Sex: MaleNovember 26th; Early Afternoon; Overcast Clouds; 8.6 ° F, -13 ° C.
Scritch, scritch, scritch. Scratch, scratch, scratch... Mouse had had it. So far, his trek into unfamiliar territory had been nothing but smooth sailing. Now, this had happened. Weeks upon weeks of itching had only begun to cease. His mottled coat was more unkempt than ever, and there were a few places where his thick winter coat was apparently thinner.
With the weather being much colder these days as the seasons turned, Mouse could only be thankful (he had seen a few frozen salamanders before, at his home in the Swamp, and had assumed that the frost killed the little black things that had sometimes fallen from his coat). He wandered back to the ice-covered lagoon, hoping to give himself a proper bath - and perhaps get rid of his itchiness once and for all. At first, he simply eyed the frozen weir, then, with two stocky front paws, he stepped onto the glassy surface and gave it a fox-like stomp. It didn't give way. Hmm.
A few more careful steps brought all four of his paws onto the ice and, again, he gave another stomp. Using his lower back muscles and recoiling his front limbs before straightening them again, he slammed his paws onto the hard surface. Nothing. Either he wasn't out far enough to break the thick, solid surface or, frankly, he didn't weigh enough to crack the ice. He pouted and gave a frustrated huff. If he had his siblings with him, this wouldn't be such a problem, but Mouse was alone and, unfortunately, still a bit itchy.