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[attr="class","inner-finally"]Bullwasp watched Rookbriar, a flicker akin to delight jigging in his deep, hollow, amber eyes. The forest around them, stagnant with the aroma of sweltering earth and decomposing leaves, seemed to hold its breath as Rookbriar meticulously primped himself, a panorama of fastidiousness amidst the clutter of their surroundings. Bullwasp's feathery, velutinous plume was nestled before his forepaws, carefully brushed through the matted fur of his massive body. Bullwasp's chest heaved and fell in a rhythm that spoke of his tremendous altitude and authority, a peaceful contrary to the soft rustle of Rookbriar's grooming. The atmosphere wilted heavy with the scent of the woodland, though it was the sudden, revolted spitting of loam from Rookbriar's maw that shattered the tranquility. The reverberation, abrupt against the stillness, drew Bullwasp's gaze back to his clanmate. A soft chuckle escaped from Bullwasp's maw, raising a nonexistent brow in Rookbriar's direction.

Bullwasp's luminescent chasms, generally fixed on the broader picture, the pursuit, and the future, drift between the shadowed abysms of the woods and Rookbriar's thorough cleansing. Was it a simple need for cleanliness or something more? The enigma of Rookbriar's motivations intrigued Bullwasp, sparking a trace of respect in his gaze. Bullwasp's pelage bristled slightly under Rookbriar's playful jab, but a baritone rumble of amusement vibrated in his chest. "Invincibility? Hardly," he retorted, a serpentine simper tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Though I suppose fatherhood has its own set of challenges." He couldn't help but glance down at his more petite frame, aware of Rookbriar's lingering gaze. The deputy found himself strangely flattered by the other warrior's subtle admiration, even if it was more about aesthetics than anything more profound. Bullwasp harbored no illusions about Rookbriar's romantic leanings, although he did appreciate the unspoken acknowledgment of his physical presence.

Bullwasp watched as Rookbriar exaggerated his woes, the previously moss-laden follicles sanctified. "I'm only teasing you, Rookbriar. However, the sight of you looking like a walking, talking moss garden is rather entertaining. You'll get used to it." He couldn't help but find the other warrior's plight amusing. Apart from his internal recoil, understanding his methods of raising his own was detrimental to their development, primarily psychologically. "Perhaps you should let the kits have a go at ridding the remnants. Might be a good bonding experience and save you some effort." He couldn't resist a chuckle at the sight of the usually composed warrior looking so utterly overwhelmed, but a part of him also understood. Raising kits was a different kind of battle, one that required more patience and fortitude than any fight against a rival clan.

Bullwasp flicked his tail, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. Rookbriar's words, though lighthearted, struck a chord deep within him. Bisonstorm's silhouette loomed in his psyche, a constant reminder of the strict, unforgiving upbringing he'd endured and his children. He'd never allowed himself, not indeed, to be anything but the stern, disciplined warrior his father had mandated. And now, looking at Rookbriar, a father himself, Bullwasp felt the prickle of shame. "A bore?" he murmured in question, his vocalizations gruff. "I doubt that." Bullwasp couldn't help the bitterness creeping into his tone. He remembered the constant pressure, the expectation that his kits would be perfect warriors, just like him. He'd failed at that, hadn't he? He'd failed to give them the childhood he'd longed for himself.

"Mine are grown now, as you know," Bullwasp continued, his gaze latched on the horizon. "However… I don't think I did a very good job. Always pushing, always training. Never… never giving them a moment to be kits." He finally looked at Rookbriar, a glimmer of vulnerability in his umber orbs. "Perhaps… you could tell me how you manage it? How do you balance the need for strength with… letting them be young? I allowed my father to govern me and them, and I shouldn't have." And here he was, asking the newer father for advice. How embarrassing.