The true shame of getting on in moons, Lichenflight had come to realize, is that she doesn't have quite the same gusto in getting out of her nest and greeting the day. Thankfully, Leaf-Bare would be over soon and she'd have the other three seasons to recover from the stiffness the cold had laced into her bones.

At least today was sunny. The feeling of the Leaf-Bare sun, despite the fact it would never be as warm as a Greenleaf one, slowly seeping its warm claws into her pelt was enough to get her plodding across the camp.

Honestly, she was pleasantly surprised that Alderbranch had asked her for weaver training - he had mentioned the idea so much to everyone in the clan and yet not ever approached an actual weaver with clear intent, she'd labeled him as all talk; she'd had plenty of cats in her group of apprentices like him, who chattered on and on about becoming weavers, but when push came to shove, they never followed through. Her father had said those cats were idea types: full of thoughts but without action. So, while she hadn't shown her surprise, she'd certainly felt it when the tom came asking around.

And, even though she did have Birchpaw, she'd happily agreed to assist in his training - like she'd ever stand in the way of someone wanting to become a weaver. Besides, she had practice helping warriors transition to weaver with Junipercloud and not many in the clan could say that...

Now, though, as she eyes the tom, she wonders if he will follow through: he seemed a bit antsy and not in the way she was used to seeing with eager apprentices, but rather like he was having second thoughts. Her good eye narrowed for a moment as she slowed her pace, considering him; would it be worth it, to take her free-time between guiding Birchpaw along, to help someone that would back out?

But, then he spotted her and that answered the question for her. He made such a notable change in posture and expression at the sight of her, she couldn't stifle a laugh - he honestly looked like a kit caught trying to sneak out of camp by their parents. 

"Mornin'." The older bicolor returned with a crooked grin, crossing the last stretch between them by stretching languidly, before adding teasingly: "M'just as glad as eve'yone else tha' ya finally asked."

Her grin grew brighter at the self-awareness the young tom showed, pleased he was willing to be honest. As he continued explaining, she gave a nod of understanding – he was certainly not the first nor would he be the last cat in Mistclan with hopes of being a weaver equally weighed down by the worries of messing up.

“If y’aren’t willin’ t’be ah foolish beginneh, ya’ll neveh become a’gracefool masteh.” She’d overheard Snowleap’s mentor tell him that, when he tried to play off not paying attention as strictly nerves; it’d been a nice way to look at it, if a bit gruff, and she’d made sure to tuck that bit of knowledge in her nest, so to speak. “Weh’ve ahll ma’e mistakes – it certainly hasn’t killed meh yet, if’n tha’ makes y’feel better.”

The bicolor weaver saddled closer, jostling shoulders with the taller tom good-naturedly at his compliment, to the point of almost shoving him. It might have come off as accidental, but the slight snicker that slipped past the cheeky molly’s teeth ruined any image of that. High-stepping a bit, she moved past him towards the camp entrance; before reaching it though, she stopped and beckoned him closer.

“Sooo, ah’m ‘fraid embarrassment’s in yer future - s’price o’ entry.” She winked, the action odd given her lack of another eye, but the exaggeration of the gesture – the cheek head cock and flicker of an ear – gave her intentions away. “But yer flattereh wins ya th’right t’air y’specific concerns no’, ‘fore weh leave – ferm the’e, tha’ll get us whe’e weh need t’go. Ah’ll do mah bes’ t’make ya th’best.”