the sorting hat

Puppies. Sort of. Juveniles. Past that ball of fluff stage and in that awkward, gangly stage where they were beginning to flesh out their adult bodies. And playful. A grin slipped over his muzzle as he watched them playfully tackle each other. He remembered those days. The playful ones where there wasn't a worry in the world except for wondering when the next tackle would come out of no where from one of his litter-mates. Good ol' days. Damn. He was getting old.

"Ready to play, Tooooonnn-iiii?" He whispered in he ear, nudging his mate back as he echoed the puppy's earlier words. He was still uncertain as to whether or not the wolf at his side had any idea what the concept of "play" was, but this was as good a time as any to see if she had it in her. Children always brought a little bit of that innocence back.