Finally she had fallen asleep, though it had taken some time. They had been relaxing, the sun splashing warm light across the room and their own bodies as it made its way across the sky outside. Or at least his mother had been relaxing; Pripyat had simply played the part, waiting, his tiny heart beating in anticipation, for the right moment. Even after her eyes had closed he waited, watching patiently. The sun played in her fur, the same grey tones as his own coat, and her breathing became even. Only then did he take a few cautious steps away. The Whilom did not wake, she did not even stir, and on silent paws he moved towards freedom, his excitement and pleasure increasing as he bounded outside to liberty.
Outside he exploded into activity, all the pent up excitement expelling from him then. Pripyat ran. He jumped. He tumbled. And once far away enough from the lighthouse he broke into a boy’s song, one made up of snarls and growls as he bared tiny teeth at nothing and pounced and stalked thin air. When bugs flew past he followed snapping at the insects, and once he succeeded in clamping down upon one. The ill-fated dragon fly that crushed between his teeth tasted foul. Pripyat spat it out in the sand triumphantly, deciding he much preferred the meals his mother brought home but proud at his kill never-the-less. One day he’d bring home the meals to her, and the thought made him stand taller, giving a stern look to the chewed remains of the bug as if to dare it to move ever again.
No matter where he roamed, he didn’t roam far, even if to him it felt as if he had. The lighthouse ceaselessly towered above him, always within sight, and that meant he was always within sight as well. So it was no surprise when he was found out, and Mother appeared before him, her voice soft and gentle. Pripyat knew that he wasn’t exactly suppose to sneak off while she slept and so he grinned up sheepishly at her, but there was no anger in her face. There never had been, Mother was always soft and warm and welcoming. "Okay." He settled back on his haunches at her feet, his intelligent, alert eyes searching her face for clues as to what she needed to say so desperately she had interrupted bug hunting. "I’s listening."
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