Lord have mercy on us all

Unlike the rest of the bunch, Pythia has reason to move slowly from the den. With everyone else already pouncing out into the unknown ahead of her, she struggles. Their paws thump, trembling the dirt beneath her. Their loud cacophony of yapping and barking forcing her ears to fall backward. Everything was so loud. Her lips crumple in disgust and frustration as she scoots forward, paws dragging along the den floor so she doesn't stumble over anything or anyone.

When she makes it to the entrance, seemingly forever later, the nearly all white pup feels exhausted already. For as much of her mind that wants her to charge out head first into the world, the rest of her is still trying to keep up. Where the others see trees and grass and the birds flitting from limb to limb, Pythia sees... nothing. Before her is a landscape of near black. Near nothing. Possibly some foggy shapes here and there, but really it all appears to be blobs and not much else.

Her nose is permanently tilted slightly upward, always twitching, always scenting. It's how she knows that her mothers were not far off, lounging on a stinky fur provided by one of those yapping dogs. The racket of commotion coming from her siblings was not easy to ignore, they made it easy to keep track of them. One of them always making some sort of noise or movement that forced tremors through her body.

Standing in the doorway of the den, shoulder leaning against the carved entry for support, Pythia waited. Waited for the energy to return, the gumption to strike out into the open. For now, she listens. Ears pressed forward, nose twitching, content to take in what she can to map out her surroundings.

"speech"