Wolf RPG

At just a few days old, he was making tiny progress.  His awareness was still quite dim but improving, comparatively speaking. He was beginning to recognize some scents -- very weakly, at that -- and the distinctions between them were not so clear yet. There was one above all others that thrilled him when he felt it because a meal, a tongue-bath, and warmth always followed, so all of his needs were met when it was there with him. The others made him feel at ease too, though, since they had always been with him.

But since he was awake, and feeling relatively lively for the moment, he wriggled his whole self. Then, he extended his short legs to feel around blindly, inevitably bumping into whoever was nearest. Little grumbling grunts accompanied him and his efforts, no matter how small.

At some point, had it been a day or two, Harlyn had finally relented and allowed him back within the warm confines of the den. Though he had not objected to being thrust from it and into the bitter cold, his interest in his children steered him back. And they were small, just as she had said of them, but much more than the words he could ever find to describe them with. If anything they were awe-inspiring, though hardly the first puppies he had ever had the experience with. But these were the first that were his own and there was something so profoundly wondrous about that.

He crested in and out of sleep, not entirely willing to get a grip on lucidity and begin the day. He had turned his back to the mouth of the den at some point during the evening, content as acting a windbreak against whatever chills wrestled there way down through the narrow enclosure. What did stir him once more was the faintest of nudges against an outstretched leg and instinctively, he pulled it closer to him.

Dreams are an interesting concept to days-old puppies, but whatever concept it was had the little puppy ensnared soundly. Her body twitched as she experienced all different sorts of ill-defined shapes and colors, lights and darkness. Things in the waking world were just almost making sense, such as the feeling of hunger and fatigue... and indignation.

Because she had been napping before Silas rudely bumped into her, Larkspur's only response was to give an angry grunt and a snort and mouthed her toothless muzzle around whatever brother flesh she could, nipping as hard as her little mouth could. But she couldn't get too much of a grip, partially because of her youth and partially because it was taken away. 

She mewled, squirming on her belly to follow her brother, and proceeded to fully understand more of that indignation feeling when she got lost.

It failed to occur to him that his wriggles would disturb others, and probably often did already. Be them siblings or parents, someone was usually around, and he was absolutely blind in his blundering around.

He did manage to realize it once it was done, though, since his sister's mouth gummed at him afterward. He tried to turn towards her better, paws first and with more grunts, but he was slid aside before he could commit in full. Silas quieted immediately, never entirely sure if he liked being moved around, or if it was just the basal instinct in him that told him to just let it happen. But he didn't go far. The pup gaped his mouth and attempted to outstretch his paws when he stopped to try to figure out this new spot. His tiny nose worked desperately, trying to pick up on something he could halfway understand.

His siblings were in a brawl – or, the only form of a brawl newborns could be in, and Pippin remained nestled against the warm fur of his mother. Occasionally, his tiny mouth would emit a squeak as he guided his way to a nipple, and supplementing himself with a few rounds of fresh milk, the boy would then drift back to the world of sleep, his pudgy face crusty with the milk that had oozed from his chin and then dried.
 
Dreams did not come in any form – he was simply content to be where he was. He felt safe, and usually warm, surrounded by his parents and siblings.. and given life was so simple at that point, he was content with that.

Just before he could entirely nod off and whisk himself back away into some deep tunnel of sleep, one of the puppies mewled. That jarred him, if only for the fact that he found the adjustment to such a noise to be so new. It was brief, a puncturing note through whatever fog he resigned himself to, and he had lifted his head well before opening an eye to look over them.

Truth be told, he had his own issues telling them apart. One of them had remained nestled firmly against Harlyn, but the other two had found themselves somewhere in between their parents, not entirely outside of that realm of warmth but to him still squabbling over who got to be closer. He coiled in closer to them, muzzle reaching out to wash his tongue over the duo that presently locked themselves together. If it quieted them, perhaps he could nudge them back towards Harlyn, but he hoped it would sooth them rather than provoke their cries.

Larkspur liked the movement apparently. She squawked a bit louder when the tongue came in attempts to soothe. The sound could have been interpreted as a bark by someone trying very hard. Her weirdly sized head bobbed up and down as if she was actively fighting a losing battle with gravity. She opened and closed her mouth in stubborn mechanical motion, defiantly looking for anything to get between her gummy jaws. 

She snapped upward, where this godly tongue seemed to bear down from. The pure effort that it took to bring her body against that damned gravity had an equal and opposite reaction of locking her stiff legs out in front of her and slamming her body down onto the ground. 

While barking and other complex noises were a little lost on Larkspur, yelping was not. She waited exactly one second before exhibiting her exquisite yelping and whining skills.

Harlyn's eyes snapped open at the sound of her daughter's yelp.  She lifted her head from the ground and pressed it tightly against Mordecai's flank, eagerly peering into the darkness of their home until her eyes landed on her newborns.  One slept, one wriggled, and one apparently had declared war on her father.  All in all, everything seemed to be okay.  She gave Mordecai a sleepy smile before scooting slightly closer and laying her head down against him.  Larkspur's cries continued to puncture the quiet, but Harlyn was confident that Mordecai had it covered.  Thinking to herself that she was glad that she'd finally relented and let him back in the den, she again drifted off to sleep.

He stopped what he was doing at the feeling of a tongue down his back, and cooed softly. Silas stilled for a beat because of the touch, although wobbled his head around like he was searching once it had left him.

All of his sister's ruckus was well outside of his understanding. His ears, folded up and deaf, were safe from her onslaught for the time being -- but there was a good chance that the first thing he'd ever hear would be her. So, utterly unaware of the depths of her complaints, he resumed his motion, this time trying blindly to head in the direction the lick had come from. But he didn't know where that would be and his directional headings were terrible, so he just wiggled a few inches away.

Harlyn stirred beside him, lending on a brief pause to his ministrations. He cast a look to her but only caught her as she delved back into rest which ultimately left him to deal with the tiny noisemakers alone. He fumbled for a moment, lost as what to do as Larkspur started up again. So he returned to trying to sooth them and at least, one of them was soothed ever so slightly by the actions alone.

At last, for it felt like an eternity, Larkspur quieted her cries to gurgling squeaks and mewls. Comforted by the assault of a warm, safe tongue, she let her body drop and her butt wiggle. Her nose was working overtime, trying hard to distinguish the different sensations that were overloading her system. But it seemed like all her body really wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Larkspur gave a little bit more of a whine in frustration, not understanding or comprehending what to do with all of these different feelings. She scooted her body along the ground, squirming half-heartedly to find a place for herself. The world was a tiring place for a newborn.

He wriggled without a direction until his motivation and energy petered out to nothing. He slowed (not that he was fast in the first place, but comparatively speaking..) to a stop and huffed, feeling spent suddenly now that he had exhausted it all going nowhere in particular. Silas tried to lift his head to give one last bleat of complaint, but he didn't have it in him and only mustered a tired grunt. So he resigned and tucked his stubby legs in tight to the little ball he curled himself into, and welcomed a necessary, restful sleep.

Slowly but surely, they quieted and started to still. Likewise, his motions began to do the same. He nudged them ever so gently to check them over, opting to move the one that kept fighting rest towards Harlyn. And that may as well have been a small feat to do, trying to shift enough to coil back in and bring her to her mother, who presently opted to use him as a warm pillow. But once he was content with his placement of Larkspur, he moved to rest his own muzzle close to Silas along the den floor with a sigh.