Heron Lake Plateau I Hear the Wind Call My Name

Owen rubbed at his eye, clearing the sleepy seeds from it and making sure that it was in just as full working order as the other one. It had lagged behind initially, taking awhile to realize its partner had opened, and Owen was still somewhat preoccupied with a concern that it might forget to keep up with the other little blue peeper, since it had already demonstrated its tendency to lay down on the job. Having two eyes was important. It let him keep a closer watch out for den invaders, and to make sure Mommy was where she was supposed to be, and even stopped him from being trampled by some-sister-or-other on occasion—or, okay, trampling upon them himself, which with the exception of Kite he did kinda tend to carelessly do once in a while himself.

It also gave him depth perception. Owen squinched up his rusty little muzzle and took a few bold steps closer to glare with all the heat his tiny blue eyes could muster at the nearer edge of the den entryway. He had gotten up the courage to go past it a few times by now, but ever since his nose's first violent encounter with that earthen corner he had never really quite trusted it. While it had never yet swooped over and bitten him while his back was turned, he suspected that it could and would if only it was feeling ornery enough, which made him overly cautious of letting his tail face the thing unless there was a comforting adult leg or two resting inbetween it and him. Besides which, the last time he'd mustered up the will to slip past the thing, he'd encountered that bizarre feathery white thing that had gone all psycho on him; he wasn't convinced that malicious dirt wall hadn't gone and summoned that monstrous critter behind his back just to spite him. ...Not that lurking here in the den was any special guarantee of predictable safety, true; strangers came and went more than Owen liked, and none of them were anything like as good as Mommy, with their bellies so dry and empty of milk. And some of those had been very strange strangers indeed, too, in his opinion, though at least the monsters that actually entered the den were usually benevolent monsters, so far as Owen could tell. He didn't quite trust anything that could change its shape at will from bird to wolf and back again, though. Downright unnatural, if you asked him.

From everything he had seen his sisters had been a lot more careless about all of this than he himself, no matter how he tried to forewarn them of the dangers he spotted. The great outdoors were beckoning, however; somewhere outside in the Great Beyond Owen could hear the cheerful calling of birds, the clackety-scratch noises of scurrying insects, the whisper of the breeze's fingers trailing through through the greenery—not to mention the amazing array of smells! The sun-warmed earth seemed deceptively welcoming. But Owen knew that no matter how inviting it might look, or sound, or smell, there were absolutely things he could not trust and all sorts of weirdoes he might encounter out there in the great big world. So he stood there silhouetted in the entrance, shooting the corner of the entryway another quick little narrow-eyed stare and puppyish growl of warning before shifting his eyes to the golden-haloed exit to the outside and trying to decide if it would be worth it to attempt stepping through that siren-songed portal once more today.

Quixote had been quite happily nestled back against the den wall where it was nice and cool.  The sun had already roasted him enough for the day, so he was quite enjoying having a break where he could relax and hide from the heat -- the fact that it meant he was hanging out with the kids was also pretty nice, gee.  Right now, though, it seemed to be nap-time or getting close to the end of it, and he'd quietly watched his son get up and... Growl at something outside?  Huh.

Creeping forward a bit, Quixote came close enough to Owen to place his broad head alongside him, trying to spot what was the target of the pup's ire.  He didn't particularly want to rouse the rest of the litter if they were content to sleep on for now, so he spoke quietly, You see something out there?  He didn't see anything.  But maybe whatever it was had ducked out of sight -- pups were quite terrifying, after all.

For someone so big his dad could sure be sneaky sometimes. Owen turned with wide, slightly wavery eyes that still took a moment to focus, to look at his father's big shadowy head as it interposed itself between him and the dirt wall. Owen then looked at that dastardly dirt corner, and back again at the bigger male. He had to admit that despite his differences of opinion with the frequent and milkless black-furred intruder he was at least a little impressed that the big male so quietly and bravely put himself right there next to the dirt corner that the small boypup was convinced secretly had it out for him. Owen was a little braver himself now, too, both from this inspiring example and because, well, if the dirt corner lunged suddenly to bite anyone, it'd get a nice big mouthful of Quixote to chew through long before it came anywhere near to Owen himself. Better and better. Owen stuck his nose out to touch his father's face, and take in a quiet and reassuring sniff of the man. His papa might be annoying and inconveniently dry of Owen's favorite food but he was definitely and reassuringly familiar at the very least. The same could not be said of the big wide world out there that Owen turned to squarely face once more, beefing up his shoulders and taking a big preparatory breath.

