Merlin was snuffling and digging in the mud around the base of a rock, trying unsuccessfully to find the ground hog he'd been chasing up to the point that he'd lost it in the rubble, when his father's call pierced the enshrouding rain. The yearling popped his head up with a goofy grin gaping his muzzle and his tongue lolling out one side. Dad! He flipped around with surprising grace for being, well, him, and galloped off through the mud and drizzle without a care. "Hey Dad!" he chirped as he pranced up to the white (well, probably formerly white, at the rate Merlin was going flinging up mud with his frisking paws) alpha-dad, with wagging tail (which was also flinging muddy water everywhere) and wriggling excitedly. He apparently also had mud on his tongue, which he noticed a little too late as he curled it back up into his mouth to talk. Oh well, a little dirt in the digestion never killed anyone! "Whatcha doing out in the rain?" Though mostly oblivious, he wasn't completely oblivious, and it had not escaped him that most other wolves didn't seem to care for the constant drizzle and mud as much as he himself did.
