His time in the outdoors had been restricted by a much-too-frightening bit of rule-crafting Madeline, who was often snapping that it 'was too snowy out there' and that 'catching a cold was most definitely against the rules'. But now, with the passing of the winter, the female had - reluctantly - permitted his escape into the refreshing air. Yet much to the lop's dismay, the grass that he so often loved and adored was goldenrod with death. He stepped on the spongy turf with a particular air of intrigue, wondering innocently when it was going to be emerald and dew-daubed again.A moment of silence and stare, and he wondered if there was any soft and likable dirt around this area. And with a step and a hop, he was suddenly on a search for such a thing. Preferably with few worms, bearing in mind their nastiness's ability to make him nauseous, on most occasions.
