Raccoon tossed and turned in the thick heavy heat of his second floor bedroom. He looked over at the small, plastic fan was off. Its dust caked blades moved about a quarter of an inch before an almost imperceptible click and tried to go the other way.
He groaned and shuffled over. He gave the fan a small tap, hoping it would jar something loose or set something right, but it just stopped completely.
Raccoon sighed and looked out the window. A thick haze was already settled in over the backyard. He stumbled to the bathroom for a cold shower.
The shrill cries of the birds outside his window woke Owl up. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, gave the cheerful, off-key birds a glare meant to turn them to stone and tried to get out of bed. His sheets were soaked and twisted tight around his hips and legs. He struggled to kick free, but then had an idea.
He slithered down from the bed, and pulled himself out into the hall, the sheet trailing behind him. He hissed menacingly and flicked his tongue.
If nothing would shut those birds up, maybe The Serpent King could convince them.