Redhawk Caldera I ain't got a theme yet

forward dated to.... Monday?

He was still small. A tiny little grub. But for a grub, he had a considerable amount of motion. He squirmed around, pedaling his feet ceaselessly against his dam's belly.

Soon, he found his way up her springy ribs—a little mountaineer in the making. Up, up, up; God, she must hate him right now. Bouncing slightly, as if on a trampoline. 

Were neonates supposed to move quite this much?

Whatever—perhaps it was a harbinger of things to come. Perhaps his writer is drunk and forgot to look up the exact capabilities of a 3-day-old wolf pup. Either way, he's crushing it in the precocity department. Fuck, soon he'll be speaking and all that. Driving his parents wild.

For now, Killdeer bounces, deaf and blind, oblivious to anything but the joy he feels in the motion, and in the warmth of his mother's pelt against his tiny paw pads.