwork was lacking as well, he was somewhat glad that the tom who he thought to be so mysterious, so admirable and cool, was as prone to slipping up as the rest of them. It made him slightly more comfortable in Frostflight's presence.
Fawnpaw blinked in surprise, unaware that he'd been recently made a warrior and was much closer to his age than he'd realized. Note taken, but he had enough sense not to comment.
Not just his eyes, but his whole demeanor brightened at the thought of seeing the territory. "Wow, you've even gone exploring? And you guys are going to go swimming soon? That sounds incredible," he meowed but couldn't discern if that was simply because his experience was among the worst. As if trying to prove that he himself could be muscular even when his body was squishy from a lack of training, Fawnpaw fluffed up his fur and puffed his chest. It was a display that was stunning — not in its appearance, but in how rapidly it faded again. Pawing at the ground, he admitted, "I... haven't been swimming. I know that's weird for a RiverClan apprentice, but I guess it never worked out."
At the mention of his situation, he took in a deep inhale, closing his eyes momentarily. "No, it's fine— he, um, kind of tried… well, he ignored me most of the time, but then he," Fawnpaw drew another breath in, recollecting himself since he hadn't relayed this bit to anybody before, "tried to kill me?" It wasn't a question, but the lifted end of the sentence sounded like one as his meow wavered, remembering the recent incident in which Leopardshine had attempted to sacrifice him but ended up dead. However, he dismissed the subject with a shake of his head, swallowing hard. "Yeah, maybe not the best topic," he agreed, "so.." Oh. Oh no. This was bad. What was he supposed to say? What should they talk about? Fawnpaw struggled for a change in subject, fretting and feeling his pelt heat up under the nonexistent pressure. "The wall is looking good." The words blurted from him without any thought except ohgodsabovethinkofsomething, and he inwardly groaned — it was a terrible starter, and the wall really wasn't looking all that good since he'd forgotten to work on it, a reality he attempted to amend by rushedly (sloppily) weaving in reeds.
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