Another day, another day of making paints. Bright looked down at the sheet of rock by the stream, looking at the grooves pitted into it, and the turtle shells that lay in those same depressions, held upright to contain meticulously-ground flowers and shells and berries. "These are going to be beautiful, aren't they, Myth?" he asked his companion, a crane who merely blinked and shifted her feathers as the black-striped buck leaned in excitedly to peer at his red and his blue and his bright, bright yellow. "Now to add the clay powder mixture... I hope I added enough of the powdered root nodes..."
He nosed the larger shell over to the other, and picked up the curved piece of bark to add a measure of the almost-perfectly-white substance to each of the turtle shells, and to the other one. Another shell sat nearby with water inside, and the buck carefully dragged it over with his mouth, humming to himself as he picked up the wooden ladle and put the first measure into the red pigment.
Immediately after, he stuffed his hoof in the mixture, and proceeded to start mixing the first of the large shells' worth of paint, set on making the first of it to chip off of and use for later projects.
