"Psst" is a noise that's easy to mistake for being yet another piece of the ambient backing track Leo provides for one's thoughts. It's also one that's easy to interpret as being quite out of place; especially when its repeated ("pp-psssst, pspspst") and punctuated with the noise of an... absolute butterball tumbling face-first into the clearing and in front of the stranger that it has, unfortunately, been "stalking" for a little while now.
Ryoto doesn't check its own state of being— now coated in various bits of leaf litter and with grass stains on its fuzzy knees— though, more concerned with that of what'd been held to its chest before the great fall. It rolls to its haunches with the aid of its tail (curling the limb around itself when that's said and done) and focuses its sights downward. Wrists roll, padded fingers smooth over the surface.
All clear—... !
A worn-smooth branch longer than the stranger (friend, it hopes!) is tall is held forward in two palms, ears tilting forward with a toothy grin. "Sti-ck," it chirps helpfully and descriptively, however quietly.
@Yvan
Every microcosm of expression's studied to the finest detail, and every sign points toward disapproval; which, would be a bit of a problem if Ryoto were at all sensitive to or even aware that such a thing could exist, much less be emotionally damaged by. To it, all that the stranger is offering is objective fact and observations— all of which the puffball absorbs like a sponge.
It rises from its haunches, finds itself needing to look down, and proceeds to state an objective fact of its own: "Too short." Hooked claws wave through the air above Yvan's head to indicate the point, barely reaching at all.
"Too short"... in comparison to the stick it'd offered. Had the others inspected over the past few days not been too short for him, though? Ryoto thinks that it'd perhaps made a miscalculation there. … or not yet found the sweet spot. But, that's the honor it's seemingly been invited to seek, isn't it? It thinks so.
An excited wag of the tail swishes over the grass. It drags the limb behind itself as it trots to walk at Yvan's side with doggish glee. More of its attention falls on him than it does any prospective sticks, though; on him and the similarities between the two of them— scaled forearms and lower halves, teeth and claws. A magnetism between curiosities—...
... it kind of wants that stick back, though, if its first new friend doesn't agree with its dimensions. They seemed fine enough to it.
Ryoto holds a hand out into the space between them as they walk. "... give stick back? Can h-hold it."
@Yvan
A few more observations, things to note: Yvan doesn't appreciate the comment on his height; seemingly doesn't appreciate the gesture, either. Ryoto will just keep its hands mostly to itself, then— or, at the very least, not above his head. It's not entirely sure that it would particularly like that move either, reflecting on it.
No use lingering on past mistakes, though. Yvan's holding one out for it to take.
Viridescent eyes make a quick study of his disgruntled expression, the huffing of his chest; and, this time—... ! It connects the dots between that soured look and unwillingness to easily comply. Fuzzy ears vanish into the ruff of its mane, and it averts its own gaze with a shake of the head.
"... d-don't have to— give it. Just want, mm..." Ryoto's voice trails off as it pushes the stick toward Yvan's chest and turns its sights upon the ground. A particularly uninteresting pebble's gathered up in its claws, and thumbs immediately make a rhythm out of smoothing over the surface. Round and round it goes. "Hold sum'n. 'n keep you… um, hands-empty. Keep stick."
@Yvan
Unfortunately, such a stern expression (no matter how… constipated it looks) is a rousing success; Ryoto folds with all the alacrity of a lawnchair— easily with a very physical bowing of the head. It shakes its muzzle this way and that, frowning hard. "Nno, I don't…" Yvan's shown its rock for a brief instant before its owner returns to poring over the ground cover.
The tail hanging at half-mast and curling between its legs wags somewhat, at least, when it spots a new stick to put up on the auction block for friendship and attention. In comparison to the first, it's simply... far too short, far too thin. Soft, fresh wood, too— it's pliable under the mere force of gravity as Ryoto stoops down to pick it up. Hardly a good fit for Yvan's mysterious purposes.
Not that Ryoto is aware of what exact parameters such unknown reasons require. The small (not-an-olive) branch is offered freely as a result.
@Yvan
Ryoto's beginning to think that there's a bit too much passion behind this search for sticks to really start a burgeoning friendship over it. That hypothetical is reinforced by the way the stick wobbles and sways like its enthusiasm. Viridescent eyes remain fixated on the movement regardless, and despite swelling annoyance—... It still soaks in Yvan's words, narrowing down that vague definition of the "perfect stick" with each successive failure and subsequent demonstration. Such a thing counts for something, right?
Another example is presented— and it's as if a lightbulb's gone off in the child's mind: Its initial offering hadn't been so terribly far from the mark after all! Smaller hadn't meant infinitesimal; it'd just meant... smaller!
Spurred on by an invisible force named "progress", Ryoto nods and firmly plants its attention on the forest floor. Toes kick aside a smattering of leaves, and it gasps as it kneels to pull a prospective branch from the ground...
... ah. Just a root. Still attached to a nearby tree.
It bares its teeth in a frustrated scowl, giving up only to redouble its efforts in turning over every (metaphorical and literal) stone.
@Yvan