Sun Mote Copse The father that taught me

Waddle

Waddle

Waddle

Plop

Waddle


Stumbling on paws that have yet to be grown into, the wildfire of a lad slowly but surely made his way over to where his siblings were; Head bowed and tail tucked as it always was, submissive in nature to everything around him except for the wide eyed brown gaze he constantly wore. Like his siblings, he had yet to see much in his current age 'cept for splashes of colors and shadows that swarmed his mind, giving him curious thoughts to the world around him.

Luckily, Primrose had learned scents of his kin. His mother often smelled of warmth and comfort, his father of heavy dirt, and something cold like rain. However, he had yet to learn the scent of food, and as his father came waltzing by to deliver a meal to his son, Primrose became uninterested. He didn't like the smell of this so-called 'food,' but much preferred the richness that came from his mum.

Where was she?

He lifted his head to sniff about, but with a whine in his throat he quickly couldn't find her and turned to his pops to shed fat globs in fear. Food? Food? He quickly stumbled his way over to the man, nosing and mouthing at any surface he could find, be it his leg or the fur of his stomach.