Lost Creek Hollow i am pulsing the blood in your veins.

*smushes all the babies together long distance!?*

hello this is awkward as hell but i don't care because puppies excitement yay

When Harlyn had forced him out of the den, he had protests. But they had quieted quickly, as he was not willing to provoke her ire either. The first of those complaints had been for being woken and groggily pushed out into the cold; the last of those complaints had delved long into concern for the noises he heard. He kept his distance from the den — one she had complained about one day and loved the next (maybe only to hate it five seconds later) — initially, left off-guard in a way that left him to consider if the emotion would be permanent.

The carrying on she made pained him at times, but for every time he drew near she had sent him away again. Noisily, more than once, he had protested the exclusion before ultimately settling elsewhere. And somewhere around that time he was met with the sounds of faint mewling, a distinction that told him he was not the only one with complaints that reached far and wide. It was when most of those sounds had come to rest that he dared to creep closer, crawling low on his belly where the incline met the den mouth.

And there he waited silently for perhaps no more than a few seconds, before joining via whine.