For Mom, Dad, or Sibling. Don't worry about matching length; I just wanted to write.
Tybalt studied his paws, which were quite immaculate since the snow had come and covered up the colored earth. He had come to the realization that he was to be forever cursed with this white coat of his. The pup had already developed some very interesting grooming habits, like the necessity of having clean paws. The fetish didn’t yet make any sense to the five-month-old, but certain things about his appearance were starting to matter more. Even a well-meaning cleaning from his mother, which was becoming rarer simply because he was becoming more independent, could send him into a gloomy irritation, although he was too polite to actually make a snotty remark to his mother. It wasn’t that her wanting him clean bothered him (honestly it wasn’t; he really enjoyed this hygiene thing), it was that he wanted to be able to do it for himself. In some ways the youngster really wanted respect, an acknowledgement that his adolescence would shortly be coming to an end (not that his body or mind was really ready for that step yet).
The child wasn’t smiling; he wasn’t exactly frowning either, mind you. The look was much more bland and inverted as if the youngster were deep into some hidden recesses of his mind and wouldn’t be drawn back to reality with anything less than a minor explosion. His favorite place lay around him, the mysterious fog all but dissipated with how cold it was. There were still some tendrils of it seeping out from the lake, which looked metallic in the grey light of a winter’s evening. He was sitting in an alcove made by a rather large tree that faced the large (in his eyes) body of water; it was blocking the wind from getting at him too much, and for this he was very grateful. His fur was rather lacking in the warmth department, a product from having been born at the height of summer instead of when ‘natural’ wolves were birthed somewhere at the end of winter or beginning of spring. Not that he minded; Ty quite liked a good frolic in the snow, and he was the perfect age to get away with it.
Tybalt shifted, his trance broken by a gust of wind that buffeted his side, having whipped around the protective tree. He sunk to his stomach, resting from a full day of playing and running about. Childlike things were definitely not beneath him, and he loved company. That being said, he also loved these moments alone with his thoughts (not that his were very deep yet), solitary and relaxing. Resting his head on his outstretched forepaws, the pup’s water-clear eyes watched the wind make the fog swirl. A small, simple smile crossed his lips.
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