Redtail Rise three sundays in a week

Nearly six weeks old now, Masquerade looked more wolfish every day: eyes bright and clear; ears soft as velvet but erect; teeth painfully but successfully cut; legs small but mighty; and tail so long and locomotive, it was almost weaponized. And it never stopped moving these days, while she soaked up all the sensory input the wilderness could offer a young cub. Masque reveled in her growth and development, without ever once being aware of it.

She particularly enjoyed it when Avicus led them on adventures beyond the small den site. When the Wealda emerged and summoned her children, Masque hastily dropped the bone she was chewing—it helped sooth her aching gums—and rushed to greet her mother. She bounced on the balls of her feet, reaching to lick at Avicus’s jaw, whining with eager anticipation as her overgrown tail beat her mother’s forelegs.