[muffin sings quietly to himself as he works, sometimes humming, sometimes chirping. there's a few pieces of familiarity, like a music box tune or a birdsong from out in the pasture, but it's mostly peaceful aimless meandering.

every feather gets its share of preening, his hair is rinsed with handfuls of water poured carefully not to splash or get in his eyes, and eventually muffin has to admit he's made angel devil's hair as clean and tidy as he can possibly get it today.

he chirps a little louder and taps angel devil on the shoulder, all done.]