Aithsee, he nattered softly back at Quixote. Aithsee, aithseesumpf adehr. He only half-understood the words to begin with, and articulating them was, well, a bit of a futile exercise still. Owen responded slightly more sensibly in ptero, however; not really a full sentence there either but more of a silent acknowledgement of his father's words. He lacked the vocabulary as well as a significant chunk of the comprehension still; this was frustrating. Owen tried to make his meaning clearer by poking out an indicative paw to point out the bright sunshine's golden glare, trying to at least show if he couldn't tell anyone just how much the inarticulate longing it was awakening in him was strengthening. But he didn't stop to wait for an answer to this before he slipped outdoors, only to stand directly in the bright sunlight straight outside and blink upwards in some confusion at its source. He was still getting used to this whole weird sun... thing...too.

There were good moments, ones where he maybe thought his son didn't actually hate him, which was nice.  Occasionally he felt like he was doing things right.  The pup-garble was becoming more familiar to him, and he could get a good idea of what was being said.  However the fact Owen came to a halt right at the entry was more befuddling when his father had been following right behind, I'm right behind you.  You can go check it out.  Quixote dipped his head to poke the boy's rump and encourage him to move along.  Being stuck in the tunnel wasn't the most comfortable spot, after all, and he was a little too big to just step over these days.

At least if the kid wanted to go on a little adventure, it probably still wouldn't be too far -- he was still small, so Quixote would be able to wrangle him back to the den easily if it came to that.  But at least if he did adventure, at least he could be escorted.  The world wasn't always a kind place.

Aibehai? mimicked Owen again, and then let out a startled little, Eep! as his father encouragingly prodded Owen's reluctant rump. Owen splayed out his feet and planted them stubbornly in place for a moment, instinctively resisting being shoved around or told what to do. He glanced back at Qui with big, slightly wavery eyes, trying to figure out exactly what this big brute was trying to make him do now. Warruhrawh! scolded the little boy, and then squinted up suspiciously at the sunshine again. His nose was working away of its own volition, trying to make sense of the broad smorgasboard of scents the world was offering up out here, so much more varied and interesting and clear than the limited array back in their warm little birthing den. Owen couldn't help but glance apprehensively back over his shoulder again, toward the dark hole where Momma and sisters awaited, but unfortunately Quixote and his lowered big boxy head were mostly in the way of this. Wraaaah, he complained, not liking the idea that he couldn't just run right back in to Mommy the first moment he felt like it. But despite all this he couldn't help but take one venturesome step, and then another. Before he knew it he was slowly but steadily trailing out across the pebbly grass studding the landscape as he moved further from what was comfortable and familiar, blinking as he grew more used to the bright sunshine.

Owen stopped, and then, still sniffing hard, craned his short neck out as far as it would go, trying to get a good sense of the bizarre protrusion on the gently bobbing stalk of grass he spotted a little ways away. He'd never seen an insect like this before; it didn't smell like a whole lot, but the twitchy way it moved its wingcase and its tiny, almost-invisible mouthparts was interesting... As Owen leaned forward to squint closer at it, however, the grasshopper decided it had had enough, and launched itself skyward in a sudden confused flurry of wings and legs and othersuch suddenly-frightening alien pieces. With a cry Owen flailed backwards away from the thing, to glom up against his father's legs and cling to them as best he could and maybe even bury his face between them for a moment. He did not want that small insectoid monster to be able to attack his face, especially, after all!

