a conundrum [aw]

Skoll Haskel · 11-14-2011, 09:45 PM

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First post with my little boy! If I've already arranged a thread with you, you can feel free to post and we can count this as our thread; otherwise, this is all welcome!

Skoll Haskel was furious.

Of course, it was the first time in a long time that he’d managed to slip out from under his mother’s nose. She’d been watching him and his siblings like a hawk ever since Daddy went away for something important; the paranoid atmosphere was something that even the young pup could perceive. It had lightened up for about a week before everyone started being really busy again. It was probably the stupid whit stuff’s fault, and the cold, and the blonde boy found himself questioning why he’d come outside in the first place.

Right—to escape. He’d slipped out the front door of the Catori-Haskel home when someone forgot to shut it completely, but of course the wind had knocked it firmly closed when he turned back around. Deciding that he might as well make the most of the circumstances, he’d picked his favorite ball right back up and trotted further out into the pack territory. Skoll had been reminded enough not to go too far, so he kept the building in his sight at all times and made sure he was in sight of the building too. That way Mom couldn’t say he’d wandered off.

But a puppy could only do so much while trying to be careful, and Skoll had quickly fallen into a game of ball, rolling the toy with his nose and scrambling after it on too-large paws. He’d pounce and make a great show of chewing it before releasing it once again.

Now, however, it had rolled into a hole too small for him to get to.

“Get back heerreee,” Skoll commanded in a childish parody of his mother’s reprimanding. “I whoop you iffu don’t.” He scowled, green eyes darkly fixed on the tiny burrow, and after a few moments, he barked loudly. “I count! Un, deux, trois…” He scrunched his nose up, trying to remember what number to end on—or what number came after trois, for that matter.

But it was no use. Even if he counted all day, he didn’t think the ball—which had proven thus far incapable of its own movement uphill—would listen to him. Yapping again, the Haskel boy plopped his butt down on the cold ground and tried to contain his frustrations. Maybe he could dig, but the dirt was so hard and cold from the prior night’s frost, and he didn’t want his paws to hurt anymore. If they hurt, he couldn’t run, and he’d sooner relinquish his ball to the dark forces underground than lose that ability. It looked like he’d need a grown-up for this.

Word Count → 435

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