Ouroboros Spine Anukasha

A month had passed since his terrestrial debut. Early days of sleeping and feasting were replaced by the desire to be ambulatory, until his eyes opened and his ears unfurled; little Mojag had become a talkative fool, and now that his feet were firmly planted, he was pushing every boundary.

He was outside of the ulaq today, and it wasn't the first time Mojag had given @Shikoba the slip.

Anaa! Squawks the boy at the crack of dawn, squealing with preternatural delight as he takes off at a bumbling run; too big paws carrying him along the escarpment.

As haphazard as his path began, Mojag did not fall. He followed after a small yellow mote of dust as it buzzed along, and began imitating the sound of the bee's hum as he caught up to it.

Lótë had always been an early riser, for she liked to greet brother sun as he began his path across the sky. At the moment, she was sitting just outside the ulaq she shared with her growing children -- grateful for the reprieve from the nausea that had begun to rise in her throat each morning as the mother completed this ritual. Before @Sialuk's morning howl could even break the silence, a different cry greeted the day -- the playful screech of a young child. The doe's eyes opened as she struggled not to burst into laughter and risk waking those still asleep -- though Mojag had likely already seen to that.

Rising to her feet, the herd-stalker abandoned her sunbathing and trotted in the direction of Mojag's voice -- thinking to keep an eye on him until Shikoba inevitably caught up to the rambunctious boy. 

When she came upon him, Sivullik's son was bumbling after a honeybee. "Hello," the dove managed through her bemused chuckles as she fell in beside the pup, watching his antics with clear mirth. 

Mojag was no hunter. He did not know the word yet, nor did he understand that his own mother was sivullik to the village of his birth. He only understood things in a very basic sense: that there was a fluffy little thing buzzing around, and that he could almost catch it. Its path was not straight and following after the bee was more fun than sitting around, waiting for his parents to rise with the dawn, or return from whatever task they had set out to do while the land was still dark.

The bee moved in haphazard arcs, irregular circular patterns, and sometimes would stop to inspect the smallest flowers as they poked up through the grit of the earth. The boy was fixated upon it, and would hasten his step each time the bug stopped to refuel, and then launch himself after it when it took off again. Not once did he catch it.

There came a voice, and for a second Mojag thought the bee had been the one to speak. He slapped the earth and peered at it, waiting for more, except nothing came. Ha-oh! He bellowed as loud as he could, mimicking the greeting he had heard, and the gust of his breath sent the bee in to a barrel-roll away from him. With a huff he sat on his bum and appeared to give up entirely on the game.

That was when he spotted a woman smiling down at him, and he beamed up at her toothily, then tried again with the sound: Ha-oh!!

Lótë had to bite back her laughter when Mojag appeared to think the greeting had come from the bee, nearly chortling as she tried to smother the sound and prevent herself from interrupting his voyage of exploration. He was definitely a funny lad but then, all pups were at this age. 

"Hello!" Lótë crowed in return when he spotted her, his small face lighting up as he turned to the cloudberry and mimicked her. She dipped down onto her belly, stretching her neck along the ground so that her chin rested upon the earth and she was closer to the boy's level. Her peridots flitted to the bee as it buzzed around a small flower. "That's a bee," she informed Mojag, even though he was still too young to understand most of what she said. 

Now faced with a real audience, Mojag was less interested in his little bee friend. The other wolf lay before him with a smile and more words, directing his attention briefly to the yellow mote that buzzed in a tangent away from them and towards a cluster of budding weeds. Mojag looked at it and then back at the woman, studying her face.

Dah bee! Ha-oh!! He proclaimed as he leapt for Lote's face, planting his chest across the bridge of her nose for a wobbly second; as he slipped from where he'd perched himself, he began to laugh and soon the air was filled with his gregarious voice. Mojag rolled on to his back and flailed until he found his feet again, bumping his chin against Lote's nose as he tried to mouth at it - clearly in a playful mood, and hardly bashful about it.

"Very good!" Lótë complimented the dusky cub with a soft laugh of birdsong, though she couldn't quite be sure whether he understood or was just copying her words -- Lótë would have bet bones on the latter. Even so, Mojag was trying and that should always be praised. 

The mother remained still, though panic bubbled up in her chest as the child dived for her face -- worried about the many sensitive orifices he might injure there. But soon enough, little Mojag slipped off and Lótë giggled with him. She raised her head a bit then, gnawing at him in small, exaggerated movements that were exceedingly gentle -- for she was much bigger than he and she didn't want to harm the curious boy as she played with him. 

After a moment, her muzzle sought to dip under his pudgy belly and jiggle him a little bit. Not enough to hurt or startle him but enough to tickle perhaps, and enough to make him laugh hopefully.

Between his attempts to grab her snout, or nose, or wedge a tooth in to a nostril, he was guffawing with all his might and sucking in breaths as if he might drown; laughter flooded the area with each of Mojag's hurried exhalations, and he snorted air inward, a complete mess of sounds and experiences.

He was close enough in size to a very fat piglet, with all the sounds to match.

Lote dipped under him and jiggled at his belly, which tickled. He hollered and kicked out his little legs, but without a strong sense of motor control he transformed from piglet to seal pup - flailing and rolling so that his belly flashed at the woman.

As she'd hoped, her nephew burst into loud guffaws -- sweet baby giggles that warmed the doe's heart. With a wide grin, Lótë swooped in with an exaggerated, "Ahhhh," and began tickling and kissing Mojag's little belly. She herself was breathless with laughter during the whole process and eventually had to stop so they might both catch their breath -- and because her ribs ached with the force of so much amusement. 

She helped roll the seal pup back over onto his feet before straightening to her paws and dipping to brush her muzzle along his crown. "Walk?" she asked simply, gesturing with a jerk of her head and pattering a pace or two forward to help Mojag understand what she meant. Perhaps they could find something interesting to catch the tot's attention or some more bees to terrorize. 

Once rolled to his feet, he was still wiggling. His tail whipped like a tiny helicopter blade, wup wup wup wup, as the laughter died out. Then the woman was moving and when she spoke, Mojag parroted back, Bawk!!

The woman patted the dirt a couple of times. Mojag didn't know what she wanted yet. He liked the sound she made and when reading her behavior through the lens of primal instinct, thought it was an invitation to another game.

He launched in to a tumble, belly jiggling, flailing more than walking, as he chased after her paws.

Feeling particularly childish, for she'd not played in such a manner since she herself had been little older than Mojag was, Lótë began to prance about -- half hopping around foolishly and half dodging the boy's attempts to capture her paws. Or at least, as best as she could jerk and bounce about on the balls of her feet with the added weight of her growing belly. She rather resembled a playful domestic dog, dipping and bowing and flitting around. 

He kept up as best he could. The energy level never fluctuated. When she dipped, he lunged (overcompensated as he rolled forwards) and slapped the ground a few body-lengths away. When she slapped the ground herself and centered about like a big kid, Mojag was all laughter, and bumbled in pursuit of her.

A few times he was close enough to stomp on her toes or snap at her ankles, and maybe he succeeded, but he was always reaching for more and laughing, laughing, laughing. The happiest child enjoying the moment.

this seemed like a good place to archive so I slapped a quick ending on this but feel free to post again or archive as you'd like! <3

 

The game continued -- with much laughter ensuing on both parts -- until Lótë was too breathless and worn down to continue. At last, she tried to gentle the wild child with some placating whines and grooming, slowly leading him back to the heart of the village with the vague thought of finding something that might distract the playful pup.