Seaside Moors Broken Lungs

More words that she recognized, including the sound of what she assumed by now was her own name. Her gaze, directed toward the distant horizon, persisted; it was where the sky was darkest and the stars still twinkled brightly, and she thought she caught sight of something skimming not far above the gound. Perhaps a bat, or a swallow, by the way it dipped and weaved, snatching flies out of the air with speed and agility. She pricked her ears, but couldn't hear it; too far away, and too small. 

By now, she was fairly awake, and ready to get the day started- and since she knew she couldn't go far- especially not before the sun rose, she lowered her gaze to see a stick- a long, barkless piece of driftwood- that someone had dropped off, likely as a gift for the puppies. She dropped into a crouch, wriggled her bum from side to side, and awkwardly crow-hopped toward it, before she flopped onto her side, grabbed it and began to chew on one end while kicking the other end with her hind feet.