Whitebark Stream fazbear pizza

Too tired. Too tired to move, or think, or even see. He squinted out towards the water and concluded the attempt to focus with an exhausted huff of air. Bee hadn’t found much of a den for himself to wait out the day; a rotting log that had been pushed just off the bank of the creek. Damp surroundings with the prickle of sharp pebbles under his chin as he shifted, only slightly, to bring his head onto the cushion of his large paws.

Eventually, he reminded himself, he would have to move. Whether it was to take a piss or answer the nagging churning of his stomach, which at least had quieted down somewhat after snacking on voles for most of the morning. But even that had been a lot of work with very little pay off and the bachelor lumped further at the thought, his vision drooping as if he’d been sapped of all vigor.

With no where to go, and nothing to see he figure he could take his time until he’d be stirred into choosing his next move; whatever that might be. He was no fortune teller, for the moment he was content to suck up the white noise of the stream, a dark cloud above threatening to ruin his morning.