Bearclaw Valley a descent into the maelstrom

It had been a month since the children's birth, and there had been no indication that the pups had failed to survive. She had smelled milk whenever she approached the den with food and if she listened closely she could hear the soft whimpers of the pups deep within the den. 

She arrived at the den with a muskrat swinging in her jaws, expecting business as usual, but finding that the pups were in their adventurous phase. One — reddish in hue but still puppy brown — stalked after a butterfly, its blueish eyes fixated on the insect. Orson did not interfere, merely leaving the muskrat by the den's entrance for the mute mother to find, keeping her eye on the pup.