Redhawk Caldera Who's got a poopy-doopy-doopy

PPing Peregrine. Anyone welcome!

At just over a month old, the Caldera's litter was given almost free reign of the area just outside the den entrance. Nightjar in particular liked to spend his time in this area, while Wildfire liked to try to escape and Raven fittingly liked to hide out in the shadows. He preferred to tromp around their grassy terrace with which he was so intimately familiar. He even had a favourite spot to poop, which he was eager to get to, but for some strange reason, he never went without parental supervision.

He was now a shining example of a young, rotund wolf pup. Both of his ears stood tall, although if one watched closely, only the right one ever seemed to turn toward stimuli. The left twitched and swivelled as well, but never toward anything of interest; it was more like a reflex than anything, and a troubling sign for any adult who happened to notice it. Nightjar didn't notice a thing, though, having never known anything different from a dead left ear.

His muzzle was elongating, but was still rather broad, and his tail was beginning to fluff out just a little. His paws were now enormous and he could walk stably and even run on his strong little legs. He was doing that now, racing back to Peregrine with gleeful shouts of, "Daaaah! Daaaah!" When he reached Peregrine's feet, he began to dance excitedly on the balls of his own paws, and pleadingly stammered, "P-poo-peeeeeeees." This was the first word he'd learned only a few days ago. At the time, it was nonsense to him and had no meaning, but Peregrine's raucous laughter had soon turned into a lesson on what "poopee" was, and it was now Nightjar's favourite word out of the three or four he could say (probably because it was his favourite thing to do at this point in his life).