Sun Mote Copse rancho mirage

He and @Otter were nine weeks old and sprouting like weeds, as the saying went. Instead of moving the bairns to a rendezvous site, Meerkat and @Njord simply broadened their range around The Taigh. Most recently, he’d learned about Seal’s Nook, a little east of his family’s homestead.

He could hear Grandma Towhee’s familiar tread nearby, though Skipjack said nothing to her as he trundled around the aspen grove. He moved at a sedate pace, mapping routes between trees, which meant occasionally bumping into one. Skip’s nose was a little raw, though he continued unfazed until he had a good sense for the area.

Among all the spindly aspens with their smooth bark, there was a much larger tree with a far rougher texture. As the little boy nosed his way around it, he discovered a narrow opening in the trunk. When he pushed his head into it, he was greeted with the smell of damp rot. He sensed a small space, verified with a quiet boof.

Skip carefully backpedaled, pondered a moment, then decided to squeeze fully into the small opening. The hollow inside the tree was cozy but more spacious than he thought. He skimmed a shoulder along the wall, circling until he got a feel for the place. He then nosed back toward the entrance, wondering if Towhee was still out there keeping an eye on him.

She kept a close eye on her grandson as he trundled through the trees. Towhee had lost count of how many times she’d had to swallow her warning and let Skipjack bump into something. She could only think of Fennec’s fiercely independent streak and let him learn the hard way. It seemed to be working, anyway, as his collisions became less frequent.

She wasn’t looking right at him when he discovered the hollow tree and began wriggling inside it, though she glanced that way just in time to see his red tail disappear inside. Towhee raised her brows, then ventured closer. She’d never really noticed the hole—more of a slit, honestly—in this particular trunk. She ducked her head down to peek inside.

Wow, you’ve found yourself a sweet little hideout, Skip. Kids only too. There’s no way any of us grownups would fit inside here.

His ears pricked as Towhee’s familiar step moved closer. His tail waved, thumping against the damp wooden walls of his hideaway. He froze at the sound, turning his head slightly to better hear it, then sped up his tail experimentally. Skip grinned at the little beat he drummed.

Then his grandmother spoke from nearby, so he faced forward and said, Wha’s a hideout, gamma? Skip mulled the rest of what she’d said and added, It’s mine?

His question made her think. How could she describe invisibility to someone without vision? It sounded like a challenge, though an important one. Especially when he began learning how to hunt, Skipjack would need to understand the concept of concealment.

A hideout is a place where nobody can find you, unless they look very hard, she explained, choosing her words carefully. You’re inside the tree, so I can’t see you, she added gently, wondering if Skipjack could ever truly grasp that, even with the adults’ guidance. Anyway, yeah, it’s all yours… unless you want to share it with Otter? It looks like she could fit in there with you.

“See” implied vision, though Skipjack didn’t—couldn’t—really know what was meant by that. He saw the world through his other senses, though, so he followed that much. But as he pondered what Towhee was telling him, his little brow furrowed.

How you find me then! he exclaimed, darting out to slap where he thought his grandma’s paw might be. Skip cackled, withdrawing even as he repeated something his mother had said to him, Gamma just knows t’ings.

Now he considered this mention of his sister. Oh, he loved Otter dearly! But did he want to share this place—this hideout—with her? Skipjack felt a little possessive of his discovery. He didn’t often have things all to himself. He was torn.

I’ono. I don’ wanna share, he confessed, yet.

He hit his target dead-on, his little paw smacking her much larger one before he retreated like a trapdoor spider. Towhee raised her eyebrows, impressed, then burst into a laugh at the little remark she nearly missed as he disappeared into the tree again.

True that, she said in what she hoped was a cheeky voice, assuming a sphinx position so she could see him. Grandma knows everything. And she understands how you feel, though it’s always nice to share with our loved ones. We can show Otter some other time. For now, it’s all yours.

Okay, he replied to his grandma’s wise words.

It was all his, for now. What would he do with it? He withdrew even further into the hollow space and looked around with his ears and nose again. Towhee was right: there was enough space for Otter to sit in here with him. It would be cozy but not uncomfortable.

His paw touched something as he circled the tight space again. Skipjack stopped and lowered his head to nose at the object. The first thing that hit him was its dull fragrance. When he explored it with his muzzle, he found it rather perplexing. It seemed to have many edges, some of them sharp.

Hey, I foun’ somet’in’! he exclaimed, forgetting this his grandma couldn’t hear him.

He snatched up the broken pine cone and whirled, shoulder knocking into the doorway when he slightly miscalculated its location. Skip paid it no mind as he dropped the item at Towhee’s feet.

What’s it, gamma?

Skipjack disappeared into the hideout. She could still see his shadowy figure, bumbling around inside. She laughed at the sight, then straightened to peer around Seal’s Nook. There was nobody else nearby, nothing to disturb them, though she did note the sky darkening ominously.

