Set sometime in the night in the den where the fam relocated to, with everyone present snoozin'.
Bennet was yet to say her first word.
That was not to say, however, that she was a quiet child. With every revelation of what sounds her face could make, the girl had reproduced them with endless enthusiasm, adding growls, yelps, barks, chirps, whines and high-pitched howls to her vocabulary. When her milk-mates chattered in their infantile manner, Bennet would gurgle along, making no attempt at forming sentences in the same way that they did. When names and words were cooed to her in an attempt to get her to repeat them, the child would rather hiss and bite and wriggle.
Her tiny black ears would perk at the sound of language, though, a small hint that she did understand, even if she resolutely refused to engage.
The den was dark and quiet. Pressed against the form of her mother and brother (who was always so much larger than herself, just like her other white sibling, but why?), Bennet laid silently in the dark, completely awake. It had been hunger which roused her in the dead of night, but after finding a teat to latch onto, had promptly decided no, she wasn't in the mood for that, and had shoved her mother's belly away from herself. With the rather significant size difference, all that had happened was she pushed herself away, her mother far too heavy to be moved by a wolf so tiny. And there she'd sat, arms still splayed forward from where she'd shoved her mother and been pushed backwards, her paws pressed against her mother's warm flesh.
And there she'd stayed, thinking.
It was completely, deadly silent. Too quiet. Bennet growled, one of her newer sounds, and felt contented by how the rough, rolling sensation filled her ears just as much as her throat. She liked the feel of sound, the vibrations in her neck, an experience she'd been unable to find in anything else. She liked how it filled her body, kinda like how her mother's milk did, a tingling which travelled from her throat and outwards. But feeding felt so different, and feeding too much made her feel bad in her belly. Making too much sound made her feel bad in her throat, her young vocal chords not ready for that kind of abuse.
She needed to find a way to fill herself that she could do endlessly, and it frustrated her immensely that she hadn't found it yet.
Somewhere in the dark, she felt something move, the whiskers on her face being tickled as one of the many nearby bodies adjusted themselves in their sleep. Her frustration mounted, and she growled a warning, but the movement didn't stop, so she decided to make it stop, and clamped her tiny, newly-formed teeth into her brother's overly-big white ankle.