Nova Peak oh where, oh where can my baby be.

Whittier continued to sob noisily, heedless of his father's paranoia that the rest of the pack would hear and judge him for how he tormented his babies. He quieted only when he felt Scimitar's rough tongue slip across his belly. Though he was aware of very little going on around him, he did notice that there was a difference between this tongue and the other one that was often exploring his pudgy rolls. It was slightly rougher, and the breath that washed over him was a different flavor than the one that came with Bazi's tongue.

Curious, Whit arched his neck to sniff at Scimitar's muzzle as it moved around him, his bottom jaw dangling open while his own pink tongue waggled about. Lifting his forearms, he reached out and pressed both of his paws suddenly on the tip of his father's nose, squeaking the moment he felt the cold and wet upon his tender pink pads.