Rays of light, that same light which she had since grown accustomed to, filtered into the den. Her tiny muzzle tucked under slowly growing baby paws crinkled as she was disturbed from her sleep, the sun hitting her eyelids. With a classical puppy-like groan, Freyja drearily lifted her head, blinking her eyes open. Ever since the move from her birthing den, she was still getting used to sleeping with so many other wolves around. Sure, she was thrilled to have two new wolves her own size to gnaw on, tussle and play with. But she would always prefer the company of her twin, Ragnar first.
It was he who she had been cuddled up with, her side resting comfortably on his back. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the depths of the earthen den, they fell on the sleeping form of her litter mate. Somewhere close by, she reasoned that @Avella and @Scully were also dozing. She was growing more and more mobile by the day, more curious of the outside world. She seized each chance she could to bolt outside and explore, but was never allowed more than a few yards from the perimeter of the den. There was always an adult close by to keep an eye on her, or any of her other adopted siblings to make sure they didn't stray.
Something was...different today. As she toddled forwards to the daylight, a peculiar sound reached her ears. High pitched chattering and squeaking, accompanied by a soft rustling noise. What could be making it? Her mother never made such a sound, nor did her siblings or any other visitors. Perplexed, she poked her tiny head with slowly lightening fur outside. Too young to associate the squirrels with their affinity for trees, she didn't think to look up. Yet the chattering was everywhere, all around her! Seeing no reason for alarm and determined to solve this little puzzle, the girl fully emerged. She stumbled once on her ever growing legs, but quickly regained her footing. She hadn't taken but a few steps when a reddish-brown blur of something scurried past and to the left, making a mad dash for a willow tree. Startled, she flinched, frozen in place with surprise, unsure of what to do. Then from above, shaken loose from the spindly branches of a tree, came a small bombardment of acorns. Unfortunately for her, she was right under the line of fire, and one knocked her squarely on the head. With a startled yip she scrambled back for the cover of the den. Dark, thin lips tightened in a line as she whimpered, tears beginning to pool at the corners of her baby blues.