Hey, it might be a good place to hang out when it’s rain— Towhee mused aloud, head snapping to face front when Skipjack emerged and tossed something at her feet. That’s a pine cone, she told him. Well, part of one. They grow on pine trees. You can sort of smell that scent on it still.

That suddenly gave her an idea. Although the hollow would make a good respite from a rainstorm, Towhee couldn’t fit inside with him, nor did she feel comfortable leaving him here alone at his age. So they ought to head back to The Taigh ahead of the cloudburst.

It looks like it’s going to rain soon, kiddo, so we need to get head back to The Taigh, she informed him, then headed off any protests by saying, I have a nifty idea! I’m going to head that way and I want you to count as high as you can before following me. Then use your nose to follow my trail back to the cottage.

Pine cone, Skipjack repeated, taking a seat and rolling it back and forth with a paw.

He stopped and made a loud whining noise at his grandma’s next words. He wasn’t ready to go back yet! He had half a mind to dart back inside the hideout, with the knowledge Towhee couldn’t come after him.

But her proposal certainly piqued the Bairn’s interest. He considered it. Not only did it sound like a fun game, he would get to be on his own for a bit. Part of Skip quailed a little at the thought, though a much larger part latched on to this opportunity for independence.

Okay! he said with more enthusiasm this time.

He batted the partial pine cone back inside the hollow—he missed the first time and had to nudge it along the tree’s base before finally pushing it back through the doorway—and then sprang into all fours, ready to go.

She pushed upright too, watching as Skipjack played a little game of soccer with the pine cone before facing her again. Towhee glanced at the sky, then down at his sweet little face. She reached out and patted him on the head, then tugged at one of his ears.

Remember, count as high as you can go, then come after me, she said, beginning to turn. If you can’t find your way, just park it. I’ll come back for you if you don’t turn up at The Taigh in a reasonable time frame. Or if it starts pouring, she amended with a third skyward glance.

Without further preamble, Towhee began trotting west toward the cottage. She deliberately dragged her feet a little, to maximize her scent trail. She glanced back over her shoulder and considered keeping him in sight—especially as she wouldn’t be able to hear him, should Skip cry out for help for any reason—but the route was so direct and short, she had faith he could do it.

Chewing the inside of her cheek only a little, she faced forward and hastened her step, soon arriving at the snarl of tree roots that marked the communal dwelling.

Skip could only really count to three, maybe four. He did that, then bounded forward with nary a care in the world at first, feeling absolutely liberated! But then he paused, ears tilting forward to catch the last of Towhee’s footfalls before they faded into the distance. He resisted the urge to pursue right away, instead counting to three again before dropping his nose and proceeding.

Her scent was a good guide, though before long, the terrain actually took on a comforting familiarity. He had wandered in ever widening circles around The Taigh these past few weeks since emerging from the den. He knew this divot! He was friends with this cluster of rocks! But that stick was new! Skip tripped over it.

He recovered quickly, then felt confident enough to break into a slow run. Right on cue, cold raindrops began to tumble from the sky. Skipjack hollered as the first few spattered his back. He raced ahead, grinning from ear to ear as he felt the familiar dirt and roots beneath his paws.

In fact, he swept right past his grandmother through the threshold, tumbling gleefully onto a deerskin as the rain picked up force. Skipjack’s pricked ears filled with its sweeping rush.

Two minutes later, it began to rain. Towhee cast her orange eyes eastward, a smile breaking out on her face when she saw Skipjack galloping this way. She watched as he navigated his way to the cottage and then inside it with impressive precision. She laughed and ducked in right behind him, her tail getting soaked by the sudden deluge.

She shook it out as she watched the little boy tumble to the floor, clearly delighted with himself and his little adventure. Towhee felt a great deal of pride, mixed with relief. She knew a blind wolf could figure out the world—check out Fennec—but it was still heartening to see Skipjack enjoying such success.

Great job, Skippy! she said, grabbing him into a quick noogie before letting go and flopping onto the floor beside him. What do you want to do now? We could play a game. I’m sure your parents and Otter will be back soon, considering the weather. Maybe we can all play that Simon Says game you like so much?

The bairn squawked when his grandmother’s fist rubbed at his head, though Towhee quickly released him. Skipjack swatted at her but missed, though he laughed. His eyes were bright in the gloom as she suggested they play a game, maybe after giving the rest of the family a chance to shelter here with them.

Síomón Says, he corrected Towhee’s pronunciation, then, Ya!

It didn’t make sense for him to assume the role of Síomón—or for any of that participants to follow the rules, strictly speaking—given his blindness, but Skipjack always enjoyed the game. His family always made sure it was full of sensory delights to keep it enriching for him.

He sat up and turned his face toward Towhee, then toward the door. It was easy to locate it, particularly with the loud rainfall. He watched it with ears, nose and an anticipatory expression, waiting for his parents and sister to come home so they could begin—and so he could tell them all about finding his way home by himself, of course!