routine maintenance

All of the festival's physical demands were taking a toll on her already. Rags' paws and lower back were sore, and although she had kept up a good face in front of Torin and his children, she desperately needed a few moments to recuperate. Her unfortunate condition only worsened her usual muscle soreness; she had never experienced a heat that didn't make her life exceptionally difficult. And for what? No children yet, only seasons of discomfort and frustration.

Rags yawned and awkwardly play bowed, trying to stretch out the primary muscle groups that were protesting her sudden desire to push outside of their comfort zone. Perhaps some less strenuous but more regular physical activity would help, but it was far too late for that now. After she held the stretch for some time, Rags ambled down to the nearby beach. Just the swim here had been taxing enough; luckily, they were staying on the island for a while to enjoy the festivities.

She picked an empty expanse of sand and awkwardly laid down, then twisted back and forth until she was lying flat on her back. Her spine pressed flat against the cold sand, granting her a brief reprieve. The sky above was luminous, carpeted completely with stars. For a moment she imagined that she was a ghost who didn't have to worry about things like "how the hell am I going to get up now that I'm laying down?" Just a little ghost, all by her lonesome, taking in the view.