The dark rock he lay upon was wet. Why he had lain here he really didn't know. He supposed it was purely because his mother was encouraging her children to get out of her den, it wasn't that hard to want to leave, though his mothers den was large, due to her immense size, with nine adolescents and three adults in there it was becoming a squeeze. His mother, their mother was encouraging them to get out. Get out of course pretty much meant go away and don't come back until you have to. Unfortunately that meant that a percent of the time was spent in the rain. Nymphaea felt that rain was a character builder so getting wet was no big deal. So while he had weathered the brief storm huddled beneath an over hang his fur was damp and he had ultimately decided that chilling out on a rock and sunning his fur dry was a good idea.
The bad idea came when he lay down on this cold, wet rock. He could move, he knew that, he also knew he should move, but at this point, he honestly couldn't be bothered. No wonder his mother didn't expect anything of him, he couldn't even be bothered moving off a cold wet rock. What a distressing thought.
DavyJna
