A reptilian birth is not a very clean one, though I cannot claim to be experienced in any other forms of life other than that of a lizard-like variety.
Life was tough in the Carldon Valleys. It was always filled with some new commotion every day, which was overwhelming for me and my brethren when we had first tasted the pure, unfiltered air only a few moments ago. I can still vividly recall those first few days of staring out of the mouth of our cave, gazing over the great stretches of trees and cliffs where the golden sun would bless the morning sky with its fabulous glow of gilding sunlight.
During our first evening on this plane, the sun had pivoted itself across the sky towards the rear of our cliff-face, leaving ourselves to freeze in the icy winds which funnelled through the countless formations of jagged sediments. We certainly slept cold that night.
The next day was almost an exact repeat of the last day, though the sun was obscured by a thick wall of clouds, prolonging our cold existences. It was only until the afternoon when the initial inklings of sunlight shone through the dissipating clouds, allowing us to bask once more in the midday light.
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The third day was when we first experienced rain; the watery phenomena slowly drizzled its aqueous deposits down towards the mortal below where the creatures and vegetation would both be soddened. I was personally not particularly pleased by this event, though the newly formed puddles allowed us to quench our water-fast.
The fourth day was a continuation of the previous temperaments, apart from the inclusion of an enormous thunderstorm which shook the entirety of Carldon for the following two days. The sky had ripped in half as the light shower had become a full unloading of the sky where a gargantuan quantity of rainwater fell from the lowly ceiling and swept the muddy landscapes.
The sixth day was when the rain stopped, and was also when we saw the migration: hundreds of thousands of cows and bulls galloped across the mown fields and floodplains, driving past the great forests and darting through narrow, stoney corridors. The stampede stirred up the regional flocks and any other creatures, no matter the size. They all conformed to the mighty volume of cows and bulls charging down the Carldon Valley, a sight which I have yet to see rivalled.
The seventh day was a day of rest, where the valley calmed for a moment, allowing itself to heal from the barrage of storms and hordes of creatures flowing through its battered terrain. It was an opportunity for us to rest as well.