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In the mud and the muck, the high-standing water of a swamp filled with rain, lapping at the roots of trees that a week ago stood far from the shore, was a ripple of movement and the faint glitter of gold eyes against the brown and green. Nettle was particularly suited for the mud, for the swamp; one slow slide down to his nose and he all but disappeared, camouflaged into the muck. His horns might have been just reeds amidst many, his long ears dripping with water and dirt.

He rather liked an element of surprise.

Perhaps he'd reached the decision that Burning Bright was Up To No Good, still young enough to be 'one of them youngsters' and not yet 'one of us', the crotchety oldsters who watched the running and jumping and gleeful excitement of young colts with a critical and disapproving eye, just because laughter shouldn't be that loud and 'in my day...'. As such, he was suspect. He was trouble. And that whistling? Piercing.

Nettle could have greeted the silver buck as he came around the bend, could have leaned up immediately to greet him -- but that just wasn't in his nature. Instead, he stayed curled down, watching through narrowed eyes until Burning Bright was just on the edge of the water, and then straightened his head in a twitch and a rush. "I say, then, where are you skulking off too?"

He was still coated in mud; it ran down his neck, clotted the fur at his chin and throat, left him looking much like a swamp monster. The annoyed flash in his eye didn't help.

Friend? Really? Friend? The still-dripping kimeti gave Burning Bright a long and hard sort of look, sliding toward expectant, like he was waiting for the younger buck to take that back. Friend indeed! They'd never met before, and Nettle's friends were few and far between. He was certain he would have recognized a friend...

But when Burning Bright plowed forth with his good-natured questions, he eased up just a little. It had been a malicious mistake then, probably. Just silly. Young. Something to be trained away, not shouted away.

Nettle shook his head once, violently, and through specks of dirt and mud the white of his beard and the white at his throat shone through. He trudged into slightly shallower water, shaking out his spine as well. "It's natural, boy. We're born from the muck, I say. Slimy and damp."

Another step up, clomping mud from his legs as he came more toward solid ground. "And it's where much of the food comes from too. If you look."

"You're lazy, is what you are." It was brusque, sudden, and unapologetic: the way Nettle saw it, this was simply fact. The buck didn't want to go looking for his food, he just wanted it to fall into his grasp, and if that wasn't a measure of laziness...

Come to think of it, Burning Bright seemed a bit vain, too. The flick of Nettle's tail -- hard enough to send muck flying from the tip and splattering across the poor stranger's silver flank -- might have been mere annoyance, thoughtless twitching. It might also have been a deliberate move, to see if it produced any complaints, big eyes, or pouts.

Any of which, he could mock mercilessly.

"How did you get past colt without hunting down your own food." Said with a sniff, even as he eased into motion. This was, after all, Nettle's area of the swamp, and he did know where to find a patch of very ripe cranberries.

Burning Bright's warning was met with another annoyed swish of tail, this time the mud splattering in the opposite direction -- off toward the pond and the muck. Oh, sure, he could kick up a mess with the best of them, but Nettle was already filthy and wondering at where he could find a clearer, cleaner patch of water to rinse himself off some.

Not that it mattered, said the droopy pessimist that occupied nine tenths of the old kimeti's mind, since he'd only get dirty again. Might as well cave in and just coat himself nose to tail...

"What's your name?" It was suitably crotchety, annoyed by the prancing and the obvious flaunting of Burning Bright's height. Vain indeed. "And still your dancing feet, you're not a colt anymore."

Nettle shot him a sidelong look and snorted -- a puffing snort, between disgusted and disbelieving. His expression was knowing, and condescending, and definitely not impressed. Maybe Burning Bright was a colt. Just a cold in a buck's body. And maybe he'd live his life stuck like that, without ever really understanding the world around him. He might have thought Nettle lived a sad life, but two could play at that game.

"Why are you following me?" This was not the expected offering of his name, something which would have been only fair. Nettle hung onto that, for the moment, his head tipped and his eyes narrowed to watch Burning Bright.

"Why?" Burning Bright's words were elegant, carefully chosen, cheerful; Nettle countered with a too-sharp edge, annoyed, his mouth pursed like he'd just sunk his teeth into something bitter. If he'd been going for food before, he certainly wasn't now; damned if he'd help the lazy youngster out. Instead he picked up the pace, remembering a particularly clear and deep pond at the edges of a cat tail patch to the west.

It'd take them a bit to get there. Maybe Nettle could drive Burning Bright off in the time he had, and be able to bathe in peace.

"Do you think you are worth knowing?" It should have been a simple enough question, probably, but something about Nettle's tone was affronted. No matter what Burning Bright said here, he was probably screwed. If he said 'yes', then he'd be branded somewhat permanently with the subtitle 'vain' in Nettle's mind [even if the older kimeti did have to admit, in a grudging sort of way, that the buck was pretty]; if he said 'no', then he could be shrugged off. Why associate with someone useless?