Wheeling Gull Isle your bones, your eager blood

aw for anyone who'd be near the den, tagged for ref ❤

each day brings strange new sensations for her quickly developing mind. come sights, come smells, come sounds - synthesis of sensations she's beginning to be able to filter through. her tawny ears stand upright, cartoonishly flopped at the tips, and her baby-blue eyes are keen, reflecting a burgeoning intellect behind them. reed still cannot speak though her grumbles and whines become more syllabic as she listens to the sounds mother (@Hemlock) and the other guardian (@Witchdoctor) make, intrigued. she is less intrigued by her - brother, that's the word, @Droman, who does not produce any notable sounds and is mostly an obstacle on her more frequent journeys around their small birthing den.

most intriguing of all is the world that lies just outside the den, where she took some protesting steps some days earlier at her mother's urging. in general reed disapproves of any change to her routine without her express permission but she is willing to forgive just this once because outside is so interesting and vibrant - the new colors, the new feelings. today she is making tentative forays into the few feet outside the den, though the deepset chill in the air, she finds offputting, and complains loudly to whoever will listen in baby-babble. she wants to be outside, why can't it be warm like mom's side?