Ankyra Sound one small girl

The world around her had begun to take shape. No longer was she a child of the womb, nor lost in darkness and deafness. It was a bright existence, with no shortage of things to explore. Just outside the den was a burst of color and light. A quartet of siblings, two mothers, many friends.

There was no earthly way Nieve could be a sad child, even if pre-disposed to melancholy. . .and she wasn't, anyway.

The golden pup burst from the mouth of the whelping den with a cheery chirp, dainty paws skittering against the coastal silt. She picked up a discarded piece of driftwood, seizing it between her milk teeth, and shook it in glee, giggling against the damp, earthy mass in her mouth. She flung it, after a while, watching it roll away.

Mama! Nieve called out, pulling one of the many words she'd latched onto in these past weeks. Mama! She was in giddy laughter, rolling over into the sand, on her back and wiggling her legs like a fitful insect.

"ta mère est là," erzulie crooned, watching fondly as little nieve basked in the warmth of the sands. such a happy child, despite her delicacy. she would grow into a strong creature all the same; of this erzulie was convinced. 
lowering her muzzle, the harlot chuffed in her daughter's direction, loping away and falling to a playbow. "to me!" she exulted, suddenly seized with the pleasure of a sudden romping playtime.