Silvertip Mountain The drum beats out of time

All that effort to get one step closer to his mother was quashed by his father in one quick scoop. As he rolled gently into place before the patriarch of the mountain, Mason let out an indignant squeak. It was stopped short when he felt fur tickling his face. The closeness he felt was the same as it was with his mother, but this touch felt more rugged and masculine.  This was the type of someone that, over the coming months, Mason would strive to become.
 
Every little boy wanted to be like their father, didn't they?
 
Scritchy scratchy pads wrapped walls around him, and Mason felt a sudden safeness, being cocooned like this. It seemed that his first few hours of living had encompassed a multitude of feelings, and this was not any different.  A flood of excitement and love washed through him, a tidal wave which threatened to engulf his tiny mind completely. His tiny nose quivered, pressing to the left and the right, feeling his way along the walls of leather, and the white fur which grew between the pads.
 
Suddenly his tiny nose found the entrance that his father was peeking at him through. Mason cooed with delight as he shuffled forward a bare millimetre and extended his neck, until the very tip of that same nose was resting just outside of the cocoon. Pleased with himself, Mason watched his father unseeingly, listened deafly, and generally exuded cuteness as he tilted his head towards the breath he could feel from his Papa's muzzle.