I should do something with this some day.
Pero worked his paws over the carbon tip of the matchstick, licking and smoothing, licking and smoothing. He paused to rub at his black eyes and push back his whiskers. When the stick was sharp, its tip damp, he lifted it to resume his drawing on the box in front of him.
General Cow looked iconic and angular, blocked out in light carbon strokes, hooves crushing squirming masses of cats and snakes and hawks. Her head was lifted with purpose toward the black clouds, as if in rapture. In the background Crusader Raven bowed his head approvingly.