The creature can’t believe what’s happened—she had to be the one of the youngest betas like, ever. There was a pride in her step and a brilliance in the way she moved. Delya tossed her head softly, taking a moment to feel the silliness in her bones and roll in the grass. Grass, how wonderful it was in the summer. A certain smell about it, the sort that flooded her senses and made her feel so strangely alive. Bizarrely and beautifully alive, head tossing and shoulders rolling. How fantastic the day was when she could play like this. Play was, after all, so important to the development of the mind. Already with a beautiful mind, she could cope. Fuck that, she would thrive.

Delya moves from the fields to the trees, weaving in and out in the dappled sunlight. It falls over her coat in the most beautiful way possible, and she feels so entirely alive. Something that lights a candle within her and the flame shines brightly, white hot. That’s her spark, her enthusiasm, and Delya is so entirely ready to start her day. It’s morning, but not early or late. That golden hour when everything is still quiet enough to hear the singing of the birds and creaking of trees over head, but fatigue has long since worn off.

As soon as the Technicolor dreamer’s eyes land on a chipmunk, she’s off on a grand chase. There’s a soft, excitable bark in her throat and she’s at a dead sprint after the furry creature. Tail thrashing furiously at her back, moving with agility and brilliance, and she’s just so excited about it. There’s nothing that she loves more than a chase, and this was the very best sort. Running and chasing, and maybe she’s actually hungry enough to grab the morsel and eat it. Maybe. She’d have to let herself catch it first.