When he awoke, his mate Onga was less than a hand away from his face, smiling her most dazzling smile.
Somewhere, out in the forest, birds were chirping; bright light streamed through the canopy, illuminating the mossy forest floor with dappled patterns. Steam rose from the stream nearby.
“It’s morning!” Onga sang.
“Unh.” Thag said.
“Time to get ups sleepy-head!” Onga chirped.
“Mwarghh,” Thag mumbled, and buried his face in his sleeping furs.
“Let’s get this day going,” Onga burbled, her voice dripping with joy and happiness.
“Let me sleep woman,” Thag mumbled. “Had late watch last night.”
“Doesn’t matter, it’s time to get up and go hunt something.”
“Ahhhhh,” Thag groaned. It didn’t help that she was right. If he didn’t get up with the morning sun, he would feel off all day. But did she have to be so chipper about it?
“Grumpy,” Onga said as he sat up. She kissed him on his massive brow ridge, sashaying down towards the stream, where the shaman Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother was chatting with some other early risers.
Thag caught the meaningful glance between the shaman and Onga, and he groaned, pulling his covers over his head. Some mornings it just didn’t seem worth getting out of the furs.
The rhythm and blues of Monday. Moody humor bloggers here. Originally published in June, 2009.