Light footfalls interrupt the curt and careful snick of blade to blade. Their orbits have been aligned these recent evenings, sharing meditative silences across the wide green space- he's noticed it, turned it over with the work of his thumb against the white beads on his wrist, and let it go as easy as a quiet breath.

Besides, if Clu was going to take those shears to him, he'd have done so already.

"I liked that one," Flynn observes, gently wry.

Does he care about the grass stains on his white robes? Nah. There's more to gather still, while he takes a knee on Clu's right, checking the soil of the little green fractal he brought by...was it a week ago? Already watered, the damp earth sticking to his fingertips.