Redhawk Caldera Yankee Bayonet

@Peregrine or @Fox! Siblings welcome too!

Still blind and deaf to the world around him, Whip's life was horribly monotonous. In his first week of life, he could bring himself to do the five S'es: suckle on mother (his personal favorite), sleep, squirm, squeak, and shit. He did all of these things on a regular basis, surely to the chagrin of his mother and father who's job was the clean up behind him.

Having had their fill from mother, the Redhawk pups slept in pile; each keeping the other warm with body heat. Whip, however, stirred from his slumber as a strange gurgling, eventually giving way to pain, took place in the pit of his stomach. Gas.

Blindly, he pulled himself away from the pile of siblings and squirmed onto the open floor of the whelping den. There he lifted a tiny tail and found sweet release, thus filling the den with the smell of gassy puppy.

Perhaps some would have been offended—or even surprised—by the smell puppies made. For Fox, it was all part of the job of being a mother. While she wasn't going to win Mother of the Year anytime soon, she did manage to keep seventy-five percent of her children alive last year. Hopefully that wasn't an average she would either a) keep or b) lower this year (or in the coming years). The four boys were doing well, and none seemed particularly weak as the sandy one had been last year.

When one of them tooted, Fox nosed him to make sure no solids (or liquids, for that matter) had accompanied the smell. Satisfied that there was no additional work to be done, she picked him up and shoved him back into the brother pile.

Had Whip's nose been unplugged and ready to smell the rotten fruits of his labor, perhaps his face would have scrunched with both displeasure and delight. His expression, however, remained unchanged as he writhed and squirmed across the cold den floor in search of the nearest body of warmth. His little legs only took him so far until he was lifted in the air by his mother's jaws.

Completely taken aback, Whip's mouth hung agape as he piped up with a small and frightened squeal. Stubby legs peddled clumsily below him - splaying wide - but he was soon set back in the comfort of his brother pile and this frightening experiance was soon. expelled from his mind. He writhed for a spot among @Gannet, @Ferret, and @Peter, until he was finally comfortable. Once settled, his toothless jaws parted with a wide and tired yawn.

The little bandit did not know much. But at least two things were clear to him: he knew that he liked to drink (eat), and he knew that he did not like being under his brothers or too tightly sandwiched between them; which is exactly where he found himself upon being roused out of the deadness known as infant sleep by the stirring of the third born. He made a displeased squeak and wriggled, but his efforts did not immediately correct the situation. It so happened that Whip's foot was right in front of his face, and with some form of frustration, he latched on to it, his tiny canine pinching the top of his brother's paw as he otherwise gummed the foot.

Safely back in the brother pile (which was Fox's new favorite term for her children), she watched as her son yawned and attempted to get comfortable again. This was, of course, short-lived. The son with the mask was none-too-pleased with the situation, and latched on to his brother's foot with his little baby tiny mouth. Fox watched on with amusement.

Perhaps, given the time and proper space, Whip would have fallen blissfully back into the realm of sleep on the very top of the brother pile. His eldest brother, however, had different plans. As soon as Whip had finished wriggling himself upward, he felt a warm and wet vicegrip around his hind leg. Whip's mouth opened, but no sound came out as all of the pup's waining focus was dead set on breaking free from his brother's hold.

First, he tried to pull his tiny paw away from his brother's nearly toothless jaws, but Ferret's grip remained steadfast. Nevertheless, if Whip couldn't pull free, he would push downward in protest instead. His spot on the top of the mound would remain secure; Whip would settle for no less than king of the hill.

Nip-gumming, or whatever you would call it when one possessed a single tooth with which to harass his family, had the desired effect. The foot tried to pull back, and his brother struggled to free it, until the little bandit released his hold. Now, with no barrier in front of his pugged snout, he whisked himself away from the offending situation. Much like a turtle that everyone suspected could barely move, his speed was perhaps surprising as he scuttled off, separating from the brother pile until his nose bumped into his mother's hind foot.

This foot was ok. Free on all sides, he was finally content and lay still with a soft sigh. Here he would likely stay until he found himself too cold, and then he would weasel back to the mass of pups or press up against his mother's belly. Or maybe her crotch. It was warm there too.

They squirmed until they were finally comfortable again, and Fox continued to watch without interference. The four brothers would likely have plenty of squabbles throughout their lives. Siblings were bound to disagree at least on a few things. It had been Nightjar who had chased Wildfire out of the caldera before their parents had ordered it. That had merely been a misunderstanding, but not one that Fox had taken lightly.

With Whip's foot finally free from his single toothed terror of a brother and his position at the top of the brother pile secured, he could finally allow himself to drift back into a sound sleep. A final yawn passed his lips. Content, the newly crowned king of the hill accepted his reign and dominion over his brothers with a wirethin smile.

All was right with his world, and soon, Whip was carried away on the wings of sleep.