June 11th; Morning; Scattered Clouds; 51.8 ° F, 11 ° C.
At four weeks old, Oleander was more confident than ever. Today, the wave of curiosity that washed over him was strange. The once comfortable feeling of the den had edged away, forcing him to curl up closer around his sisters. The morning had broken, but it was not what he had been used to. As he stretched his stocky, restless limbs, he pushed himself up to stand.
An experimental shake of his coat (which was something he had seen his mother do every now and again) and he was off. He toddled uneasily to the entrance of the den where the sudden cold front nipped at his nose. A whimper of dismay. It was different. Uncomfortable. The boy's ashen head poked out into the world beyond the birthing burrow. Narrow blue eyes squinted into the morning haze and a flurry of cold and white stuff.
It happened all too suddenly. Something attached itself to his wet little nose. His stump of a tail waggled like a metronome but he did not cry. A second chin made of neck fluff formed beneath his jawline as he withdrew his head. He dragged his tongue down the front of his muzzle and it was gone. Puppy blue eyes went wide.
What was that??
The little Valle poked his head out again, but this time he dared to venture out. Everywhere before him the forest floor had taken on a thin blanket of fresh frost. Oleander's head tilted, unable to find the words or feelings to describe this something new...
OLEANDER | | Nobody gets me like you do I'm not the same, not after you |