Nero was surrounded by luxuriant greenery that stretched out as far as his eyes could see. The sun's glimmers filtered through the viscous canopy overhead, dappling the ground with a golden glare. The air was frigid and refreshing, with a delicate breeze that bore the fragrance of earth and leaflets. And the rustling of the booklets and the chirping of the songbirds in the distance resonated through the groves. Each songbird's tweet was a precise chorale that added to the symphony of the woodland.
And as Nero paced through the forestland, his acute senses were on alert to every sound and odor around him. He had his cranium tilted in a courteous manner whilst his colorless lobes swiveled and positioned above. He scrutinized the biome with a keen eye, his figure like of a furtive leopard tiptoed through the coppices and fissures between groves, whiffing out the air with an alacritous inhale. He was observing the landscape for any indications of hazard, he was an eta, a warrior, and he needed to accomplish patrolling, once in a while, requested by Caesar, the lead head.
The rustling of leaflets under his enormous mitts reverberated throughout the overgrown bushland, as he moved through the undergrowth with a fluid grace that emitted years of experience. His bristling fur was well-groomed, the apricot-hue patterns on his coat melding seamlessly with the earthy tones of the grove.
His mind was concentrated solely on the task at hand. He took note of every grove, every chaparral, and every stone, imprinting them in his remembrance as he went. His thoughts were not idle, but rather a continuous stream of information assemblage and examination. Despite the solemn nature of his task, the brute seemed to be relishing the ambiance, his tassel flailing at his hindquarters and his tongue lolling out of his mandibles. His stirs were fluid and resolute, a testament to his expertise in the art of patrolling.
Spring Month: 1 
Night 
Flood Moon: 
