My unicorn got run over by a tractor

Duke woke up . . . feeling perfectly fine, actually. Or as perfectly fine as he ever did. Perhaps his body had built up an immunity to the pollen after all these years. Perhaps he'd eaten some particularly quirky yogurt as a depression snack the day before. Perhaps -- and this was the unlikeliest of all if you asked him -- whatever was in charge of the island's whims and quirks was just giving him a damned break this time.

Whatever it was, he was not feeling any extra-strong urges today. He was, however, bemusedly watching a pair of porgs chase each other around the deck while he drank his first coffee of the day, and wondering if it was a sign that spring had finally sprung.

". . . Aww, c'mon, guys," he said, as one porg finally caught the other. "Get a room. I know you have access to several belowdecks."

He didn't even have a salad for them to be in front of! Come on, now.

[open! I'm trying a whole "30 minutes working, 5 minutes walking" thing after listening to NPR yesterday and it's maybe actually doing a good thing for my brain!]

Duke had not looked so happy to be trekking into the woods in -- yeah, basically ever. He wasn't anti-woods by any means on a regular day, but the fact that he was heading into said woods, camping gear on his back, with a woman he loved really really liked and every intention of hanging out and doing all sorts of fun, sexy activities through at least tomorrow afternoon was definitely making this his favorite trip into the wilderness ever.

(That wasn't really a high bar. But still.)

If he was humming a sexy little tune as they walked, well. Could you blame him?

[for the snogon, and all of the "tent" puns we can think of!]