Redhawk Caldera Mona Lisa: the original basic bitch

There was a stick at the mouth of the den. Killdeer had discovered it the other day, and since then, it had become his pride and joy. Now fairly nibbled-on and slobbered-upon, it was never far from his side, and he picked it up today, parading proudly around the den. . .and then out.

Buh buh buh buh, he announced, sing-song. The sun played an incredible pattern upon his quite-Redhawk-esque patterned fur, blacks and browns, reds and and whites.

He didn't go far, because he knew the tawny figure that was Mama & the big dark figure that he thought had been referred to as Gramma would not be far, ready to tow him back. He wanted to enjoy the freedom while he had it. Drool streaming from the corners of his small mouth, he spat out the stick and then butted it with his nose, sending it rolling.

Hhhhehhh! Killdeer exclaimed in a giggle-exhale, and went charging after it, hoping to stop the stick's motion before it came to a halt on its own.

He, instead, went rolling himself, somersaulting into the grass and fresh mud.