With a start and a snort, the sole Donata son awoke from a dream. Within mere seconds, all memory of it slipped from his mind and he greeted the dark world of the den with a wide yawn punctuated by a quiet whistle from his nose. Whatever the dream was about—and surely it was about something either frightening or exciting, for Corsair's little heart was still racing—it no longer mattered. The light filtering into the den was enough to keep the three-week-old from drifting back to sleep.
In moments he was on his feet, toddling about the den and snuffling his family members. He could see them clearly even in the gloom and he was beginning to develop the ability to recognize them and differentiate them. In the beginning they were all a singular Other, a something-ness apart from himself, but now they were individuals. As with every other morning recently, Corsair made a beeline straight for the smaller ones. His interest was in them rather than the outside world.
With a growl verging on a squeak, Corsair hastened toward his sisters, only to promptly trip over his paws and go tumbling for them with little knowledge of how to stop himself.