Thuds disturb the peace of their den.
They weren’t one with Jakten.
They were their own nest. The queen of their mother against the workers of the outside world, the workers who fed them, brought them gifts, and fled from Azalea triplets.

So, he stayed an isolated little boy. One who knew few names and few scents other than brothers, mother. Them and them alone.

A boys nose was inside that deep dark, eyes big and wide as he scattered to the safety behind tiny little stones and twigs. The littlest gasp and flattened ears, and only one green iris peeking at the fallen roadkill.

Whispering, words suddenly feeling thick in his mouth. “Heblo?”