Redhawk Caldera Two by two

I would jump into an open but this is dated for now ^^;  for anyone who can!

He had no way of knowing, but the second eldest was the last to experience that magical thing called sight.  When he woke up that afternoon, it was to a different sort of grey than the dark before, and he lifted his head quizzically at the shifting tones he was now able to make out.

Entranced by the movement, he thumped his little tail and began crawling towards the lightest of the light, which happened to be outside.  He wouldn't make it far fast, but as his little legs scrambled at some parody of motion, his newfound eyes took in this amazing new ability and adjusted.  The curiosity and naivety of youth said that only something good could be found in something new, so where the newness was, he wanted to be.

Peregrine drowsed near the lair's entrance, his body partially blocking it in case of tiny wanderers. His eyes slowly opened when he heard a shuffling and bumbling nearby and he found himself practically nose-to-nose with his palest offspring. Keeping his movements slow and measured, he lifted his head from its resting place on his crossed forelegs and gazed down at the little tyke. Like Hamburglar, Mashed here wore black stockings. The black on white made Peregrine think of his parents, the pups' grandparents.

"Mo with a touch of Aer," he mused under his breath, then bent down to press his nose to the warm space between the pup's newly opened and slivered blue eyes.

As Peregrine raised his head, the light dimmed, and the pup stopped abruptly, confused by the change.  Was the new thing leaving?  Two little paws thwacked the cave floor.  Stay!  Play!

His request was seemingly rewarded when something touched him between the ears.  The scent soon after, close and strong, proved to be familiar.  This was fine!  Not a new friend but a friend still!  His little mouth opened, trying to catch the muzzle of his father, and his eyes, still unfocused, trained on the fuzzy shape now in his immediate attention.

Little Mashed batted one of his teeny tiny paws on the den floor, the smooth leather of his minuscule paw pads making a slight rasp. Peregrine grinned, the expression widening when a gummy little mouth found the side of his muzzle. The Alpha wolf leaned into the toothless bite, letting the infant explore him primarily with his mouth and secondarily with those new baby blues.

"What do I taste like?" he murmured, knowing the pup could neither hear nor understand properly, but hoping that Mashed could sense the deep rumble of his voice.

He continued to mouth at Peregrine's muzzle, content in exploring its surface while he blinked away with those newfound eyes.  Seeing was weird.  He reached up a paw to pat at the thing he was nomming, only to catch the movement out of his peripherals.  Confused, he stopped his exploring to turn down and stare at the offending foot.  When it moved, so did the shape.

Delighted, he bopped it on the floor a few times, watching the fuzzy light thing follow suit.  Almost like a kitten amused by his own reflection, he looked back up at big dark and wiggled.  Did it play the game too?

Mashed seemed content enough mouthing at his muzzle, which Peregrine endured with a smile despite the almost overwhelming tickling sensation of damp, warm gums sawing at his face. As the boy gummed him to death, the proud papa mused about possible names for this inexplicably pale pup. They could name him after his paternal grandmother (who was surely the source of all that white fur) and call him Mo. But that didn't fit the convention at all. So maybe Owl? Snowy Owl? There were many other white birds to choose from too. Dove, he thought, wrinkling his nose and making barfing motions. Pigeon? Seagull? Cockatoo? Lil' Cock for short?

Trying not to laugh and upset his son, Peregrine watched as Mashed discovered his own socked foot. "We match," Peregrine purled, stretching out an enormous black forepaw to put beside the tiny tyke's matching one. "Well, our kicks do anyway," he mused, wiggling his toes enticingly.

It did!  As his father's blurred foot lifted, the boy broke into a massive smile, butt wiggling as his tail flipped wildly.  It didn't take a whole lot to thrill the simple pup.

He watched it come closer, entranced as it gained a bit more shape, and batted at it when Peregrine set it down.  Though he couldn't hear his father speaking, he could see the movement of wiggling toes and scooted closer, grasping the foot with forepaws and setting to gumming one large black toe.

The pup launched at his foot like a playful kitten, earning a smile from him. Mashed quickly took to gnawing on one of his toes, perhaps thinking it a teat. It was a common mistake among infants, he'd noted in his time as a father. On that note, Peregrine abruptly realized that this was technically the fourth litter he had raised (although only the third he had biologically fathered). That sort of blew his mind, especially when he compared and contrasted his roller coaster of a life here in Teekon Wilds to the years of relative calm (and inaction) that had preceded them back in Seahawk Valley.

"Crazy," he mused simply, returning to the present moment and wiggling his other toes to entice Mashed. "You're an equal opportunity toe muncher, aren't ya?"

And again!!  He saw the others moving and abruptly forgot the current prize, for it was no longer moving and therefore not nearly so interesting.  Thwapping his little paws on the den floor, he scooted towards the new target, bumping his nose into it first.

He would adjust quickly, but for now his newfound sense fascinated him.  So as he set to nomming the other foot with abandon, he stared at the paw in front of him with the intensity only a newborn could possess.

The pup alternated between his feet, Peregrine slowly growing accustomed to the ticklish sensation as Mashed gummed away. He watched him with utmost fondness written all over his face. He had forgotten how infants tended to explore their world with their mouths at first. Even with his eyes opening, little Mashed would continue to mouth things like this for weeks to come. Hell, some wolves never really outgrew the tendency.

So far, the white pup hadn't raised a complaint about the lack of milk coming from Peregrine's toes. But just in case he was hungry and searching for sustenance, the Alpha male rolled into a sitting position, plucked up the pale whelp and tucked him against Fox's side, near an available teat.

He was so absorbed in what was happening that any hunger he may have felt was sidelined.  Such a thing didn't often last long for the young boy, of course, but he was a quiet child even in distress.  Complacent yet inquisitive.

Before he was able to consider displeasure with the current state of things, his father lifted him and set him back next to food, anticipating for the inevitable.  He had momentarily regretted the loss of playthings in moving from his father's paws, but forgot that the instant he smelled food.  Happily his attention shifted and he settled in to a comfortable nursing.

Figured I'd wrap it here? ^_^

The tiny white pup curled up beside his mother's breast, suckling sustenance that would help him grow big and strong. "Just like Mo," Peregrine murmured, watching him a moment before his gaze drifted over the rest of his small family. It was kind of funny how none of the four boys particularly favored either Fox or himself. The two ruddy boys were like a blend, of course, and then Mashed was a throwback to March Owl (a lot) and Aether (a little). Their eldest, the little bandit, he might as well have been the milkman's baby.

Musing about this and chuckling to himself, Peregrine returned to his post in the doorway, letting the pups feed and slumber in peace.