Hideaway Strath all of us speak with different tongues

forward dated to: may 13th when the lotturos hit their 6th week mark. :-)

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To soothe the ache of his incoming teeth as they break through the sensitive flesh of his gums he teethes on a bone of some unfortunate creature that Arturo has split apart, collecting the bigger bones that do not pose a choking hazard and brought to them. Roarke had claimed the biggest one he saw, pouncing upon it and instantly taking what he could reach of it into his mouth, chewing upon it. His sharp baby teeth find purchase upon the bone and he carries it with him now, dropping it once at the mouth of the king sequoia, dripping with slobber as his mouth waters at the promise of sweet marrow he has discovered by suckling at the bone. It is not as good as Lotte’s sweet mother milk but it provides a nice substitute as they are weaned. Small, salmon pink tongue draws across his jowls to collect the strings of saliva at having carried the bone before he picks it back up and chomps upon it, stepping out into the warmth of the morning, a soft shiver slithering down his spine as the golden rays of the sun caress his pale pelage. The winter’s bane does not venture far — just outside the den knowing that to venture is to earn a reprimand from his mother or father. The tall coywolf follows him, lingering in a sphinx-like position avoiding the sun’s warming rays by hanging in the shade to avoid overheating. Roarke finds a sunny patch of grass and drops his bone before he plops down in an attempt to mimic the older gangster with a lopsided grin that hints at certain mischief. See?, his look says, I can do it too! He lets out a low giggle as he traps the bone beneath his paws and continues his plight of worrying it.

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