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While it was true that rain tended to startle Snack (could often irritate him as his senses went on red alert with nothing to tear up), storms didn't put any knots in the otter's fur. As long as he wasn't stuck in the ferocious downpour--then he tended be a snarling grouchy beast of a male. Thankfully, he was nestled safely in his den with his friends--or friend and a half.

The warmth of their pile, mostly Toothless, reminded the feral of the vague memories of being inside his clam and of curling up with his siblings. Although more often than not they seemed to end up chewing on each other. It was probably a good thing he wasn't near any ears, he had a knack of finding them in his sleep and drool usually wasn't an appreciated wake-up call.

Then again, neither was the end of a tail smacking against one's cheek. And that was what Snack found himself waking to, as Willow had moved about quite a bit and now seemed to be swimming in her sleep. The little mini was humming, front paws folded forward as if clutching a wily fish to her chest and back legs sprawled out while her tail steered her through the dream pond.

Snack's paw came down on the mini's tail, expecting her to bolt upright. She merely smiled and he wondered if she was drowning in her dream--if she was, she didn't seem upset about it. What a strange little thing.

"S'everywakenow?" he mumbled as he yawned, all the words smashing together into one new one.

As Toothless began to move, it occurred to Snack they might have to find a bigger den--he wasn't exactly sure when the demonic and mini had "moved in" but this small burrow was hardly fit for an otter the size of the dragon otter. He was even of the mind to suggest finding a new one when the snort shattered his thoughts.

It seemed to rattle into the oblivious one's head, too, as she popped up and peeked over the feral. She climbed onto his back and peered curiously at the large black otter, then climbed onto him and began to investigate. She was on her way to his head when Snack stood up and she stopped, looking at the feral.

"Go get morning food," he explained. Though it was more due to the fact he was feeling cornered which usually meant a fight and he really didn't want to hurt Willow or get hurt by Toothless. While he usually was relaxed, little things--often ones he couldn't control or easily escape--had the potential to turn him into a high-strung half-crazed survivalist.

Willow grinned happily at the idea of food, leaping off of Toothless, and crawling out to the den quickly. She walked forward in the after rain air, waltzing on her hind legs as she sniffed the air. It always smelled fishy to her after raining and it was a very good smell.

Snack scurried out after, somewhat afraid, that Toothless might cause the den to collapse on top of him. They definitely needed a new place to live. Once outside, he seemed to relax--all the tautness of his muscles melting away. He even smiled at the dancing mini, granted he half thought she would be delicious to eat, as he waited for Toothless to appear topside.

He turned his head to survey the area, letting various scents fill his nose as his yellow eyes glowed. What should they eat? He could smell rabbit and a deer near here, fish would be in the water nearby. He didn't think Willow would be pleased with deer, but Toothless might.

"What eat? Deer, rabbee, fish?" he queried.

As expected, the mini made an odd face at the mention of deer. Although not for any reason the feral had thought of. She simply thought deer had insides full of grass and why would anyone want to eat grass? Only veggie-eaters and hadn't they already established they weren't? Toothless hadn't liked the flowers he'd tried and Snack hadn't even wanted to try them. So why would they want to eat a deer full of grass?

She gave her head a good shake, "Fishies!" she voted. She took in a large sniff in the fishy air. It would be a shame to eat anything but fish on such a fishy smelling day.

"Feesh then," Snack conceded. He saw a lot more fish in his future. And alot of snacks by himself of other non-fishy things. At least it was food, he thought as picked Willow up by the scruff of her neck. She was small and lagged and liked to wind about the two larger otters feet--and he really didn't want to be tripped.

Surprised--that was putting it mildly. Snack was so caught off-guard that his mouth dropped open and Willow fell to the ground. He sputtered (rather stupidly) trying to find the words to explain the great crime--he couldn't even remember if his mother had ever taken him by the scruff of his neck. Eh, probably not, unless she was trying to eat him (which was entirely possible).

"Not pup! You no carry me!" he growled as he pouted suddenly feeling very small compared to the demonic. After a moment of thinking about stalking off, he nudged the wide-eyed Willow towards Toothless. If he wanted to carry something, he could carry her--whatever her name was.

"Carry her if want, not me," he huffed and then turned so he could get some fish. His tail seemed to shiver in agitation and yet his impatience only let him get so far before he looked to see if they were coming.

Willow had perched herself at Toothless's feet, back towards him and her head craned to stare up at him with a grin. Unlike Snack, she liked being carried. It was fun and she felt so tall and--ooh that was a pretty cloud. It looked like a spear or those funny plants she saw by ponds. A mat, no...a zat, uh-uh--a battail! ...did bats have tails?

She furrowed her brows. "Doofus, do bats have tails?" she asked. Hmm, maybe she should ask Mack. Doofus didn't talk much.

Willow easily allowed herself to be scooped up by the dragon-like demonic, waiting a brief second before she scrambled onto his head and slid down to situate herself on his back. She hummed to herself, oblivious of Snack's annoyance and Toothless's confusion and to the fact no one had answered her question or even seemed to have heard it, curling her tail so that she could look at the black fur. She gave a frown--she didn't remember playing in any black tar pits. She'd have to get a good scrubbing later, oh yes, prompting forgetting that her fur was naturally black and not dirty at all.

Agitated or not, Snack wasn't keen on being separated either. He waited down the path for them trying to squish the irrational feeling of being small out of his head. He was a feral. He was ferocious. He was not prey. He was not small. He huffed, he wasn't.

His stomach chose that moment to give a loud rumble of hungry and a smile stretched on his face. Fish. Fish were small, fish were prey. He'd eat the fish and feel better.