White.
It was a familiar color to the black twin. She and her sister both had grown up with nothing but snow and rock around them for as long as they could remember. Why their mother had chosen this spot to come, have her pups and then leave them after they were weaned was beyond them. It was only thanks to a few passing wild dogs that they had even survived. While most would think her cautious of leaving the den after nearly dying multiple times due to her mother's negligence, Motla's playful nature seemed to keep her out and about rather than inside the warmth of their shallow den, huddled against the body of her brownish-red sister. "Come oooon, sleepy-head!" She called out, twirling around, her paws sinking slightly into the fresh snow. "I think I see hare tracks, maybe we can catch breakfast."
