Golden Glade sober

The large wolf who he would soon greet as his father understood Hawthorn's silent invitation to play and reached down, licking at his soft underfurs to which the boy responded with approving yips and whines of delight. When the tickling started, however, Hawthorn attempted to turn his large and pudgy self over and scurry away from the evil that was his father's nails. In his eyes, there was no worse torture than whatever those nails were doing to him. Gone was the playfulness that'd inhabited him just a mere second ago. Now, the boy was upset and he opened his maw to wail his displeasure to the world, face scrunched up and eyes screwed shut. He flailed his limbs in the air, and hoped his mother, his mother whom he'd always trusted to get him out of sticky situations would save him. Yes, she annoyed him sometimes, picking him up and depositing him in that prison of paws, but he still loved her, because in a way, he appreciated the bit of alone time she gave him. So, Hawthorn called and screamed, hoping it would get her to come to his rescue somehow.