The whelps were growing quickly.
So quickly.
It was a good thing, she knew, but what little she'd actually seen of growing pups had been when she was a youngling herself. It just seemed... so quickly, that their little eyes were starting to pop open, still fresh and blue. They were already standing, for shit sake, finding sound and smell and touch. Apple still found it easy to keep them contained, unwilling to let them free to wander of yet; though they were left alone for small fragments of time in which the single mother stepped away for a drink, never technically out of sight of the den.
Some days, she lingered there at the edge of the pool, staring down into it. What if something did find its way to her den?
Would she protect them?
But she always went back, and she never spent a moment unaware; far behind were the days where she got so lost in thought that she payed attention to her surroundings naught, paranoia ruining every moment of peace she managed to claw from her pitiful life.

She was skulking back from one such trip, head low as she pulled herself forward on unwilling paws and a limping gait from a still-broken leg.

The wind shifted, smacking her in the face with the scent of a stranger just as a tawny form caught her attention. As her heart thudded painfully against her chest, she watched as the ratty little beast went tumbling down over what had to be the den, the babies.
She heard a squeal from inside.

Jerky steps led her closer, the fur along her spine rippling and a knot forming in her throat. She couldn't find her voice, and she didn't leap into action, gait faltering as she drew closer, jaws grinding together in an open-mouthed grimace that showed her clenched teeth (if you arent picturing the emoji, you're doing it wrong).

Fuck, she squeaked out.

Life was comfortable. Easy.

There was something he couldn't quite put his foot on but sometimes, when he was separated from his littermates, he felt a prickle over his skin. It was not so strong to call unpleasant, but he didn't enjoy it all the same; glad to find it went away again when he toddled back to the nest with the other bodies.

Persimmon could not feel the sharp bite of the cold, not properly, but it tried to sink its fangs into him nonetheless.

Life was simple. He slept, he woke, he burbled a little in a language only he could understand. Sometimes he listened to his Mutter speak, for she said little but he enjoyed the sound of her voice. The young boy enjoyed laying on top of, or even beneath, his siblings -- gumming at limbs and floppy ears with fresh, sharp milk teeth. Apple never seemed to appreciate his love-nibbles; shoving him away with a paw and a grumble, silent as stone and ice in her teal gaze.
He always stopped readily, as if reminded it was not a good thing to do, and settled down at her elbow like a proper gentleman.
It never earned him any reaction.

Today, he was sniffing about near the entrance of the tiny den, where he'd seen Mutter leave. Sleep was heavy in his steps, in his drooping eyes, but still he was tempted to follow. He peered outside, blinking out into the fresh, pale light of the cloudy morning.
There was a figure. Mutter was back!

A leg that wasn't snowy jutted down and atop his tail. Persi squealed in surprise and yanked himself back; tumbling head-over-tail backwards, further into the den.

The tawny, heavily-scarred wolf kept on cursing, and when she stepped backwards, she had a massive red tick stuck to her leg. Frankly, as Apple stood there staring, she thought she had a pretty good answer of whether or not she would defend the nest.
No, she told herself. No, she could just clearly tell this was an accident. Nothing more.
If only her son could. Still, she was proud of his willingness to defend himself and his littermates! Currently, the little tripod had done more than his Mother.

When Sparrow made eye contact, it was like Apple thawed. She lurched forward, shaking her head.

I thought hiding the den this well was a good idea, she gasped shrilly out past the surging adrenaline, ears pinned, POMEGRANATE, let go!

Was he the one that'd gotten stepped on, scared? Was he hurt? Apple didn't smell blood, at least, but there were other soft sounds coming from the den, and the stench of fear. Shit on a stick, apparently she could've still hidden better.

She pawed at her son, gentle, but trying to nudge him off the poor scarred leg and back to the den.

WOW, were they hearing a lot of new words today!! Persi stopped rolling and laid sprawled there on the cramped floor of the little den, tail wagging while the voices of the adults sounded above -- one was, most definitely this time, Mutter. The other was... new, never before heard before. Cool!

His tail had a bit of a crook in it now, but Persimmon didn't even seem to notice let alone feel any pain.

The boy sprang right back to his paws, in fact, and raced for the entrance when he realized PomPom wasn't inside anymore. He wasn't going to be left behind for their first time into the Bright, no sir! With an encouraging bark to Cashew, Lorelei, and his other siblings, Persi dashed outside like a kid rushing into disneyland for the first time.

It took him a few moments to blink and adjust his gaze to the much brighter sky, but then he saw Mutter. She was... pushing Pomegranate, and telling him to get off. Was this being Not To Be Chewed On also? Ridiculous, but whatever, he thought. He would keep using siblings or, on occasion, Mutter, but he didn't think it fair his brother get all the fun. Nonetheless, he charged forward to stand right in front of Sparrow, staring up at her with wide, excited eyes, and saying not a word.

Just a massive grin on his face, and a tail with a crooked tip waving high.