Redhawk Caldera the ballad of mr. steak

For @Ferret, @Whip, @Gannet, and/or @Peter.

Fox had slept through the night, waking only occasionally to rearrange her children when one couldn't get to a teat. Peregrine was exactly what Fox needed that night: helpful, quiet, and out of the way. When dawn broke over Redhawk Caldera, Fox continued to sleep. Her entire body was still sore from birthing four cubs, and she had no intention of leaving before she absolutely had to. It was early afternoon before Fox finally took a short break from her mothering duties. She exited the den, pissed, and then went right back in. Exciting, right?

Back inside, she nestled herself around her four babes, observing them closely. All four were still alive. Neat.

His mother had made for a suitable pillow, and he was disturbed when she extricated herself from the family mass and took to the outdoors for a bit of relief. The little bandit's head bobbed as his snout moved from side to side in search the warmth and comfort he required for restful sleep. He was jostled as she returned, but by then, he had managed to scoot himself around and was now facing away from her. Separated from his brothers by the unconquerable distance of half a foot, and apparently too dense to just turn around, he started to drag himself away in search of what his wiggling tail had already found as it fanned across the furs of Fox's belly. Clearly, there was no communication between his front end and his back end at this point.

She hadn't even begun to think of names for the four new Firebirds. In fact, the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Fox was much more focused on keeping them alive and well. Currently, the one with dark socks and the mask across his face was wiggling about. He had somehow ended up facing away from her, and Fox watched him as he attempted to... well, Fox wasn't really sure what he was trying to accomplish. The other three were fast asleep already.

Aside from occasional wails and squeals, when any of the other siblings either rolled, lied on or tried to squash him, the smallest cub was otherwise a very quiet child, enjoying the simple life that consisted of eating and sleeping and eating again. The world around him was still dark and he could not hear the sound, but the dreams from the past were still there. Now and then he would still see the stars and flashes of light, but as more time drew on, the memorie became fainter.

He woke, when he sensed a change in the surroundings. The "milk tank", which also was a heater and a pillow at the same time suddenly moved away and he felt that instantly. In an attempt to move, he rolled on his back and lied there helplessly with his tiny feet flailing in the air, as the kid mewled for any kind of help to solve this situation.

His dim, infant mind thought that as long as he moved forward, he'd bump into something familiar and likely what he was after. Such had been the way since he'd been born (so long ago). He never had to move far, or much at all, before a nipple was poking him in the nose or in the eye, and then it was rather easy for his lips to get a hold of it (not to mention that devilish little natal tooth of his).

Not so this time. He doggedly hauled himself the immense distance of, say, the length of his own body twice, and found nothing. Now he was certain something was wrong. By some stroke of luck or genius, he decided to turn. But, he did not turn far enough, and so now was on a new adventure toward the wall of the den. This time he was sure his method would pay off.

The smallest of the four had rolled onto his back and flailed his four legs wildly in the air. He then squeaked, and Fox nudged him right side up. She wasn't *that* cruel. Once that was taken care of, Fox watched the one with the black mask continue to move forward. Perhaps he would be the adventurous one of the bunch. He did not seem disheartened by the fact that he had not run into food or warmth. She wouldn't let him go on for much longer, namely because he couldn't regulate his own body temperature for very long.

Apparently the sounds the little boy was unaware that he could make, drew attention of the milk tank almost imediately and he was returned to a normal position in no time. The move, however, did make his head spin a little - it was an odd yet not entirely unpleasant feeling. He mewled a bit more after that and then began moving back to the source of warmth and, if possible, make his way either on top of the pile or right in the middle.

The den was spacious, but not so much so that a furry shrimp would never discover its expanse had an end. Not too much further, and the first born bumped into the dirt that made up one of the den's walls. Hmm. This was different. His nose pushed up against the dirt, and he snuffled at it, before his snout bumped a stray root from some plant or the other. It tickled as it brushed across his lips, which by either some reflex or the infant inclination to put things in their mouth, caused the bandit to start to lick and gum at it.

This was fine for about two seconds, then he was bored, and also, he was starting to feel cold. So now, as he pulled himself down the den wall, he started to squeak and mewl out of frustration. It was taking too long to get back to where he was trying to get back to.

The smallest of the bunch quieted down and seemed to be decently satisfied for the time being. Fox returned her attention to the one with the black mask, watching as he ran into one of the den's walls. Fox snickered when he began to gum at it. A pup's nose and mouth were the only things working the first couple of weeks, so it made sense that they'd use them to explore their surroundings.

He began to move back, though apparently he wasn't moving quick enough, so Fox picked him up and nestled him near a teat, should he be hungry. She figured things would quiet back down after this.

The little brown cub had found a nice spot and rested his head atop another sibling's back, let out a deep sigh and prepared to rest. However, his slumber was not long-lived, because an unpleasant tickling feeling began in the pit of his stomach and rather than ceasing, it grew stronger and painful. And, when it became unbearable (quite soon, since his threshold for pain was low), the kid opened his mouth and began wailing: "O-o-mpff... ao... ao... ao..." Colics were never a joy-ride.

Last post for me :)

Bless his mother for understanding him. Though he protested by squirming when he was picked up, he was quickly contented upon realizing that she had put him exactly where he wanted to be: where it was warm, and food was close at hand. It was hard to resist a meal, or at least a snack, so the little bandit (blissfully unaware of his brother's caterwauling) latched onto a teat and suckled until he fell asleep and the teat fell from his mouth.

Last one for me, too! Trying to shutter some of these older puppy threads.

The one with the mask seemed to have settled, but the run wasn't having it. As usual, Fox's instincts kicked in, and she began to lick his belly, encouraging him to, y'know, poop. Or fart. Or do whatever bodily function would relieve him of the unpleasantness he was feeling. She'd continue to try this and that until he fell asleep from either exhaustion or comfort.