Redhawk Caldera Hands off, no trash talk, no back walk

Though he was new to the world, it was already his oyster to discover. Sensations were so strange; this whelping den, so broad and open. Air filled Whip's tiny lungs as he sucked in breath— the rise and fall of his chest feeling so completely foreign, and yet so natural at the same time. Life on the outside felt so weird. While he was currently unable to think in an abstract sense, Whip's sense of curiosity had already been piqued.  

Already, Whip wanted to discover all this world could offer him, but with this newness, he knew next to nothing. However, e knew there was food; he knew there was warmth. Having rooted his way through his siblings, Whip fought for and claimed his place among the milk-bar and suckled steadily at his mother's life giving teat.

The comfort of a full belly drove him, and for a time he was content. That is, until a new sensation came his way in the form of his father's tongue across his back. He began to squirm and the newborn's mouth became unlatched from Fox. A mouse-like squeak escaped his toothless mouth in protest.