(forward dated to 7/7/26 — 2 months old)]

The den was shelter, it offered warmth when the wind turned cold, dry when the rain came, it was familiar in scent. But it lacked the quiet certainty she imagined other pups felt when they curled against their mothers. There were no lingering touches, reassuring licks between her ears or no voice calling her close simply because someone wanted her near. Her mother was there in the way mountains were there. And she had quickly resorted to watching instead of asking.

The pup sat near the mouth of the den chin resting between oversized paws as amber eyes followed the world beyond. Nothing escaped her notice though none of it made much sense yet. The world was full of movements she couldn't decipher, conversations spoken in body language she hadn't learned to read. She stared anyway, collecting them like little pieces of a puzzle she was determined to solve. It was a squirrel darting across a fallen log that drew her attention, ears flicking forward as they both paused to consider one another before it vanished and the girl rose.

Her paws carried her forward in slow steps, stopping every few feet as though expecting the world itself to object. She glanced back toward the den once, curious if her mother would remain where she'd always been — if she would offer encouragement or warning.

—

Ranyin heard the soft padding of paws before she looked, she had been so absorbed in the overwhelming scents that the sound made her shoulders tense instinctively. For a fleeting moment she wondered if their mother had finally decided she'd gone too far. Instead, it was Tai.

The tightness eased, though it never disappeared entirely, ...Oh, she hadn't expected her brother to follow. Her amber gaze lingered on her sibling for a second longer and without a word, Ranyin looked toward the back of the den. Their mother hadn't moved, hadn't called after either of them. She simply remained where she'd been, as distant as ever and something sour twisted beneath Ranyin's ribs.

She tore her eyes away before she could think about it too much. She doesn't care

Quickly the girl busied herself by lowering her nose to the earth, every breeze carried something different. Nothing stayed the same for more than a heartbeat and it made her little ears swivel constantly, trying to catch sounds before they disappeared again.

A bright green grasshopper sprang from one blade of grass to another, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared.

...Did ya see that? maybe Tai would indulge her,

—

Ranyin watched the little green creature disappear into another patch of grass only for it to spring again a heartbeat later. She followed it with her eyes for a moment, waiting for it to do something more interesting. Instead it clung to another blade, and remained perfectly still her ears flicked once before a small, unimpressed huff escaped her nose.

There were too many new things pressing at her senses to spend all day staring at an insect, the smells alone seemed endless and every breeze carried something different. The world was so much larger than she'd imagined, and she'd barely taken a dozen steps into it. Almost unconsciously, her gaze drifted back toward the den.

Their mother still hadn't moved. Ranyin stood there for a long moment waiting for something. A voice, a sigh; anything that might suggest she'd noticed they were inching farther and farther from the place they were supposed to stay.

But surprise surprise; nothing came.

An ache settled in her chest, one she'd grown used to carrying but never understood. She swallowed it down before it had the chance to become anything else, forcing her attention away from the den. ...Guess we're allowed she wasn't entirely convinced that was true, but if their mother cared enough to stop them, she would have done so already.

Turning back to Tai she gave a small flick of her tail toward the trees beyond the clearing. C'mon

—