Man, every once and a while he was pretty sure that Owen just instinctively hated him for some reason.  Quixote was pretty sure he was being perfectly reasonable with shooing the kid out of the way so he could get out and stretch a bit too.  Maybe as Owen grew he'd get a better understanding of the fact that getting stuck in a tunnel wasn't too fun.  Give it time.  Go on, there's more room out there.

And he finally did, thank goodness.  Quixote exited the den behind him, stretching with a broad yawn, Mmmf.  Whatcha looking at ov---  Boing goes the grasshopper!  Though his words cut out as Owen panicked, he had to blink a moment and think about what had just happened.  Bravest pup in the world, obviously.  Quixote dipped his head, nuzzling the poor kid's back, speaking quietly, Hey, it's ok -- it's just a bug.  It won't hurt you.  Maybe might startle you, but that one won't hurt you -- you could go eat it if you wanted.  But would that be enough to soothe his nerves?  Aw hell, Quixote didn't know.

Poor Quixote. Such a mystery why he and Raven might be more than a little tuckered out dealing now only with Owen and his fits and starts, but also with the foibles of three other pups at the same time...! Heck, Owen was younger and sprightlier and still preferred to hide his head and sleep inside the den and rest quite frequently, despite the allure of the outside world—he had trouble keeping up with his own mercurial quixoticness a lot of the time.

As it was he was about ready to go run back and hide right now, for that matter. He moaned and grabbed at Quixote's nearest leg, barely daring to roll his eyes to peek out behind him. Daddy had run off the antlermonster Owen had awoken awhile back, after all... would it not be better to wait and let him deal with this insectoid miscreant too, surely?! Quixote tried to tell him it wouldn't hurt him, but what caused Owen to stare most incredulously up at his father was the final suggestion. Ee it?! Owen had the sudden horrid vision of the thing trying to spring its surprise attacks from inside his tummy. Oh no, no no no, that was not something Owen was willing to risk! Quixote could go eat the damn thing himself if he really thought it was edible. Not to mention...had his father not said "that one"? That undoubtedly meant there were other, even deadlier bugs about, now didn't it. Owen's bluish eyes were a little wild as he tilted his head back a ways and rolled them quickly about the immediate vicinity. Now, if he was a merciless puppyeating bug, where would he be hiding...hmmmm. Bu'ih trai'ee me! he complained to Quixote. Totally not acceptable. Fix this now, dad.

Was he this goofy when he was that small or was he just lucky?  Then again, Quixote was still sort of playing things by ear, even if as the pups got older he was sort of finding his way through the weeds, especially with Raven's help.  He was just a wee bit clueless if any approach was best.  No, you scared it!  You're a big wolf and gonna get bigger, but it's an itty-bitty bug and gonna stay that way.

How could he prove to the kid that it really wasn't very threatening?  Hmm.  Why don't we go find another one and maybe you can get a better look at it?  You'll see it's not so scary.  It was the unknown factor that was often the most scary, right?  That's why people told scary stories where the monster was cloaked in shadow.

The real question was how hard would it be to find another friggin' grasshopper?  It's not like they left nice distinct trails like a rodent would -- they kinda jumped... And flew.

Owen was a big scary wolf, growing bigger and scarier every day, and able to warn off any and all murderous grasshoppers with his fierce size and strength? He doubted it. He very much doubted it. He gave his father a long, dubious stare, drinking in Quixote's big black bulk and completely unable to fathom the idea of ever being anywhere near that big and scary himself. Maybe his father just didn't remember what it was like to be so small and helpless and totally unscary. If indeed Quixote ever could have really been such a pup himself; Owen rather doubted that, too. His imagination just wouldn't go there.

