Life was, and will forever remain, a difficult task. At five years old, it was a fact that Entinan knew quite well—more so than most, or so he was willing to bet. Had the pack gone hunting, he’d already be moving after a gazelle or something similar—the rainy seasons always brought such prey to their territory—but they had yet to go hunting; perhaps at dusk, the Makhadi mused. There were so many decisions to make, and although he was still learning, the African Wild Dog thought that he was doing a decent job of it.

Panting contently, he ambled along the dusty savannah, pausing to glance this way and that. It was habit to do this; where he’d lived before had been littered with humans—men that raised objects and threw things at him whenever they saw him. The memory made his lip curl somewhat, but he reminded himself that it was all in the past; it didn’t exist anymore, and thus continued onwards, happy in his own little world.

Inhaling deeply, the scent of spring and a variation of prey sprung forth into his nostrils, mingling with the smell of another member of Chamko. The pack didn’t officially have a name—it was just ‘The Pack’ in his mind, but the humans who had put them here had called their family ‘Chamko’ and, for the life of him, Entinan couldn’t figure out why. Still, days were not meant to be spent pondering on such trivial matters that had no place in their world and the dog shook his head gently, yawning softly.

Another form came into view and he recognized it vaguely as one of the other Mabeberu, although the name didn’t come into his head until about five seconds later. Running up to him at a smooth pace, the Makhadi grinned gently and sat down, batting Apollo with his paw slightly, in nothing but a teasing and welcoming manner. “Good morning, Apollo.”