Ouroboros Spine fall (ghost synth)

She was getting bigger in leaps and bounds as her third moon approached, fur growing from pup down soft into something resembling a wolf. She looked sleeker, could play harder, and was learning more about her world.

Vairë turned her nose to the wind and twitched it a few times, slowing her lope down to a sitting halt, ears swinging from left to right with her head as the pup dug her toes into hard packed dirt. It was cold, but she didn’t mind much, knowing she could return to the ulaq if needed, luxuriate in pelts until she was warm, then tear off again. But for now, she was alright, though cold. She could handle it, she was a big girl now.

Little story weaver turned her slowly changing eyes to the tree she had just passed, backing her rear across the dirt until she spun to her feet and prodded at the tree’s base. There, almost hidden by leaves, a vole. Nearby, a weasel. Unknowingly, Vairë had sealed the fate of the vole, because as it watched her, the weasel pounced. The beige pup jerked her head away, horror stark on her features. It was her first taste of the world as it was for prey.

She did not understand it yet. Tears welled in her eyes as the weasel hopped away, and she let out a small, devastated wail.