Pagan paced back and forth in the den. A motion he had been doing for hours. He was restless and eager to move. For the first time in a long time he had not woken by the constant nightmares. His copper eyes opened to the sunrise and the breath of the morning refreshed him, the light of the sun reaching out to his creamy body instead of the darkness of death. He yearned to enjoy the sunlight and walk the beach, unhindered for the first time. Only his youth prevented him from wandering out too far from the mouth of the den.

A sound called his attention to the mouth of the den. White rimmed fuzzy ears perked at the sound, his head tilting back and forth in curiousity. No nose or form seems to come into the den, but the humming call continues. Pagan let out a small yip before ambling forward towards the call. Dust covered body on creamy gold limbs popped from the mouth of the den. He looked over the waiting woman with contemplating and considering eyes. Family members popped in occasionally, though they tended to remain oddly distant, the secrets surrounding them keeping their lips sealed and words silenced. Particularly around him. Unlike his sister, Pagan’s coat hailed back to his father, marking him as different from the others as his name. Unknown to him it had been clear from the moment of his birth, in the breath of his name, that he was different. An outsider and fallen from the grace of the others. Carefully, he stepped forward, hopeful of this new encounter.