Golden Glade rockabye

these days, hawthorn was a rare sight around the packlands - well, as rare as a puppy could be. he had taken to exploring when his family and pack weren't around to stare at him or attempt an awkward conversation, and when they went exploring, he had sneakily gone back into the den to sleep and rest. he barely ever spoke even though he knew his vocabulary was better than his siblings - he simply didn't feel that he had to continue a conversation with someone who either couldn't keep up with him, or was too annoying to speak with.

today, hawthorn left the den quietly. the sun was just rising, and the soft golden rays washed the glade in pale angelic light, leaving hawthorn speechless for a moment. he got over the awe quickly, though, and after committing the moment to memory, he slipped away into the woods.