They’d called him Shark.
Another toothy fish, just like his father.
He’d grown into the name, big and grey-furred, eyes extra keen and teeth extra sharp. He’d grown into his paws now too, after spending his puphood stumbling over them. They’d never matched the rest of him, not until now. Not until he’d decided to set out on his own, find his own fate. Now they were made for long distance, one in front of the other, eating up distance.
Shark wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeking. He’d met his father once before, when he was much younger, but Pike had never been interested in his offspring and it had shown. Shark wasn’t going to search for someone that didn’t care or a far flung family who were probably the same. There was something else out there, something to give him a purpose.
That was what he was lacking, he decided. Curled up alone, the rain clinging to his fur and running down his nose. Something to fight for, something to care about. And he’d find it. Sooner or later in this great big world, it would be there. Until then, there were a lot of tree to sniff and a lot of rabbits to hunt and big piles of soggy leaves to roll in.
The rain cleared with the dawn, leaving the forest awash with smells. The dampness clung to the nostrils and every step was sodden. Every now and then a bird would disturb a branch and water that had been trapped in the leaves would be dumped to the ground in a great burst. It was a fresh day, full of chattering squirrels and twittering birds.
Shark felt keenly alive as he loped along, stopping to dig carelessly at the opening of a rabbit burrow before leaving it be, not hungry enough to put in the effort. A large old oak caught his attention, the insides seemingly hollow. Perhaps he could rustle up a mushroom or two inside.
