OOC/WC
Her curiosity was natural, he figured. His painting was nothing traditional, both in appearance nor in form. The male progressed through great efforts to find supplies — especially those still functional — and although it seemed he was wasting them doodling on the back of the building. Storm Lily approved of what had been painted thus far as well, but it was not until Krystalle complimented it that a sheepish smile lightened his lips. Still he hid in his shoulders and behind his long, dark curls, but the beginnings of confidence blossomed in his chest.
As for what Storm looked like, well, was it appropriate to speak the truth? The boy cast a quick glance over his shoulder, exchanging a look with his ghost of a sister that lingered there shrouded in disapproval, before turning back and beginning to bite at his lip. "It's hard to forget," he mumbled, speaking the truth while leaving out the necessities of it; he knew none of this pack so far, and the last thing the speckled coyote wanted was to be ostracized for insanity.
"I-I hope so," he said finally, swallowing a lump in his throat and pulling uncomfortably at the handkerchief at his neck. Recalling that Cercatori composed itself of artisans and the like, his following question was inevitable: "D-Do you paint?"
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