Swiftcurrent Creek Our song has not been sung

Only seconds later, his tongue began to ache again. Relonikiv frowned and began to whimper, though when Julius faced him and tried to comfort him, he stopped. He leaned against his litter mate's snowy shoulder, drawing comfort in the soft, warm fuzziness of it. He only drew away when Julius's voice quivered in one of his russet ears.

"Otha bad," Relonikiv said, perhaps a surprising first word (well, one of them) for someone usually so cheery. His tongue felt strangely thick and throbbed uncomfortably when he spoke. Suddenly, he was lapping at the air, though he quickly stopped doing that when it only proved more painful.

But at least he seemed to comprehend the source of the stinging now. He leaned backward slightly and freed one stubby foreleg to paw at his muzzle. "Ow, owie," he said for Julius's benefit. It was his mouth that hurt. He understood that now, though not how or why it had happened. And he couldn't see the small puncture wounds in his tongue.

"Oogh. Go? Ju?" the runt said, a brief, pained smile flickering across his golden face. Relonikiv spun slowly, pointing his blunt muzzle back toward the den's mouth. "Otha bad," he repeated his earlier conclusion. The normally happy puppy would surely change his mind in an hour, yet right now, the outside was a meanie.