Sun Mote Copse Don't tell me what the poets are doin'

When a shadow fell over the den's mouth, a rumble began in Meerkat's tiny chest. She scooted toward the shifting shape of it even as the scent of meat made her pause, little nose twitching with interest. A face appeared, haloed by daylight, and the pup let out a whimper as she craned her neck, head wobbling, tongue poking out as if in concentration. She gazed up at Niamh, tail jerking left and right with the entire effort.

-"Say, 'hi, Neema,'"- Towhee said and signed somewhere slightly above and behind the pup, right before the Regent accepted the proffered rabbit and scooted even further backward to give Meerkat and Niamh space while she fed. From her current position, the tot didn't see the motion of her mother's forelegs, though her right ear twitched, picking up the sound of her voice. The reception was bad, a bit like an AM radio station on very low volume, but some part of her registered it nonetheless.

She was too young to obey the command literally, though Meerkat continued to wiggle and wobble toward her other mother, blinking and burbling adorably.