It's cool here. It's always cool over here by the big old metal tube in the forest, though. That's partly why it's nice. Overhead, through a large gap in the fresh canopy, stars twinkle and shine. The other reason it's nice is that it's safe. A dense wall of shrubs and trees makes entry for anything that doesn't know the way difficult if you don't like briars and thistles and ticks in your fur. Humans have been here before, and that's the third reason it's nice. All sorts of cool human stuff litters this little clearing. One of those plastic things that goes bright when you hit it just right, a blanket with not too many holes in it, metal cans that are fun to bat around sometimes, a bucket that makes your voice sound funny if you yell into it a whole bunch of other neat stuff. But that's not all.
Two brown furry feet bounce happily in a cluster of clovers as Bearigold hunches over a mutilated cardboard box. Inside, four dozen individually sealed packages of pudding are nestled, just waiting to be snacked upon. Bearigold doesn't know that this stuff is pudding. In her head she's trying to decide what she should name it. It's sort of like honey? But browner. So, bruney? Nice.
She swipes her one good paw into a pudding cup, breaking the seal and scooping out its entire contents before licking the sugary sweet goop from her nubby clawed fingers. She sits back, heavily, on a massive old fallen log and enjoys her pudding cup. Ah, this is the life.
MEMORY: Snacktime
[CRITERIA: 12 replies]
It's cool here. It's always cool over here by the big old metal tube in the forest, though. That's partly why it's nice. Overhead, through a large gap in the fresh canopy, stars twinkle and shine. The other reason it's nice is that it's safe. A dense wall of shrubs and trees makes entry for anything that doesn't know the way difficult if you don't like briars and thistles and ticks in your fur. Humans have been here before, and that's the third reason it's nice. All sorts of cool human stuff litters this little clearing. One of those plastic things that goes bright when you hit it just right, a blanket with not too many holes in it, metal cans that are fun to bat around sometimes, a bucket that makes your voice sound funny if you yell into it a whole bunch of other neat stuff. But that's not all.
Two brown furry feet bounce happily in a cluster of clovers as Bearigold hunches over a mutilated cardboard box. Inside, four dozen individually sealed packages of pudding are nestled, just waiting to be snacked upon. Bearigold doesn't know that this stuff is pudding. In her head she's trying to decide what she should name it. It's sort of like honey? But browner. So, bruney? Nice.
She swipes her one good paw into a pudding cup, breaking the seal and scooping out its entire contents before licking the sugary sweet goop from her nubby clawed fingers. She sits back, heavily, on a massive old fallen log and enjoys her pudding cup. Ah, this is the life.
Here, Bearigold freezes, mid-snack.