Bearclaw Valley don't drag me to a sea of flame

Something had changed. Her world had changed.

The prickly flutter of a pine needle landed atop her tiny head. The texture was new. Interesting enough to jolt her from her sleep. As the days passed, her senses sharpened, little by little. She was more aware of the comings and goings in the den. Of soft, wiggly shapes beside her. Of a much larger one, from where warmth and milk came.

Intrigued but not entirely happy about being roused from her nap, Athella let out a puppy little squeal. Even with the offender removed from her head and out of the way, it's memory still clung. Grunting, she determinedly gathered her stubby little legs under herself. She froze in place, awed at the newness of her limbs, lost on how they would work.

The blackness that had been behind her eyes cleared. Replaced with blurred shapes of color and great distortion. Through her new baby blue eyes, she did not yet realize she was looking upon the patchy coat of her sire for the very first time.