Grimoire lounged in the sun, her dark, thickening winter coat soaking in the light of the sun to warm her skin. The boulder she had been laying for hours reinforced the heat permitating her skin because of how it was both warmed by her body and of how it reflected sunrays. Ahh. So pleasant; Grimoire sighed longhand contently with her eyelids drooping to obscure her dull eyes.

Her nose twitched in recognition of wolf smell in the vacinity, but Grimoire was too comfortable to care, so she remained dead weight on her small plateau. Then the disturbing rustle of grasses started and were marked by the scampering of heavy paws. Grimoire placed a black paw over her ear, but it did little to help at the wolf continued to skidder around like a confused rabbit. After the fifth burst of activity and the unrivaled, shrieking squak of a fowl, Grimoire groaned in distress, dragged a paw down the length of her muzzle. As if she were lifting a ton of stone, she effortfully pushed her forehand up as she glared out at the river side with glazed eyes.

She spotted a yearling darting wildly around the banks. The female puppy was small, uniquely colored, and clearly having the time of her life. Grimoire rolled her eyes at first, but then saw that puppy charm of those peachy little ears stiffening in alertness, and those darling, glowing eyes sparking in delight as she saw another wave of grass to chase.

Puphood was a delightful thing. Minds were so malleable and open between the ages of zero and two and a half. After that, they became destructive, frusterating teens prone to stupity; Grimoire would know, she’d been one. And even more glorious was that infectious energy! Grimoire’s tail tip waved at the antics, and then she lifted her head and howled greeting. She called out when she had the pup’s undoubtly breif attention,

“You got spunk, punk. Not much technique though, you know?”