Blackfeather Woods At least we'll both be numb

An errant wind through the woods sends a sudden chill into the veined earth, one that scarcely reaches the whelping area but still is noted. The newborn boy stirs from his spot as faint new scents briefly reach him, then fade away. He has no name for any of them, but though he is new to this world, he stores them away for future use. He may one day recognize them.

Thus roused from his nap, the sightless pup turns his wobbly head to the left, then the right. His nose wriggles attentively, but now the den smells only of his mother and his sister once more. The interest has passed. He huffs, snorts, and squeaks, strains his weak front legs to reach further into the air above, and falls short. He tries again and again he fails and flops onto his narrow chest with a yelp.

His attention wanes now and he turns his head once more, this time bumping his squat snout against some part of his sister. He whines, a burbling series of sharp short noises. He doesn't know she can't hear his sounds, though he can't even hear himself yet and hasn't a clue that anyone can hear him.