Redhawk Caldera Goldaline my dear, we will fold and freeze together

There was something about the draw of clean air and the warm, spring-time sun that made Whip's tiny tail thump against the ground like nobody's business. Thump, thump, thump, it went as his whole body wiggled in place with excitement. With head tucked low, Whip took a chomp at the grass, pulling away a fresh clump of blades with his newly acquired teeth to subsequently spit his spoils out in front of him with a face scrunched with distaste.

Captain's log - Stardate whenever: Grass tastes bad.

With tiny brow furrowed, Whip violently shook his head as if it would help shake the taste away. Alas, it did not. His eyes shot wide with horror; what if he was stuck this way? His head turned to catch the approach of another wolf who appeared just as scared as he was. Had the grass claimed another victim in her as well? Instead of using his non-existant vocabulary, all Whip could do was levy a whimper in her direction.