Nayati swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat, feeling more than a bit foolish. Dawali's laughter was expected, but still he could feel his face burn crimson beneath his winter white fur. The Utina had always striven to prove himself to his tribe, especially his family, elders, and leaders. Considering that he viewed the older Amara male to be all three of these things, it only compounded his embarrassment of the situation. He wanted to be strong for the tribe and strong for his Kalona and sweeping was definitely not something he viewed as exuding strength and masculinity. Not that being masculine was everything, but he would be lying if he said it wasn't at least some part of his personal identity.
His friend's next move caught him equally off guard, the broom being snatched easily from his hands. Jaw hung open as he watched, dumbfounded, as Dawali took three deliberate sweeps of the ground to clear out the excess dirt and dust. Then he stopped, still grinning like a cat at the younger AniWayan. It was then that some of Nayati's embarrassment began to recede. The man before him was a widower, had been for some time. Of course he was accustomed to performing such tasks. He was only poking fun (and succeeding brilliantly) at his prideful young friend. A sheepish grin made its way onto Nayati's muzzle, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. "You got me," he conceded.