Golden Glade morbid stuff

a voice distracts him from his consternation -- the adult dad, the one who doesn't feed him but is warm enough that orr enjoys his presence. he doesn't understand the words his dad says, of course, but he understands the concern in his tone and turns toward him, expression still pulled into a pout. he shuffles away from the offending wall until he is nearly on top of dad's paws.

characteristically he doesn't make any real sounds, aside from a couple of grunts as he manuevers himself across the floor of the den and into place against his father. once settled, though, he opens his mouth. "o-ay," orr says, mimicing the sounds he'd heard, mostly out of curiousity - they'd been addressed to him, after all.