The ofsted wriggled and stretched so that his long claws scraped the top of his nest. He slumped on to his tummy, eyelids fluttering through a dream-soaked sleep. In his mind he was young again, scampering through meadows in the evening sun with a rabble of ofsteds weaving between the trees, chasing, tumbling and chattering with mischief. He could smell fresh grass and damp moss, and hear the sounds of friendship.