Will rolled around in the pale white sands, scratching the overpowering itch on his back. He accidentally placed his nose firmly into the sand, and it stuck to the odd array of thick brown hair on his muzzle-- a moustache, as someone once told him it was called.
He got up onto his feet and plodded towards the lake, taking a quick drink and gazing at the tiny fish in the water. They were so care-free... why couldn't he be like that? Just swimming around, without a care in the world, with a hundred of his best friends?
He shook the thought out of his head. He didn't have as many friends as he thought he might have. In the handful of Soquili he'd met, he could only consider two or three of them his friends.
Maybe he could change that...?
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