Nova Peak These wee babes

The feather was tattered and soaked, looking mighty pathetic, by the time Swift had finished mouthing it. With it conquered, he soon turned his sights on a new foe: a big ol' paw that kept prodding his sides like he was a stone to be turned. He was not. He would prove this. He pivoted with all the grace of a drunken swan and pounced on the paw the next time it came near. Though he deigned to capture it, he failed, and fell again. This time he landed on his back, paws flailing and jaws snapping at this new foe, because like the feather before, this was all its fault and had nothing to do with his inability to balance. He made a myriad of barks and yips and primitive growls to add to his display.