The Heartwood obsidian flake

Life was a whirlwind when one was as young as Alasdair, or so he felt. One day, in adulthood, perhaps his reflections would be that of amusement, given that the whirlwind shifted from exploration, wonder, and learning, to something akin to survival and the search for happiness.

He was not so far tainted… yet.

So when the boy found a pinecone, he was toying with it—the pad of his paw feeling the edges and dips—a tongue darting out to taste the bitter tang of sap that clung to it. Eager to show this to his sisters—to mama @Nephele, he was about to scoop up this prize, when another rode down upon him like the Headless Horseman might have Ichabod Crane.

There was a yelp of surprise—a scuffle, as puppy teeth scoured for flesh wherever he could reach before a flurry of motions as he wriggled and tried to escape.

Muskrat’s prowess would not be matched by a three month old, as much as he willed it. It was the shocking taste of sap still on his tongue and how he wished to show his sisters that he thought of before he was knocked unconscious.