It was the middle of the day, but the dark grey clouds that hovered overhead blotted out the sun and its corresponding rays. The surrounding savannah was not pitch black, like it would have been at night time, and everything still held color- but the imminent lack of sunshine muted everything so that it seemed grey.
Yahe rested on his back in the long, waving grass of the savannah and peered up at the cloudy sky with a sour expression on his chubby face. It was unusually cool without the heat of the sun to caress his dark head, and he dearly wished that the clouds would disappear. The wind, surprisingly (though, very thankfully) warm, whistled across the land at a steady, wracking pace. Yahe had never known it to be so strong.
Thunder crashed somewhere nearby and made Yahe jump, his fur standing on end and his ears pressing back against his head. He didn't have much patience or appreciation for storms.
Maybe he should go home.
