Black Racer slithered out of his ramshackle, discarded brush den on the edge of the freshly cut expanse of grass. It was the height of mating season and Black Racer felt the instinctive rush of pheromones tingling down its long, curving spine.
There was a faint memory of last year’s mating experience, how he fought off a rival by making his body rigid and pressing his opponent against the ground until the interloper had enough and quickly crawled away. Or was that only last week? Never mind. At any rate, Black Racer knew that today would be the day.
I’ll go to my favorite lookout tree and take a deep whiff of high altitude air. “I’m just sure my love is looking for me today as well,” Black Racer thought to himself.
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