Silvertip Mountain A wild heart can never be tamed

Although his mottled ears had not yet begun to rise, and were still folded quite neatly to his head, Mason had begun to hear. His mother's soft call chimed like harmonious bells in the recesses of his ears. Mason lifted his head from slumber to gaze up at Raissa, and both eyes now being open, he smiled.

"Aboohbah." He gurgled in attempted imitation of her call. He could do little beside make garbled noises at the moment and it frustrated him no end when he really wanted to understand what all of these little noises meant. He had begun to notice certain syllables - such as his own name, and those of his family - which were repeated more frequently and often directed at him.
 
Mason lifted himself to his over-large paws and padded a few paces from Raissa's warmth to squat and tinkle on the bare ground. He didn't care where he went. He had hoped to copy his father's leg-cock soon but it appeared even his stubby legs could not withhold his weight on three limbs just yet. Mason turned back to his mother and gave an excited yip, dropping clumsily into a play-bow.
 

Play-time Mama?