Redhawk Caldera Make me a bicycle, clown

In just three weeks, she had gone from a lumpy meatball with limited senses to a full-blown miniature wolf. The latest in her repertoire of acquired senses included true hearing. Ever since her ears had properly opened (perhaps a day or two ago) and she had heard her own screeching at full blast, Wildfire had ceased and desisted. She still made noise—it was an inevitable part of being young and without much in the way of impulse control—but she was significantly less noisy for the mere sake of it. Her parents and the rest of the pack were surely breathing a collective sigh of relief as that obnoxious era came to a close.

Presently, the middlemost pup sniffed quietly around the entrance of the family's den, whiskers twitching and ears flicking in response to the myriad sounds from outdoors. Any time she attempted to step beyond the threshold, she was warned with a deep growl from Peregrine, who lay at the burrow's rear. For now, it was enough to keep her contained. She was content enough anyway, hopping about in the patch of March sunlight just inside the cozy lair and swiping her little red paws at dust motes floating there.