It was safe to say Beck didn't fully understand the joy of arts and crafts. The only hobbies he ever was allowed to indulge were purely survival-based; learning how to tie a snare and to set a trap, how to sew tatters in clothing, how to skin the poor critter he managed to catch, and how to pickpocket off unsuspecting passerby. Did any of those actually count as talents though? He supposed he didn't have a talent like ladies' knitting, a disappointing realization. Well, being able to play an instrument semi-decently without causing ears to bleed was a talent, but missing half of his cheek scratched that off his list.

If Nayru's belief of jealousy corrupting "pure hearts" was true, then Beck's pulseless heart was long shrivelled and warped by envy. It was easy to yearn for privileges and luxuries he never had the chance to have, after all. The most meaningless of things were enough to make his chest tighten and thoughts selfishly fixate on one small detail. A scarless body, a tightknit pack of friends, a good night's sleep, a steady pulse. And, unfortunately, today's scapegoat for all his flaws was the idly-knitting Amunet. Glowering eyes stared from afar as he fiddled with a branch for a reason he forgot, distracted by her talons and the bundles of wool weaved through them. Her airy laughter earned a sharp crack of wood as frigid paws snapped the twig in two with little effort. Beck glanced downwards at his own handiwork after a moment, disfigured snout twitching in surprise at the splintered halves in his claws. Tossing the broken branch aside and staggering up just as Nayru arrived at Amunet's side, the wiry feline did his best to mask a scowl as he sulked over. "With wool, duh," answered the familiar rasp as Beck hovered over Amunet's shoulder, or at least made an attempt to. Another envied trait was the ability to tower over runts like him and to not have to crane his neck to meet most of his peers' gazes. Swiping a grey-blue tongue over teeth, Beck settled into a pout, slouching back just in Amunet's peripheral vision and watching anything but her for signs of danger. His vigilent glare scanned over the finished scarf once or twice, earning a punctured huff from him in bewilderment. They must have been numb to the shifting temperatures, as even his freezing apparition was beginning to acknowledge the dreaded heat of summer creeping in. Why anyone would chose now to knit a wool scarf was beyond him.