Stavanger Bay generations

There was a single breath of serenity before the stillness became too much (although what constituted too much was hard to describe; too much whispering of the water maybe, or too much graylight, or emptiness just out of reach). When he perceived a presence from behind himself, Salaksartok immediately bristled and turned his attention within the den rather than without.
His initial response was to bare his puppy teeth and make a little, RRRrrr-rrr! What would he be met with? His mother roused by his wandering, seeking only to curtail his exploration? A sibling or two readying an attack from behind? Or only more shadows and sea?
It was his doe-brother! The liminal space that was the den was bright enough to recognize that much. Salaksartok had decided that he would be the first to venture out and seek adventure, not Ipiktok, and so with an arching puffed tail, he took a bold step in reverse so that his bottom was crossing that invisible line that delineated one space from the other: and the stranger outside, unseen for now, would be met with the plump rear-end.
The rest of him? He tried to make himself look big, and menacing, and truthfully felt as though he filled the void of the den mouth with his largesse (which was not true in the slightest). And when the visitor from the outside-world called out with a bark, the tension that Salaksartok had been tightly gripping within his body gave way to a small (however exceptionally odious) — pooot!