Stavanger Bay Life happened.

All attempts to soothe the nursing Kevlyn ended in disappointment, for the disruption of his feasting earned nothing short of unbridled fury. He abruptly let go of his new favourite teat, aiming his wide and clumsy jaws at the tongue Julooke ran over him. He was much too new to the world and slow to actually catch her, but he wavered like some kind of menacing cobra nonetheless, his head wobbling side to side at the mercy of his weak, spindly neck.

Scents bombarded him from all sides now that his head was propped unsteadily up, and his nose, still wet with amniotic fluid and unable to discern much more than the strong odours of the two adult wolves, worked furiously in the air. Every sharp inhale was punctuated with a soft whimper as he instinctively memorized the scent of Julooke, which was something between salt and rich milk (not that he knew it) and of Verrine, who smelled more like testicles masculine, with a distinct musk that spoke to Kevlyn's inner wild spirit, as well as dust, salt, and something yummy.

Having already forgotten about the offensive bathing, and quickly growing bored of his olfactory exploration, Kevlyn sighed loudly through his nostrils and latched back onto the teat, sucking hard and whining between each pull of milk.