Bearclaw Valley my moon, oh my moon

He shook with continued laughter even though the situation was starting to lose its humour; discovering how very stuck he was brought fear up to the edges of his consciousness. But still he laughed, dying slowly from heavy guffaws to uncontrolled chortles and finally to chuckles between breaths. Then the gravity sunk in, and his laughter turned to laboured huffs. Turns out the Arctic fluff-ball was starting to feel claustrophobic.

Thankfully, Mona was there to help. Her teeth secured a hold somewhere on his mid back, making him wince in the darkness, and then he felt himself tugged backward. He held fast and panic began to mount in his breast, making his breathing shallow. But Mona's effort afforded him enough room to get his hind feet under his considerable belly, and he managed to come free of the hole after several moments of pressing backward.

He tumbled out onto the grass and gasped. He was never going to take the sun for granted again. Without considering what he was doing, the piebald pup turned around and pressed himself as close to Mona's chest as she might allow, stabilizing himself with her presence.