Larksong Grotto banned from the roxy

It was quiet.
Too quiet, thought Oddball, who climbed recklessly along the top of the grotto. The edge was rough on his travel-worn paws, which teetered dangerously at times. The size of them was to blame. They were a little on the large and flat side, and he never quite grew into them, and they made his ankles look thin and girlish in comparison. It was a wonder he did not trip and fall to his death, balancing on the edge of oblivion like that.
He could see and smell a thick collection of trees down below. Water, too. His tongue felt like sandpaper when he thought of how very nice it would be to get a proper drink. There was snow all around to chew, but it wasn't the same. Too much ice around here. The grotto was warm enough that there was still running water. He could feel it on his nose when he dipped his head down, and hear it, if he listened really close.
Mission in mind, Oddball picked his way toward a natural entryway, but was stopped short by the sharp commotion of wings as some panicked bird took flight. He followed it with his eyes, then dropped them down to find the source: a gangly winter wolf lurking close to a mostly eaten carcass. That explained the quiet.
Never one for nerves, Oddball grinned his most winning grin and called, Ahoy-hoy! from his precarious perch on the rocky lip.