"Art isn't a mushroom," said the dog. He was confident that he knew what exactly a mushroom was, now. >"Art is when you can make things-- let people see what you see, you know?"

It was clear Bones was very comfortable now, tail sweeping up dust as it slid back and forth on the ground. He carefully began to pull some rat bones over, using his paws or teeth, carefully placing them down in front of him. He didn't use all of them, or the more defined shapes such as the skull, but he was careful with ever piece he took, often licking spare drops of blood before setting them down.

He allowed Booker to watch, though still moved out the way when he was finished. It didn't take him too long either, only a few minutes. The thing he created seemed to be some sort of stick figure with small, round ears, four legs and a tail with finger-bones on the end of it. Somewhat morbid, but the pup seemed proud of himself regardless.




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Make things... like I make mushrooms? Booker stopped the thought before it escaped his mouth, sitting back on his rump and watching Bones, silenced by the dog's clear confidence. In his travels, he'd come across many friends, but most seemed to soften their words and ideas around him. It was kind of nice to be spoken to like an adult. Tail wagging a bit, the numbat looked on as this "art" was made. Bones rattled on the floor as they were dragged in place, and Book's ears twitched in time with the noises, eyes widening when he saw that they were taking shape.

When Bones seemed to be done, standing off to the side with pride clear in his body language, Booker snuck a bit closer, letting out a soft "woah!" at the sight of the art up close. It looked like Bones himself, and Booker turned his head this way and that, rounding the piece carefully to view it from all angles. Satisfied when he came to a full circle, the numbat nodded to himself, looking up at Bones and grinning. "I didn't know you could make art," he offered, eyes shining at this new discovery. "Do ya do it a lot? Who taught you? Or maybe you learned yourself... that's so cool!"

The words came at the fast and frenetic pace those of a child often did, and Booker seemed to vibrate in place, chittering with excitement. After all, it wasn't every day that he found someone who could make things like he could! Maybe... wondering to himself, he posed another question, this softer and more hesitant than the previous barrage. "Can you make art outta mush-rooms, or does it hafta be bones?" He didn't fancy himself a hunter by any means, and Polaris wasn't exactly overflowing with discarded bones, but if he could create with them... well, everything could be procured somehow.

"I learned myself," said Bones. He seemed to swell with pride. "You can use anything. I use bones and blood."

He smiled, though it looked silly with a canine's mouth, lowering himself back down onto his chest so he could be as close to being eye-to-eye with Booker as physically possible. "I guess you're an artist too then, right? Mom can make mushrooms, too," he said. He wasn't particularly patronizing - not at all. He seemed oddly respectful, as if Booker were as great as Picasso.



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Booker clapped in delight at Bones' words, grinning. After all, if he could use anything, he could make art out of spores, mushrooms, even the moss he'd collected in his many hideyholes! The numbat twitched a bit when his friend dropped down to peer at him, but he appreciated the gesture - after all, he was quite used to craning his neck up uncomfortably to look at most of his friends, due to his small size. Or perhaps everyone was just unusually large?

He shook the thought away, puffing up with pride at the notion of he, himself, being an artist. Booker had never thought of what he did as art, just as connecting with his friends, but the fungi were all very pretty, in his humble opinion - especially the most dangerous ones. Maybe that was part of art, too? At the mention of Bones' mom, the numbat chirped curiously. "Your mom can make mush-rooms?!" The exclamation was high-pitched and squeaky, but it didn't seem to halt Booker's enthusiasm. "I've never met any-one else who could make mush-rooms!"

Bones nodded against the ground. "You should meet my mom," suggested the pup. "Mom's the best. She has a garden."

He remained where he was in wide-eyed excitement, tail thumping against the ground as he waited for Booker's thoughts on this idea. He still kept as low as he could go to look at his new-found friend.

He wasn't worried. Giggle would restrain from assuming the numbat is food, right?



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"A garden?" The words were squeaked out, high-pitched and soft with excitement. "With mush-rooms and everything?" If Booker could have stars in his eyes, he would, staring at Bones like the pup had told him the secrets of the universe. "Your mom sounds awesome!" Grinning, he bounced in place, all the enthusiasm of a child at play.

"What's she like? Is she nice? Is she big like you?" The questions were fast-paced and thrown out in quick succession, and Booker blushed after the torrent, washing his whiskers anxiously. After all, though Bones' mom sounded awesome - after all, he'd never met anyone else who could connect with fungi as he could - if she was as big as his friend, she could easily snap him up in one bite. The thought was one that was on frequent repeat in a prey animal like the numbat, and he tried to shake it off, focusing on his friend's wagging tail with a chirrup.

The pup nodded. "She's a little bigger than me, but she's older. She can tell your fortune for you, too," said Bones. "When I go home I'll come back for you so you can meet her, okay?"

"She's pretty nice but she smells bad," added the dog, tail still thumping off the ground nontheless. He seemed to think, for a moment - perhaps having the same concerns as Booker. "She won't eat you if you talk."

The dog licked his paws and nodded, content with his answers.



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Booker nodded, grinning, practically vibrating with excitement. "She can tell your for-tune?" A brief puzzled look, and a twitch of his whiskers. "What's a fortune?" The little numbat peered up at Bones, a bit offput by the dog's last words. She won't eat you if you talk. "I'll uh... talk, then," he murmured, smile just a touch uncertain.

"I can't smell well, anyway," he said, brightening a bit, trying to focus on the less frightening of the two warnings. Booker couldn't exactly complain about the smell of, well, anything, when his coat was so musty and spore-filled it was practically a fungal incubator. Either way, the possible danger of being snacked on wasn't enough to put off his need to meet another Gembound who could connect to the mushrooms, and he perked up, raring to go.

"It'll be fun," he promised with a nod and a grin. "Uh... where do you live, anyhow?"

@Bones