She didn’t seem impressed with his find. A frown tugged at his features as he dropped the leaf onto the ground, his mismatched gaze sweeping over their surroundings once more as he searched for something else of interest. He padded away from the fern leaf, his nose pointed to the ground as he maneuvered through the snow. Pumpkin Eyes’ voice caused his ears to snap in her direction, although his gaze was still trained on his path. I dono, he responded in a soft, disinterested voice, maybe it’s magic. He snorted in amusement, a lopsided grin collapsing onto his tawny maw as he continued forward. Sachiel sincerely doubted that the fern was magic, as that sort of thing didn’t exist, but he didn’t have a better answer for his greyscale friend. He knew some plants but he didn’t know anything about the crimson ferns in the northern woods.
There was another feather at the base of the tree where Hawthorne had found hers, half buried beneath the snow. He nosed it out, his expression softening as he turned back to his friend. Look, he chirped with his plume wagging slowly behind him, we’re matching.