There is a bit of a lingering... something, between the pair of them. Though she isn't sure what this looming thing is, Lichenflight has been around long enough to pick up on the slight shift in her relationship with Rainshade - it isn't quite a tension, but even after a half moons of it hovering about, the half-blind weaver still couldn't quite put a claw to what the feeling actually is.

Honestly, in spite of her usual nosiness, she's tried not to aggravate this shift - it has a heft to it that, if she did, things between her and Rainshade could sour quickly - though it's hard not to poke and prod and ask questions. And, unfortunately, that means alll she could do is hope that, whatever it was, this something would eventually go away; it is likely the same discomfit that had settled over most of the clan, in the wake of Ridgeclan's attack, the old weaver told herself. There isn't much she can do about that foolish and hastily immature response the clan as a whole decided on - the xenophobia and isolationist thoughts, like a kit running from the first harsh reality they ever face - other than persist in speaking her mind.

Well, that and try to prod the cats she cared for in the right direction.

At the other molly's question, she winked cheekily - though the effect was a bit lost given the state of her bad eye - because while Rainshade had a point, the bicolor weaver would never admit such things aloud... Maybe, in the distant future, when she finally was forced into the elders' den.

"Ach!" She snorted good-naturedly at the younger warrior's, using a white paw to shove the bird closer to Rainshade, "Y'wound me - y'make meh sound like ahm one paw in t'elder's den! Ah dunno if'n ah should be flattered or flustered!"

She snickered, because it was obvious what the answer was; as she leans over to pluck a few feathers out, her achy body forces her down into a low crouch, but she hides any grumbles with a steady purr.

"No', eat up 'n' tell y'favorite mentor all 'bout ya 'n' yer kits. Gossip wit' a lonely ol' aunty, won'tcha?"

It was rather an unspoken thing, how Lichenflight had handled the loss of her family - one by one, until it was just her and three youngsters two generations apart - by seeking to build similar bonds with her clanmates. Still, hearing Rainshade confirm it aloud made Lichenflight warm in a way she couldn't, and likely wouldn't ever, be able to describe - she was the one who took care of others, not the other way around.

Her purr rose in volume, and she finally allowed herself to lay down; she added a few more feathers to her pile - they were a nice, pretty bit of insolation to have in her nest for Leaf-Bare and, when the weather warmed, the intact ones made good gifts to her grandniblings - before pushing it carefully to the side, out of the way. Tucking her paws under her chest and curling her tail in close, she watched her former apprentice eat with a kind of gaze that was... almost maternal.

The offer to spend time with Rainshade's boys was touching, but not something Lichenflight would ask for - she was just their mother's old mentor, and it wouldn't do to ask or push for something like that. What she saw of Rainshade's sons were enough - besides, it was good they spent so much time with their grandmother, as the older weaver could easily recall how little time Grayblossom and the late Duskflower had spared for Rainshade and her siblings. Sure, maybe it irked her a bit that Grayblossom got to enjoy the benefits of attentive, loving grandkits without the proper invest into all her actual kits - especially when Lichenflight knew what it was like to raise kits herself - but that was one subject held her tongue on. Rainshade needed her family now more than ever...

So Lichenflight would support her, as always.

"Bes' let Stormgaze come 'boot on 'is own terms," Lichenflight reached out a white paw to lay on top of Rainshade's, mindful of the bird between them, "Ah nagged Claysong 'boot 'is wanderin' hear' bu' look whe'e tha' got meh." Three more kits to raise and no mother in sight. "As long as he kno's yer the'e fer 'im, then it'll pay ooff."

The mention of her late nephew's kits brought a spark of something... bright and joyful to Lichenflight's eyes and, to a lesser extent, to her posture. It was enough of a feeling to overlook Rainshade's pause and grin proudly as she glanced over her shoulder to the apprentice den, where Snailpaw was sleeping off an exceedingly late night patrol, and then to the camp entrance, where Heatherpaw and Towheepaw had long since departed for patrols and training of their own.

"Ah thin' Claysong would be proud o'em." She mused, "Ah kno' t'ey don' really 'member 'im but as long as they're happy, then tha's enough fer meh - an' ah think mah nephew'd agree."

Turning back, and then, before taking a big bite, added on: "'N' ah haven't hea'd anyt'in' ferm they're mehntors eith'r."

I wish he had the chance to watch them grow up. For a brief moment, Lichenflight was hearing those words - almost verbatim - from someone else, a long time ago; the older molly’s eyes grew a touch distant, a bit more sad and her ears twitched in something reminiscent of a flinch. There was a newer dug grave at the grove, joining three others in a cluster, at her paws. The speaker had been a wet blur in her teary gaze…

“Ah do too.” She murmured, blinking the memories from her eyes.

She, privately, wished for a lot of things: that her sister had become a warrior, that her brother and his mate had lived to see his own kits born, that her parents had been younger so they could be around today, and that one of her apprentices hadn’t been brutally slaughtered protecting her… But, yes, one of the things she did wish was that her nephew had lived to be a proper father for his darling kits.

The bicolor weaver allowed herself that brief moment to be sentimental and nostalgic, before shaking her head minutely and jumping back to the present. No time for that melancholy nonsense today.

“Trust meh,” she snorted affectionately, easily sliding on to another subject: “no news is goo’.” She’d learned that long ago, when her injury forced her to hand-over the last bit of Larchnose’s training to another warrior: if she heard nothing, then all was progressing as it should. No news from most folk meant no complaining about misbehaving youths and a lack of noted misbehavior was sometimes the best one could ask for. (And, if she bothered to recall, her Pa had something similar about Volepaw once upon a time…)

“Ah’m glad yer enjoyin’ yer firs’ ‘pprentice.” Daisypaw was certainly a character, reminded her a bit of Wispfang at times; “Ah hope y’get t’have many mo’e— ah’ve always foond ih a joy t’help raise th’next gene’ation. Birchpa’ sho’ be gettin’ her name soon.” In fact, her grandnibling would be too, if they wanted to stay as warriors; both thoughts filled her with a kind of warm pride that made the chilly day more bearable — but that had always been the case when her little trainees got their full names. She had been proud of each and every one of them too, of course, but there was something about each new ceremony she lived to see — it was like each one rejuvenated her spirit, gave her that extra energy to defy her aging moons.

“Y’ll let meh know if ya need any help.” It was less a question as a statement, as Lichenflight was sure Rainshade knew she could rely on the older weaver, just like when she was an apprentice. The ‘with anything’ went without saying, but the bicolor Molly couldn’t help but give a cheeky wink: “Ah’m no’ a useless bag o’ rattlin’ bones in t’elder’s den yet, ‘spite wha’ eve’yone t’inks othe’wise.”