#i like to think li.nk talks about his companions to one another even before to.tk so like....tu.lin would have maybe a liiiitle bit of

[flockrest]

eavesdropping, are we? / accepting / @vigilantdesert

     "So you do have friends!" Tulin cheers, all perked and buoyant like a starling about to murmurate. He doesn't even give Revali the chance to complete his sentence, the little brat.

     "You— how dare— of course I do!" he sputters, off-balance, and it takes an effort that should not be so concerted to rein back the simmering between his feathers at the impudence. "I have enough," he adds, which is less of a lie than I have plenty.

     "But you never talk 'bout 'em, Master Revali," the fledgling unnecessarily points out. So many of the things this child says, he's delightfully rediscovering, are unnecessary.

     "Because I've never needed to. Details of your acquaintance merely reminded me."

     "Oh, okay," Tulin chirps. Revali tenses. It's too easy of an acceptance. As expected, seconds later, the fledgling continues, leaning in with a fervour he's — distressingly — grown quite used to. "You should talk 'bout 'em more! I like learning all sortsa things 'bout you!"

     Yes, well. Well.

     He sighs. It's truly something, how children can be so adept at nettling in one breath, then appeasing in the next. Tulin's practically made an art of it. And as if sensing— no, fully aware of the opportunity, the fledgling presses, "Is she from the desert, too?"

     "She is," Revali concedes after a breath's pause.

     Tulin beams brighter for no conceivable reason. He sways closer, almost enough to discomfit him ( and Revali's already adjusted his personal bubble quite a bit for the flock's spirited clutch of fledglings ), pleading without the plea.

     Honestly...might as well. "She was— is a formidable ally. As a warrior, her strength could not be denied."

     "Whoaaa. Was she a Champion? Does she have cool powers? Like you?!"

     "We all were," he huffs, "she certainly boasted an unforgettable presence with hers; I imagine it's rather difficult to just walk away from lightning."

     "Wow! Lightning?! That's so awesome!!"

     "I suppose."

     "You musta had loads'a fun with her, I betcha— I bet you're great friends!"

     Great friends! He can feel his feathers moulting early, that's how awful a joke it is. Tolerating each other would be a more apt description—

     ( By which he means: it's simply due respect. Sometimes, not even that. He's fairly sure the feeling was mutual, and who was he to want to challenge that? All the rest of them needed to know, to remember, was that he was every bit as deserving of their shared title. That he was every ounce as phenomenal. No matter what he might've envisioned in moments of weakness, no matter what he might've been claiming when he tied that scrap of blue to his bow — still miraculously present after everything — that was all. )

     —But also one that would prompt far too many questions, so he holds it back. "Of course we are."