The herding canine was doing such a wonderful job moving her gaggle of a litter across the Bowl, her owner somewhat distracted as she looked where they were going, not where they were. Such a wonderful job -- until the great golden bulk in the Bowl twitched and turned over, her yawn as loud and sudden as a bullhorn.
The canine yipped and forgot her duties. The pups, at each other’s shoulders, scattered at the noise, jumping over each other and looking for a safe place -- there. The owner looked back with wide eyes and a curse, but the pups were off like an arrow from the bow, ducking under the legs of a group of weyrworkers to get to the safe, shady place. The gold swung her great head around to see.
Sniff. Sniff sniff sniff! Wet noses touched warm shells. Small claws were tested against them. Fluffy backs brushed the insensate shells, animal minds only barely at the edge of the eggs’ awareness. Some intrepid pups leapt to the tops of the smaller eggs, light bodies no danger; others nosed or dug at the bases to make cool hollows in the sand to rest. A friendly tussle broke out among the eggs, tiny growls and the occasional slap from a tail the tell-tale signs.
“Oh, Faranth, oh I’m so sorry, forgive me,” the woman repeated.
Shayled’s mind approached, and Gwillanth chuckled so the woman could hear. “It’s no trouble, holder. They’ll do no harm, Gwillanth doesn’t mind. Let them rest in the shade for a while and bring us joy.”
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What’s your first reaction to these events? Does the holder’s or Shayled’s reactions change your initial reaction? Does the brief interaction between Gwill, Shayled, and the holder tell you anything new? Gwillanth seems to be pleased by the mistake, why? Do you find the puppies as cute as she does? As the pups settle into their strange nap spot, what strikes you the most?