Blackfeather Woods glow in the dark

The ghost child had been a quiet sort of child so far; the type that might make a parent check if they were alive every now and then. She did not sleep more than average but she observed more than average. Only when her instincts required of her to be honed -- to play with the dark one, or chew on toes or roots or sticks -- she came into action. She loved getting into the thick of the fight with the dark one. Another thing the ghost child particularly enjoyed was being entertained and watching others interact. She could stare and study for hours, sometimes laughing but often her face would be emotionless for the bigger part. Words were not really a thing for her yet, the development slow and unsteady because their mother did not speak; her sounds, if they came, were often garbled and nonsensical still. She had not yet observed they could be useful for communication.

The white pup lay upon the courtyard in front of the den that day, attentively grooming between her paw pads. It seemed on first sight that she was surprisingly focussed for such a young child, but in truth she was ready to be distracted by anything or anyone.