Metou hummed to himself as he walked along the path. He had a piece of cloth in his mouth, one of the many pieces he'd gathered over his time living here, and he was very pleased with himself. The cloth was clean (bonus!) and more importantly, very, very fluffy. He didn't know what it was exactly...(he had a horrible sneaking suspicion it was some kind of pelt) but it was fluffy. And fluffy was good. Scrambling up the rocks to his den, he carefully pinned the fluffy pelt to one of the (few) empty wall spaces in the den with one of the weirdly-shaped rocks he'd traded for. Most of the den was covered in material of all kinds - a warm, fluffy, soft den that kind of felt like others.
Usually he'd be pleased - but today Metou was a little melancholy. He wanted REAL hugs. Oh well, for now he'd have to imagine them... He lay down close to the entrance, white fur standing out starkly, marred only by his blue nose, as he chattered away to his imaginary companions.
