also I never use WotD and now when I do it's in the title so I can't even count it
Anxious as he had been about the idea of sleeping in a den full of strangers, his mother had found a small, sheltered spot nestled close to the main den where they currently slept. It made him guilty to think that he was depriving her of what she would normally be doing, but that was par for the course - and he had made sacrifices for her, so hey, it was his turn now. Every morning he'd get up and peek over at the main den and think maybe tonight. But his skin crawled whenever he imagined sleeping beside so many unknown bodies; he could only abide his mother's presence. Maybe soon, maybe once he'd gotten to know them better... maybe then he could take one more step towards normal.
Huffing with the exertion of it, Duck pushed against the log again, but it didn't budge. It wasn't that long, and, half-hollow, the boy had thought that it might actually be quite trivial to move - and he had been so wrong. Sunlight filtered down from overhead through the trees, the ground mostly clear save for a lingering dampness caused by a long but light snowfall the night before - it had mostly melted since then, and had barely reached the woodland floor anyway. All the snow had melted in the sun and dripped down and now the ground was a little slippy and squishy, which really wasn't helping him get a good footing. Giving up, Duck jabbed his nose at the log in some half-brained moment of retaliation for its lack of cooperation, but all he got was a sore nose. "Owww," he whined, rubbing at his muzzle with a forearm, hopping away from the log as though it had attacked him rather than merely defend itself.
"F'you," he muttered thickly, a word learned from a boy he had met a lifetime ago - but had never forgotten. Not that he was quite ballsy enough to say it in full, even in private and directed at a totally inanimate object.