Ankyra Sound ch-ch-ch-changes

For reference he is two months old, and so he looks like: this!

He tawdled along for a bit, at least until his path became obscured by forgotten logs that had been washed ashore ages ago. They lined the edge of the beach and seemed to have collected in such a way as to form a fence, and their round sides, naked of bark and bleached by the sun, were impossible for him to climb. He tried — again and again, scrambling against the sand and reaching with his forelegs, or taking a running start and trying to make a great leap to clear them (which failed horribly), but in the end all Reyes managed to do was dig out the sand with his scrambling.

He sank down to rest with his belly pressed against the wet sand he'd uncovered, having accidentally made a nice scrape, sort of like an alcove against the dead trunks within which he could nape. He had barely settled against the exposed patch of sand when he heard a voice — at first thinking it was his mother and sitting upright so that his ears could be seen over the tops of the logs — and then he was looking around, stopping only when his transitional gaze landed on the ruddy figure approaching.

Not many wolves in Reyes' life held the ruddy complexion of his mother (or of himself, albeit his coat was only vaguely auburn-toned at this time in his life); so at first he thought it was Rosalyn, and he bolted from his hiding spot to greet her. His little tail shimmied behind him, his head up, his gait seemingly conforming to the trot of a happy gazelle or some such beast — until he was close enough to discern Cadeau's foreign scent, which made Reyes halt abruptly.

He wrrrrrr-ed a warning, his little growl sounding more like the dying of an electric motor. Nuh-uh, he shot back in response to the question, I not need mama, I big! How dare she! He was indignant for no other reason than the fact he was young, small, and caught by surprise - it was the way of most kids his age.