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How long had it been since Pierce arrived here- a week? Two? He honestly had no idea, but he figured it was time to finally get out of his den- he'd been spending far too much time in there, and honestly, it just made time crawl by slower; he might as well start doing, like normal stuff. So, rather than staying holed up in his (rather nice, if he did say so himself) home, Pierce dragged his art supplies out of his little yellow decorated den, nestling down somewhere with a few sheets of thick watercolor paper, some pencils, and, of course, some brushes and a watercolor palette. He wasn't gonna lie, he missed the spring, but that was okay. He liked cold weather, too- or, at least, he was used to it. Despite that, he was decorating the little page before him with bright flowers, a vast array of colors - yellow, pink, orange, red, pretty much anything imaginable -, and they framed a few lines of writing. Recently, the freckled tom had taken up poetry, perhaps as another way to vent his emotions? After all, he hadn't been able to bring all of his paints with him - he'd just have to get more later, but for now, he had to use them sparingly. Whatever was on this paper was probably a gushy love poem, or something really, really sad - with him, there was almost no in-between, or, on some days, the topics would even intersect. Humming a soft tune to himself, Pierce flicked a few strokes of yellow onto the page, watching with a vague smile on his lips as the paper soaked up the water, taking the color. He was off on the edge of camp, but he wasn't exactly hidden from his clanmates, his large, sandy form a bit difficult not to spot. [color=#F5CA72]"speech"
