He loved to sleep on this soft, fresh and bright moss so hard. Burrow his uncolored nose in a tiny "forest" with soft trunks and breath, breath in this cold air. He loved it all so much, one day he woke with a paths of oxalises on his body.
They came from the forest, where his nose laid down.
They walked steadily, one at a time, climbing higher and higher.
They made a roundelay on a brown forehead around the scar that was here from the very beginning.
They gathered on the fluffy nape of the neck to bask in the wool.
Some of them desided to make a journey and see the world from other points.
Some fell asleep in ribs, lulled by the monotonous rolling of his breathing.
He woke up and he saw them. He thought it was good. They can stay. They was a part of the woods, so was he. Maybe one oay he will wake up as a little moss hill.

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