summer had come as a shock to her. suddenly, it seemed as if the entire den had become far too small and far too warm; it felt as if moisture clung to the very wall and airs. it had begun to feel inescapable between the heat, her mother and her siblings. it made her itch and squirm, restless and desperate for reprieve. she had tried sprawling out, the pink of her stomach in the air and yet, it had done little; she had chewed the bones and leather left from their meals and yet, it had done nothing to quell the frustration she had begun to feel. everybody else seemed content to her and so, it had only sought to make her angrier about her discomfort. was it expected that she would sort it out herself?

to answer her own question: yes. it had become expected, it seemed, that she would be required to take the situation into her own paws. it made her huff and grumble with dissatisfaction, content to linger in the den's outer tunnel. occasionally, a breeze would roll into the den and yet, her father never did so. he stayed away. it made things worst. everything seemed to make things worse.

eventually, she had grown too uncomfortable and too bothered by it all. darkness had befallen the crags, the full moon high and bright in the sky. it bathed the stones of her home in vivid silver light. slowly, she had emerged and scrambled up the slopes and outcrops that lead to the upper plateau of stone. it had been a struggle initially, her tongue flopped from her mouth in the summer warmth but she had made it nonetheless. from there, she had been able to oversee the crags far better. even the breeze reached her in such a spot; it ruffled her pale fur, her eyes fixated upon the darkness in the distance. her ears rotated to and fro, lured in by the sudden and unusual sounds of the night. at least here, she supposed, she had the comforts of space and air.