Bearclaw Valley bloo

At the ripe age of one month Nunataq had mastered the art of walking around steadily and commanding her feet to take her, where she wanted and not where they thought they should go. She had begun to have slow-motion play-fights with her siblings and had an inkling to bite and clung to them more often than the rest. Her vision had slightly improved and therefore the blurred edges of the outside world had retreated a notch, giving her a better view of the whole image. And - of course - when one is that grown-up you can't expect them to keep crashing in the parent's basement, can you? They, of course, had different ideas about the matter, but that did not deter her to sneak to the den-mouth as often as possible. At all times of the day and - incidentally - night too.

Therefore, when a packmate of whom she was not aware of yet, but who was in the vicinity, scared a squirrel up the tree and swore, little Nuna, excited to hear a voice, replied with a new sound of hers. Now her vocabulary had expanded from a variety of "hrmph"s and "eeee"s to a melodic, howl-like: "Choo-choo-choo!" Her voice was small and would not travel distances, but, perhaps, she would be heard.