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Rocks were more uncomfortable than metal bars, but the dirt was worse somehow. Softer yes, but he despised the way it got everywhere and clung to him long after he'd left the ground. So Dizzy had gotten creative and built a mat out of the branches of a young springy tree, clad in hundreds of soft leaves, and bedded down on top of it, head cushioned by one wing, because he'd long gotten used to using them as pillows, and using the other as a blanket.

This, he decided that morning, had not been his best plan. Sure he was now free of the dirt that so loved to dust his feathers and skin, but somehow he'd managed to break off dozens of little twigs and leaves into the thick of his feathers. He made a plaintive whining noise at the injustice of it all, freedom was supposed to be [i]more[/i] comfortable, not less! With a sigh he flopped over onto his ass, proceeding to arch his back and stretch arm and wing over his head and delivering an unreasonably loud series of pops into the quiet cave as his joints cracked. He narrowed his eyes as he turned his wings over, inspecting the twigs that pulled his feathers just the right way to itch and tickle where they weren't wanted.

With another shallow sigh he started picking through them, carefully untangling the torn leaves and bits of fragile wood as he blankly surveyed the rest of the cave. He spied only one other awake, and blinked blearily at them for a moment, fingers mindlessly combing feathers all the while. Finally he yawned and managed to focus and wake up enough to register Flick keeping watch over them. Something eased in his chest at the sight, something he refused to name but nagged at him all the same. 

"Mmmmmm~," he hummed, with despondent emphasis. "Nature sucks." He delivered flatly, making his way to his feet and skirting the cave to slip past Flick beyond the mouth of the cave and into the dawning sunrise, lingering at the entrance and easily within reach of the elder boy. He gave a low cooing-hiss at the sight of the light, sounding more serpentine than at all like a bird, and he did not so much place the sunglasses over his eyes as simply jab himself in the face with them at record speed, somehow managing to rip them from their place on the neck of his shirt and both set them on his nose and not poke his eyes out.

"Next time I'm taking night watch." He says, voice still thick with sleep despite his lightning reaction to shield his eyes from the sun, and then he immediately forgot his decree moments after it left his mouth. "I'm starved, did you stab anything tasty in the night Flick?" He questioned, making a vage jabbing gesture and turning just a bit too sharply to face him, nearly slipping on a dew-covered mossy rock. He splayed his hands out to steady himself before he could fall fully, and in the process roughly ripped out a twig he'd been slowly working out of carefully grasped wing.

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