Emberwood twenty four hour ice

[size=x-small]The dawn cast a rose-colored shine upon all that it touched, from grass shoots to tree trunks, to the flamboyantly colored leaves which had started to sprout all across the Emberwood. It was idyllic. Up until the latest crepuscular resident came to his senses — in which case things became far less idyllic; the trees sort of just spat him out from their flaming loins and his perfectly sculpted body tumbled to the ground below, where it smacked the earth like a wad of hundred-dollar-bills thrown at a — uh. Beautiful, smart, wonderful lady.

The collision knocked more than just the sense out of him, and soon enough the epitome of perfection was coughing and screeching like some kind of newborn babe hungry for his first cigarette. "Woah there you assbutt tree! Who do y'think you're messin' with, bro?!" Obviously whatever god-scale power had urged him to the ground (because Ciqala had been firmly rooted and nothing could sway his swaggalicious self out of his nappy place) thought it could have its way with him no homo. Well that wasn't the case!

"What the fluck -" He shouted with his pipsqueak voice, itty-bitty eyes set staring up along the nearest trunk. Somehow, he got louder in the passing moments. "Hey lil' mama, I know you're up there - its coo', we'll bang later. I gotta run anyway!" There was nobody else in the tree, but Ciqala wasn't about to be called a total dweeb by anyone - not the birds, the bees, or anything else that may have lived in this totally bogus thicket.[/size]

Twitch had been curled up in a ball beneath the snow at the base of the offending tree, snoring softly with complete contentment: his belly was full and he was warm and comfortable. The moment could not have gotten any better for the weasel, but it was about to get a whole lot worse when Twitch was suddenly, rudely jarred awake by a loud commotion and raucous shouting. As if someone had lit his tail on fire the grumpy weasel rocketed out of the snow and shot partways up the tree trunk, his beady eyes darting to and fro, looking for the culprit, coming to rest on the fox with a heated glare.

"YOU!" the weasel hissed, fuming noticeably as his nose and mouth twitched and wrinkled. "I. Was. SLEEPING!!" With reckless defiance he leaped down from the tree, bunching up in the manner of an inchworm before springing at the fox's muzzle with his fierce little teeth bared and seeking flesh.

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Thinking he had shouted away all of his embarrassment (and most of the birds, so breakfast was not an option at this point), Ciqala was ready to turn tail and strut on through to the other side. Of.. the trees. Or something. (Its too early to be clever). He bowed his head and began snuffling through the underbrush, hoping to score some sort of meal, when a voice shrieked from a neighboring elm; it squeaked and squawked, but caught his attention in the worst kind of way. Only one thing made such terribly inarticulate noises (aside from himself) - rodent.

The next thing he knew, a fluffy white sock beast was flinging itself face-first towards him (way to face-check the bushes, noob). Ciqala was not nimble enough to side-step the assault, but his dang sexy face didn't get too damaged. A scratch or two from long black claws, and that was that. He sneered at the possessed stocking, wondering where its partner had wandered off to.

"YO. DATS RUDE, BITCH!" Ciqala bellowed (more like crackled, his voice doing the thing that 14 year-old 'almost men' do) and launched himself towards the ferret thing. He aimed his tiny paws straight at the critter's tiny face, hoping to bitch slap the bejeezus out of him. Time for breakfast!
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Twitch was not looking to seriously maim the haphazard fox, he just wanted to give him a stinging warning, which he accomplished when his sharp claws left a couple marks on the canine's muzzle. As the fox bellowed at him Twitch answered by sticking his tongue out comically and blowing a loud raspberry, decidedly unthreatened by the presence of the medium sized carnivore. In truth, the brazen weasel was hardly ever threatened. His species had many deterrents to would-be predators - impressive speed, bold aggressiveness and backup (literally) scent glands. Indeed, this hunter was seldom ever hunted and never consistently so.

As tiny red paws flailed out at him, Twitch nimbly dodged aside with an insulting cackle. He bounded toward the fox's rear, finding its bottlebrush tail swaying, and grabbed a hold of it as he leaped into the air. His fangs made no move to bite, his claws did not dig in. The fox may be looking for breakfast (he had better look elsewhere) but at this point Twitch's irritation was forgotten and the playful weasel was simply making a game of the fiery canine.