are you slow?

The smallest Frostfur was holding onto his title. Even his sister was over taking him in size, though Whittier had expanded the most of all. It was becoming clear that Swift was not destined to match his father's build, but rather his mother. His fur was lightening by the day, and save for the inky black stripe along his spine it was evident that he would become as white as she was. Though he was still round, as puppies tended to be, the rolls of infant fat were beginning to shrink into a leanness that would stay with him through adulthood.

He had been dozing when his mother gathered them around, and he grunted with irritation at the disturbance. But his eyes met hers as she spoke to them. It was about time the pups started babbling back to her, but it was also about to become apparent that Swift was going to be having none of that, and he merely stared blankly at her. He chuffed to her, as if to make a mockery of her efforts, than sat on his rump. No dice, Mom.