Instead he was envisioning what it might look like if there were other, not-so-itty-bitty bugs lurking about in the vaguely threatening waving of the grasses and mystifying shadows of the trees that he cast his eyes across once again. All the meanwhile his father was starting to go on about finding another one and getting a better look and some sort of vague pseudopromise that no, it really wouldn't be all that scary this time. Hah! Owen would believe it when he saw it, or rather, refused to go and see it and invite any sort of belief. Nyah, he said, very distinctly and emphatically, and planted his butt as deep into the dirt as it would go, whilst still trying to keep his paws wrapped about Quixote's foreleg like velcro. Donee' anudderone. Donee' a bigg'rerrer buh! Was that the ominous glowing red eyes of a giant grasshopper there in the shadows of that bush, or just the wayward refelction of the treacherous sun? Annoh uh bigg'rerwuf, annohnee nuhbigg'rerrerbuh, donneeah golookin'! Owen's weight wasn't likely to prove much of an impediment to Quixote's leg, and his babbled pseudowords might not be in the least clear to his father's put-upon ears, but his attitude and total dissatisfaction with this "solution" of Quixote's was being made plenty clear enough. Nyah! he repeated for good measure, a little louder yet, even as he wondered if Mommy was going to wake up and come rescue him before this crazy wolf could get too insistent about his crazy grasshopper-hunting plans.

Wraptime?

Seriously, this kid had no guts whatsoever.  Okay, he had enough to poke his head out of the den, but that seemed to be the limit.  Oh well.  Maybe when he got older he'd grow out of this nonsense.  And hopefully speaking clearer -- that would also be rather nice, because sometimes Quixote was just filling in blanks with guesses when it came to their babble. Well bugs and things like that are around everywhere, so you're going to see one eventually.  Just know you don't have to be scared of them.  Little things like bugs aren't gonna hurt you, you're too scary.

But if you don't want to see any more of them, you can always go back inside.  You can go back and take a nap with your sisters.  Shouldn't be any grasshoppers there.  He tilted his head.  Really, it was up to the kid, but after this reaction... Well, Quixote wasn't gonna be surprised if Owen bailed back into the den.

Sounds good! That'll be one ancient thread outta the way at least, haha.  >.>;;  Thanks, dad, for putting up with your terrible son's antics.  ;)  Mwaha.

Owen unglued his rump from the ground and clambered around to the other side of his father's legs in a flaily tangle of growing limbs. He wrapped his galumphing ivory puppy paw around Quixote's sturdy ankles as the youngster peered with wide, wary eyes out from behind his self-made wolf-leg prison bars. Bugs and things were around everywhere out here?! That had been what his dad had just said, right?! Owen didn't for one minute believe he himself could ever be scarier than those, those, those bugs. As was pretty plain to anyone with the eyes to see him right now. Quixote might think it was just fine and dandy to be blasé about murderous grasshoppers lurking behind every strand of grass, but Owen was smaller and more vulnerable and knew better. He was certain he was never, ever, ever going to be big and brave enough to be able to stand up to one of those nasty insects. Ever!

Ainohscawree, he muttered under his breath to himself, a little crossly, as he anxiously scanned the landscape. The first grasshopper had fled, but the pup had no reason to think there wouldn't be another dozen or thousand of them just lying in wait for innocent puppies to let their guard down. Not just whole packs but whole landscapes made of seething hordes of grasshoppers; he could see the terrifying sight in his mind's eye quite easily, and hear their rasping, buzzing, threatening hum. Owen buried his head hard against Quixote's leg for a moment again to give the mental imagery the space to dissipate. Quixote seemed about as safe a wolf as Owen could possibly place in front of him as a big wolf-shaped shield, but even big black Quixote couldn't possbily eat all of those grasshopper hordes fast enough to keep them all from mobbing innocent little Owens! Owen peeked out to regard his father with some dubiousness as the final suggestion was offered up. It took another moment to percolate through the young boy's head, and then he very suddenyl let go of his father's legs and went scrambling back.

Yah is naptime! he shouted back at Quixote as the youngster tumbled into the darkness as fast as his little legs would carry him. Nap an' no more BUGSTH!

Yeah, none of this had gone at all like how he'd expected, but kids were probably just going to continually be that way, wouldn't they?  Owen was gone from view and now he was left just staring at the empty entrance of the den.  Quixote wasn't sure if he should laugh or get a headache, so he settled for the middle ground of sighing.  What was he going to do with that boy?  Hopefully it would be something he'd grow out of.  Oof.

Eventually Quixote too joined him back inside the den, deciding the sun was still a little much for his dark pelt.