Ankyra Sound one small girl

The world around her had begun to take shape. No longer was she a child of the womb, nor lost in darkness and deafness. It was a bright existence, with no shortage of things to explore. Just outside the den was a burst of color and light. A quartet of siblings, two mothers, many friends.

There was no earthly way Nieve could be a sad child, even if pre-disposed to melancholy. . .and she wasn't, anyway.

The golden pup burst from the mouth of the whelping den with a cheery chirp, dainty paws skittering against the coastal silt. She picked up a discarded piece of driftwood, seizing it between her milk teeth, and shook it in glee, giggling against the damp, earthy mass in her mouth. She flung it, after a while, watching it roll away.

Mama! Nieve called out, pulling one of the many words she'd latched onto in these past weeks. Mama! She was in giddy laughter, rolling over into the sand, on her back and wiggling her legs like a fitful insect.