(forward dated to 7/7/26 — 2 months old)]

The den was shelter, it offered warmth when the wind turned cold, dry when the rain came, it was familiar in scent. But it lacked the quiet certainty she imagined other pups felt when they curled against their mothers. There were no lingering touches, reassuring licks between her ears or no voice calling her close simply because someone wanted her near. Her mother was there in the way mountains were there. And she had quickly resorted to watching instead of asking.

The pup sat near the mouth of the den chin resting between oversized paws as amber eyes followed the world beyond. Nothing escaped her notice though none of it made much sense yet. The world was full of movements she couldn't decipher, conversations spoken in body language she hadn't learned to read. She stared anyway, collecting them like little pieces of a puzzle she was determined to solve. It was a squirrel darting across a fallen log that drew her attention, ears flicking forward as they both paused to consider one another before it vanished and the girl rose.

Her paws carried her forward in slow steps, stopping every few feet as though expecting the world itself to object. She glanced back toward the den once, curious if her mother would remain where she'd always been — if she would offer encouragement or warning.

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