Looking at Daxiong's current round and plump shape, the pollen baskets on its legs are likely to become a thing of the past.
It's inevitable now.
Qiaoqiao urged it a few times, but Daxiong's thin little legs clung tightly to his fingers, only its chubby, furry behind moved slowly, refusing to open its two pitiful little wings even a bit.
Even if they opened, it might be useless now.
Its wings are now in stark contrast to its body; if it flapped once, twice, or thrice and still couldn't lift its body, wouldn't that be too shameful for a bear?
In short, the laid-back Daxiong has given up on trying.
Qiaoqiao felt that this wasn't good—it was too lazy, and not moving would be bad for its health.
So he poked it.
Poking Daxiong's black and yellow striped furry behind made it tilt heavily, but its little legs still clung tightly to the finger.
Qiaoqiao felt embarrassed: he hadn't meant to use so much force and could only gently stroke its bum a few times:
