Timon scurried ((love that word)) through the long grass, humming something as he went. He was searching for some crunchy beatles (even though he'd just devoured a nest of ants). He came to a large rock and clambered up onto it, and sat down to catch his breath. He hadn't stopped all morning and his legs were aching. He interlocked his fingers so his palms were facing outwards and stretched his arms. There was a loud crack from Timon's fingers and he brought his arms back shaking out his hands and wincing slightly. Darn atheritus he thought. He stood up for a moment and stretched his back as well, his spine made a loud satisfying click.
"That's better," Timon sighed falling back onto his back so he was lying on the rock, looking up at the sky. He placed his hands behind his head and sighed again, watching the clouds with great interest and making shapes and objects out of their formations, including familiar faces of creatures he used to know.