Swiftcurrent Creek I have met him times before; he adores us like the rest

The world was a quartet: Jakoul the sun (or perhaps some great planet) and the three of them satellites inexorably drawn to her gravity.

Any visitors to the den were just cosmic passersby—a nuzzle here, a lick there. He could only feel fleeting glimpses of their presence, just as comets and asteroids and the myriad detritus of space float on past the more consequential celestial bodies.

Within this system, he was content. He was the smallest; he sensed it, having felt around and observed the various shapes of his world. For every group, there was a minimum. 

Except. . .today, something was off. Their quartet was only threefold; someone was missing from the usual lineup at the milk bar.

Jakub toddled along the lines of Jakoul's belly, like a timid child learning to rollerblade and clinging to the wall at the edge of the rink. He could not see, he could not smell. For all he knew, the world had diminished by one.