Swiftcurrent Creek If only for a second, let me have you.

Her heart swelled with love and pride, and the tip of her feathered tail twitched contently as her soft eyes followed the puppy's movement. Viinturuth pushed his little nose against her outstretched forelimbs, his curiosity enough to rouse the brightness of her smile.

Carefully, she reached down to touch her nose to the boy's pallid forehead, still intrigued by his lack of hue. She recalled her uncle's tales of their vast family in Samarkand, of how her grandmother, Nita, had bore a pelt as pure as untouched snow. Durnehviir's own brother, Julius, had also inherited an Arctic pelt; it amused her greatly that her first-born should be named for the wolf who he least resembled. 

"Viinturuth," She crooned to the boy, even though he could not hear. It merely pleased her greatly to be able to speak her beloved uncle's name again, and no longer associate it with sorrow.