Not that Yuffie’s never had a chocobo before, but raising them in captivity is a lot different than the open expanse of the wild. To purchase greens instead of to track them down on one’s own, or feed them portions of one’s own lunch after an exhausting trek down mountainside or river creek. It feels... unnatural, and yet, Cloud is such an expert.
It’s the only time she listens, in solitaire moments like these, untrimmed nails grazing against the bird’s neck in calming pattern, a slow nod to the blond’s words as the animal coos in return. It’s with a nuzzle against mako-shaded feathers that she sends it into stable, closes the wooden door behind her. And it warks, a disappointed reaction to her separation. Perhaps it’s silly, but she whines in response to it, giving little wave before turning back to tutor, little sighs escaping from chapped lips.