Dragoncrest Cliffs siliwa hay

His bottom ached from where it struck the ground, but Sobo's tail wagged nonetheless as both howls tapered off into silence. Usually, that was the end of it. He howled whenever an adult did, but often nothing came of it. He was so accustomed to that that he went back to chewing on the driftwood and immediately forgot all about the howler.

That explained why the nearby yip nearly scared him out of his skin. His tiny hackles flared to life all down his back and he dropped the driftwood, perking both ears into sharp points above his brows. That voice didn't belong to either of his mamans, nor his dad, who also frequented the area. This was a stranger.

The strangers usually didn't come to the den when he howled back at them. Sobo was at a loss for what to do and hovered but curiosity ultimately won out. He crept (read: stumbled loudly) toward the source of the yip, then peeked out from the tall grass ringing the den-site. Haunt would see first a chocolate-swathed nose emerging from the foliage, twitching wildly, then the rest of his dark face mask complete with a pair of inquisitive yet shy blue eyes.