Silvertip Mountain A wild heart can never be tamed

He could see the play of dim light, rippling across the mottled fur which covered her agile form. His Mama. From her position nestled against June, Raissa lifted her paw and batted his ears. Her voice slinked through the muffled quiet of the den and graced his coloured ears. They pricked as best they could, to take in the sounds. The way her voice lilted on ‘Mama’ gave him instruction. Mason opened his mouth, eager to copy her words.


“Saaah!”

Wait… that wasn’t right, was it?

Frustration etched itself onto his slender features. Though he was gradually building upwards and outwards, his body tended towards fragility compared to most his age. Perhaps because he was not, truly, their age but some weeks younger.

Mason lifted himself out of his playbow, frowning, and stamped one paw on the floor of the den in the very starting thread of a tantrum.