Electricity seemed to crackle through the air as Amit'zeru half-galloped, half-slipped through the long grass and streaking mud that saturated the meadow around him. Since he had woken that morning, there had been a relentless downpour that threatened to continued all day. It left one in a very melancholy mood. But the 'gryph was a stubborn one, and the itch to stretch had driven him from the dry comfort of his little makeshift den.
The drops had began as a small annoyance, one he didn't mind very much, save for the chill as they ran down his face and into his eyes. Snorting, the stallion threw back his head to rid himself of the chill. Of course, the relief was not to last, for soon his feathers began to feel the weighing down of wetness that would mean he would be grounded until they dried.
Snorting, the stallion had began a lazy gallop among the trees, trying to deter the acidic mood from being wet, and his lovely feathers being bedraggled and not at all looking freshly preened.
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