here, friend: one meticulously chosen stick

A short "mrrp?" is all that's missing from the reaction of acknowledgment Yvan gets upon finally speaking again. Even from the corner of an eye, he gets all the other bells and whistles of such a catlike response: Pricking ears, wide eyes, straightening form from where it's hunched over another root—...

Ryoto makes to lie— "I do... !"— but finds its voice mostly dead in its throat. Both thumbs return to its fidget-stone, smoothing over the coarse surface with minimal resistance. Knowing what a "sword" really is is unimportant at best. Not worth pretending like it really comprehends the objective, especially when it really isn't what it cares about.

... it trots closer, trying to round Yvan's front. It's practically committed every familiar feature to memory by now, and still it finds itself caught by them. The stone's turned over once more, landing in one palm with a rather solid SMACK!

"... lonely." A slow blink. It amends that statement by gesturing toward itself. "Mm, got tired of just— watching you. Wondering if w-we could be... um, not-lonely together. You l-ook like me." Nervous ears then pin backwards, and its gaze turns away in search of middle distance. "Um—... I— just wanted to help. Because I c-could. For— forget the rest. ... of that."

He's not really assured with the way it ends its words. It doesn't know what a sword is, and yet, it's just following him. Ears pin back— less mirroring, more brow-furrowing frustration— as it comes around so he can properly see it. He's never going to find a sword, is he? Dipping his head into his shoulders, Yvan stares down to its claws, still working his jaw.

It's lonely. Has he been lonely too? He can't say he has— he can't say he's ever even talked to anyone but himself before. Is he supposed to be lonely? His gaze comes up to look at Ryoto's chin, unable to meet its eyes, even if it isn't looking. He's not really sure if he's been lonely, but it's not like it's given him any trouble. It's trying.

"You can stay with me. Just, um— ..." He tries his voice as his tail nearly coils into knots. "I don't know if we'll even find a sword. It's not— none of it's right. It doesn't feel right." It's not fair. The words die before they reach his tongue.

"... I thought you'd know what a sword is." It's said huffier than he'd like, entitled and disappointed, yes, but none of it's meant for Ryoto.

See, the problem is, he doesn't want to admit that he doesn't know what a sword is either.

Acceptance makes all of those nerves evaporate in an instant. ... or maybe Ryoto's attitude toward life is just a lot more mercurial than anyone could have previously estimated; because it rather deftly skims past the notion that Yvan may be continuing to be disappointed by it and jumps right for a huffy, if quiet, "Well, t-tell me... ? What it, it is. ... S-sword?"

Thumbs continue to almost juggle its fidget toy in its palms. Simple problems require simple solutions, right? If Yvan just... explains what he's after, then it'll be able to give him better options, and then they can both move on from this admittedly irritating search for a white whale and pursue other things like...

...

... hm. Ryoto hadn't thought quite so far, yet.

One thing at a time. Ears cup forward despite pinched, worrying brows. Clock's ticking for an answer, buddy!