There was a distinct musty scent in the air, from snow that had melted that was now beginning to freeze again. She sat just outside of the den, gnawing on a stick that she had found, attacking it as if it had committed some mortal offense against her. It had proven to be one of her favorite pastimes, apart from of course attempting to fight her siblings or drinking from her mother’s breast. She had proven to be a rambunctious child who did not like sleep.
There were often times she would headbutt her mother in a fury because she did not wish to sleep, and that meant no one else was permitted to sleep either. She did not make the rules, she merely enforced them with a thick cranium directly to the sensitive gut of a nursing mother.
But of course mother and father were out… close, but still out, and her siblings were all off being lame and that meant she was bored. She did not understand much, but she understood that she did not enjoy feeling bored. There was so much to do, to see, to claim. How dare her siblings and her parents deprive her of such an experience? She desired to go farther.
And yet every time she did there was someone to pick her by the scruff and carry her back, or a sharp bark to warn her off.
And yet, the idea stirred… because her parents were not around, and there were no siblings keeping an eye on her either… and thus she’d push onto stubby legs, moving towards a patch of bushery beyond the clearing she had never been before.