The Howler ~WIP~

    The first thing a pup knows is a beat. Ba-dum, ba-dum, over and over in his head. It isn't coming through his pockmarks that would later become ears. It's coming in through his skin, the soft warmth that kept his insides where they should be. The pup knows nothing but that drumming feeling; Not quite a sound, but more-or-less a state of being for the puppy. This is the first shard of his world.

    The second shard is feeling. Not the vibration of his carrier's heart, but the vibration of all the other tiny creatures sharing this space with him. Up until a certain point the pup had been floating alone in an abyss of unknown, of silence, of solitude. Now a furry bum was pushed into his side, and the growing features of a muzzle protruded into his shoulder. His siblings were the second shard of his world.

    The third shard was movement. The way his carrier swayed, back and forth, as she walked along close to her den, restless. The pup and his partners-in-crime would surely cry out if their mouths were formed. She swayed, and when she was afraid she would jostle, moving the pups among themselves. They would squirm their half-formed legs against eachother, seeking comfort in an unborn neighbor. Once this came, they would calm, and the female that obliged to carry them would only have one side effect of her pups' terror; Constant urination.

    One shard that came to most-but not all- unborn pups at any point in time was death. This was about the time my own memory began to come along and begin to stick with me.

    I remember being around the end of my carrying. I had been sharing this space with 7 other furry bodies, all of them learning how to squirm and move about. I remember how annoyed I was at my future littermates. They were soft and squishy, and gave me comfort when Carrier moved, but now- During the time of No-Move- they were still squirming. One of them, a slightly bigger pup than me, was pressed against me so hard I could hardly move. Finally, I lashed out with a tiny paw and caught the pup's blind face. Soon, there were only 6 tiny beats. I had sensed my littermate's succumb to death.

    The final shard of my 75th day of being carried. Carrier felt we'd become restless enough. I, myself, am not sure what exactly happened, but I remember the fact that Carrier was stressed and was moving a lot, in constant rings. I don't exactly know why. Or, I didn't.

    I remember the body of my dead sibling disappear first. I felt great about this, since now there was less deadweight to crowd the womb I was in. However, my joy was cut off when Carrier's beat quickened. I could tell she was stressed. I went still with terror and curled up, wondering what she'd think of me if she reacted this strongly to the Dead One.

    Next, the pup next to me disappeared. Whether by tiny logic or by instinct I knew I was next, and turned myself towards the sharp movements that the wall of my abyss was moving me toward. I remember a flash of pain so blazing and horrible that it made me forget  the beginning and the end of the trip from the Home to the Outside. The next thing I knew, something was nuzzling and nipping at the fluids that covered my tiny body, and suddenly I could move. I squirmed and wailed and cried out, learning now how to use my newly formed mouth, squirming excitedly, wondering where I was and why I was there. Carrier gently moved me to her belly, and I felt my older littermate squirming beside me. Complying to the scent of milk, I latched onto her milk-spots and began to nurse.

    The other four pups came after me and my Littermate. I was unimpressed by this bunch, despite the fact that I could not see them. They were weaker than me and my Littermate, and this bothered me. They were weaker, less energetic. I didn't care for them.

    Soon, my eyes opened. I recognized Litttermate immediately, for he had always been on my left side, and was always heavier than me. Now I could see what he looked like; A small brown and gray form with a short, stumpy tail like my own. He had no white underbelly as I did, but instead he had a partially creamy chest and splotches above his eyes.

    Then, I looked at the pups on my other side; The runt, the youngest female, was mostly white with gray on her ears, paws, back and tailtip. She had not yet opened her eyes, but I could tell she was getting ready to. The lumps where her eyes lay were twitching, as if she were blinking in the sunlight. The one beside her was an all-black male pup, who was a little fatter than the runt, and a lot bolder. He crawled upon her if she challenged his authority at the milk-spots. She would always open her mouth and try to bite his front elbow to try and pry  him off of her, but he never backed off. He stayed there, milk-treading for his meals and always stepping on her face.

    The one beside him, slightly closer to me, was all white without a hint of gray, black or silver on him. He was rather lovely looking, with a silky pelt that rose and fell with each of his sleepy breaths.

    The one after  him was another female, pitch black with hints of silver on her face. She was a simple pup that made no noise and made no effort to suckle. I wondered if she had been the Dead One, but I found a few days later that the pup I'd slain lay in a corner of the den. Carrier did not want yet to get rid of his tiny, helpless, cold body. Not now.

                                                                                                ***

    Over time we got stronger. Soon, I learned that the strange things upon my body was not made solely for the purpose of milk-treading, but also for standing. First, I learned to use my front paws, stumpy and short and not at all helpful in the art of doing anything. However, I did get to see above the backs of my siblings- All but Littermate. He was still bigger than I and, with a small shove, would always send me sprawling to my side should my height get in the way of his authority or sleeping.

    Later we learned to walk fully. My legs had grown strong enough now that I was ready to move about the den Carrier had chosen for us to be delivered in. Littermate was the first to fully begin his walking, and I followed his example. Soon, we were dominating our siblings, and the Runt- Whom was later named appropriately, Tiny- later found herself at the bottom of our milk-tread pecking order.

    Later, I found shiny ivory things were falling out of my mouth. I had no way of knowing that these were my milk-teeth. It had been a full month, and now I was readying myself to eat Meat.