Bramblepoint Self-appraisal

He was an ‘adult’. The word held connotations that Mason did not think could apply to him particularly. Not yet, anyway. He had nearly reached his full and gangly height it seemed, but it wasn’t a particularly elevated one. He was certainly not a small wolf, but he was long rather than tall. Thanks to his early exit from the womb his legs appeared a few inches too short for his size, and lent him the appearance of crouching low to the ground at all times. The long, thin and somewhat sparse fur of his belly and chest dangled mere inches from the mucky earth. He spent a lot of time keeping himself clean and grey/white when the rains were heavy and mud was thick on the floor. The snow and frozen dirt were a blessed relief.

 

Blazing orange eyes – the only real inherited trait from a mother he didn’t remember – spotted a movement in a bush nearby. Mason darted forwards and stuck his nose straight into the bush but nothing could be seen. Whatever mouse or creature had dived into the bush must have dived straight out of the other side again. Mason huffed a sigh then looked up at the sky through the bordering trees of Bramblepoint – it was a straggling canopy and he could see that there was limited sunshine. He shivered at the thought, glad that the trees appeared to be keeping the wind at bay.


He moved on, bright and alert, his brown-tipped ears swishing this way and that to catch any noises of an approach