"Yeah, me either." He was never a gardener, and he didn't know a healthy tree from one about to die other than the obvious signs. Despite that, he'd read somewhere hungry animals became bold, either choosing to be aggressive or venturing out of their usual territory. Maybe it didn't matter, the squirrel looked happy.

Noctis knew even less about clothing. He wore it, he chose his own, but he'd never put any thought behind the process itself. His dark eyes study the drawings for a few seconds, idle thoughts going through his head.

"It's still called writer's block if it's an artist?" He's amused by the squirrel, more than with the clothes. "Do you make them? Clothes for animals?"