Post by cloud on Feb 7, 2010 17:51:49 GMT -6
Elmkit was having the most frightening dream...
He was sitting by himself chilling, when he saw a butterfly and began chasing it. It changed into different colours with every bat of its delicate wings, and it lead him into a sunny meadow where flowers of every shape, size and smell were blossoming and flourishing. Happily he trotted around, enjoying himself, when his fur snagged on a rose’s thorn. Delicately he unwound it (do it too fast and he’d get some dry, broken fur) , and then started walking away. But then he got stuck again, and he pulled away a bit more roughly. But he kept getting stuck until he was yanking his fur out by the pawfuls, but those sharp thorns kept raking against him. Finally he was free. Angrily, he stormed off, going to get a drink. He saw a clear, cool, fresh stream, and his spirits lightened a bit. But when he leaned in to get a sip, he saw his reflection and he was.... bald! He let out a scream, and fell into the cold water. Great! His fur would dry frizzy! But wait, he had no fur! He was a bald worm!
He was still screaming when his eyes shot open, and he saw he was in his own nest, in the warm nursery. But he... was still wet... Oh, great. He’d wet the nest. Again . These terrifying dreams of baldness always resulted the same way. But his soft, silky fur... It was still there. He gingerly stepped out of the nest, and sat down on some moss, yanking the tangles out of his fur and smoothing it into his regular shaggy do. It took a while, but soon he was finished, and his fur was as close to perfect as he could make it in the morning. He saw with displeasure it was later than he thought, the warm sun already up in the blue sky. He decided to get out in the camp, hoping to find some inspiration more a new style amongst the morning bedheads. He was hoping to work with his new extensions today – he found some nice clumps of fur last night in some nests.
He began strutting outside, careful to use his “model walk”, the one where he swung his little hips and tossed his hair around. Once he was in the middle of camp, he stopped and struck a little pose, tossing his head back and staring straight at the sun. Then he whipped his head around, feathery fur fluttering in the breeze. Then, just for good measure, he added, “Did it just get any hotter out here?” Always good to start the day with a little attention.
He was sitting by himself chilling, when he saw a butterfly and began chasing it. It changed into different colours with every bat of its delicate wings, and it lead him into a sunny meadow where flowers of every shape, size and smell were blossoming and flourishing. Happily he trotted around, enjoying himself, when his fur snagged on a rose’s thorn. Delicately he unwound it (do it too fast and he’d get some dry, broken fur) , and then started walking away. But then he got stuck again, and he pulled away a bit more roughly. But he kept getting stuck until he was yanking his fur out by the pawfuls, but those sharp thorns kept raking against him. Finally he was free. Angrily, he stormed off, going to get a drink. He saw a clear, cool, fresh stream, and his spirits lightened a bit. But when he leaned in to get a sip, he saw his reflection and he was.... bald! He let out a scream, and fell into the cold water. Great! His fur would dry frizzy! But wait, he had no fur! He was a bald worm!
He was still screaming when his eyes shot open, and he saw he was in his own nest, in the warm nursery. But he... was still wet... Oh, great. He’d wet the nest. Again . These terrifying dreams of baldness always resulted the same way. But his soft, silky fur... It was still there. He gingerly stepped out of the nest, and sat down on some moss, yanking the tangles out of his fur and smoothing it into his regular shaggy do. It took a while, but soon he was finished, and his fur was as close to perfect as he could make it in the morning. He saw with displeasure it was later than he thought, the warm sun already up in the blue sky. He decided to get out in the camp, hoping to find some inspiration more a new style amongst the morning bedheads. He was hoping to work with his new extensions today – he found some nice clumps of fur last night in some nests.
He began strutting outside, careful to use his “model walk”, the one where he swung his little hips and tossed his hair around. Once he was in the middle of camp, he stopped and struck a little pose, tossing his head back and staring straight at the sun. Then he whipped his head around, feathery fur fluttering in the breeze. Then, just for good measure, he added, “Did it just get any hotter out here?” Always good to start the day with a little attention.