"That's what I heard." He approaches the half finished weir, with his usual slinking, cautious walk, but relaxes when he reached the shore. "We did this once with the streams when it was dry." The Basin had been full of them, shallow brackish things that died away in the heat. Damming them up was an easy way of ensuring the clan had drinking water and could stay put.

He doesn't mention that he had no part in building it. Nobody needs to know that. He's eyeing the weir now, looking at the gaps and thinking that a pebble here, a pebble there would do the trick... but nobody here even knows that his kind have the ability to manipulate rock, let alone his... ineptitude in that department.

The water looks cold, though. His ears lower as he gazes into it, his shimmering reflection looking back up at him. But he's never going to be one to pass up a chance to be useful. Maybe that's what the Tree brought him here for.

"I think I can help patch this up," he says.