mellow hearts, mellow minds [c]

His pelt was whiter than it should be. Today he had realized it served as camouflage just like the stripes on his face matched the ferns he was named after. Fernsnow, his mother had once said as an example of the names a leader might choose. But leaf-bare wasn’t permanent, nor was the snow that came with it. Eventually his markings would easily give him away.

Fernpaw entered camp alongside a border patrol and quickly shook off the snow gathering on his fur. He separated from his patrol mates, carrying a small mouse he had found hiding under tree roots, and padded toward the fresh-kill pile. Huh? He narrowed his eyes at the kitten dragging prey around. She moved them into a line, seemingly an order, but the purpose of it all Fernpaw couldn’t begin to fathom. The mouse dropped from his maw and a low voice asked the kitten, “What are you doing?”

The kitten didn't answer, instead snatching away the mouse by his paws. He opened his maw to protest, but what was there to be angry about? It was destined to go into the fresh-kill pile anyway- even if that pile was currently more of a mess. Fernpaw bit his tongue and flicked his ear instead. "Small..." she said. He watched, careful and curious, as she put the mouse along with the others. At least whatever this was, it wasn't chaos.

Finally, the she-kit faced him. Her green eyes –a much different shade than his own– seemed unaware and confused. "Sorting prey," she said. His ear flicked once more at the frustrating answer. Obviously you are sorting. The unspoken rule about the question, What are you doing? is that the receiver would deduce on their own what subject the asker lacked insight on. Fernpaw did not obey this inefficient rule only to be misunderstood! Why should this kitten not have to play along too? However, he refused to stay mad. She had answered exactly what he asked. Perhaps... she was also one who found value in precise wording.

Fernpaw calmed himself before crouching down to the kitten's level. If he ever wanted to know what her sorting methods were meant to accomplish, he couldn't continue asking her questions with thinly veiled annoyance. He took a deep breath and began again, "I'm sorry, I misspoke. I meant, why are you sorting it that way?"

Fernpaw briefly froze solid as her nose bumped his, a much more affectionate show of gratitude than he would ever anticipate. Wide green eyes eventually blinked awake and focused on the kitten as she finally explained her habits.

"Rabbit, bird, mice, toad. Big to small, dull to colorful." Fernpaw peered at the row she gestured towards, narrowing his eyes. "Okay...?" She said, "Now you can see the variety of selection available, and find your meal more easily." The tom understood, and nodded as she continued explaining her logic. By sorting the prey, not only was no piece obscured, but one could also find their craving with just a glance. Efficient and tidy, but... perhaps it was a solution to a non-problem. Fernpaw liked finding ways to make a system more efficient, no matter how slight, yet found that if the effort put in to fix or maintain the problem is more than the reward gained, then it is rather unnecessary.

And so he wondered, "Will you return to sort this as it becomes unorganized again? When warriors bring in fresh-kill they might not care to place their catch in the correct pile, especially when they're busy. What if someone disagrees with your order and rearranges it? Will you return to fix it? What if you're busy too?" Fernpaw did not intend to be mean, ruinous, or difficult. But as the questions spawned in his head there was no stopping his maw.