Free Firstborn by Tor Seidler

for a son, too: a wolf in his own magnificent image. As the rising sun began to gild the mountaintops, birds on the other side of Slough Creek started twittering—thrushes, by the off-key sound of them. Hope and Lupa stirred, and Raze, too.
    All of a sudden a pair of pups stumbled out of the den. They were roughly the same size, a fluffy brown female and a mostly black male. When Alberta came out right behind them, Blue Boy barked happily and gave her a congratulatory nuzzle. The fuzz balls tumbled around in the new grass. Then two more male pups appeared—and one was riding on the other’s back! The rider was a runt, his mount definitely the biggest of the litter.
    Blue Boy shot Alberta a look of surprise. She shrugged. Blue Boy sniffed and knelt down. The first two pups wasted no time in toddling up on their little bowed legs and licking him under his chin. The runt slid off his brother’s back and did the same. But the last pup got distracted.
    â€œThe firstborn?” Blue Boy said, eyeing him.
    â€œMmm,” said Alberta.
    A little downhill from the den a beetle with an iridescent shell had landed on a twig. The firstborn pup stepped tentatively that way, and the beetle opened his wings and took off. With a burp of excitement the pup chased it. He tripped and tumbled down the slope. If he hadn’t bumped into my aspen, he might have rolled all the way down to the creek.
    â€œQuite the little adventurer,” Hope said. “What are you going to call him, Mother?”
    â€œIt’s your father’s turn,” Alberta said. “I got to name you.”
    Blue Boy glanced down the notch, toward the valley. “How about Lamar?” he said. Then louder: “Lamar!”
    The firstborn pup turned and clambered up the hill. But just when it looked as if he was finally going to pay his father tribute, the sun hit the creek, striking diamonds of light off it.
    â€œThis is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” Lamar exclaimed.
    â€œOut of your vast experience of beautiful places,” said Frick, who’d woken at the commotion.
    The pup turned and fixed his eyes on him. “You have a thing on your neck like Mother,” he said.
    â€œA collar,” Frick said.
    â€œWhat are those little things?”
    â€œFlies,” Frick said, giving his nub of a tail a swish.
    â€œWhat’s this tickly stuff?”
    â€œGrass,” Frick said.
    As Lamar bombarded Frick with questions, Alberta enlisted Blue Boy in helping name the other newcomers. They called the girl Libby and the boy Ben. Out of tact for Hope they even named the runt: Rider. Ben and Libby started sparring, as wolf pups are meant to do, and small as he was, Rider joined in. Lamar kept on grilling Frick about the novelties around him, oblivious to his father’s narrowing eyes.
    â€œWhat’s the thing I hit?”
    â€œA tree,” Frick said. “A quaking aspen, to be precise.”
    â€œWhat are those things in the quaking aspen?”
    â€œBudding leaves, mostly. The black-and-white thing’s a bird.”
    â€œA bird,” Lamar said, looking suitably impressed.
    â€œShe’s a friend of ours, a magpie,” Frick said. “Her name’s Maggie.”
    Lamar’s upturned eyes were an adorable baby blue. His body was mostly his mother’s gray, but his face was an expressive mix of gray, brown, white, and black. As I was about to welcome him to the world, Rider let out a squeal.
    Ben had cuffed the runt and sent him flying. Lamar raced over, helped the runt to his feet, and turned on his other brother, his tail shooting up. Ben’s wilted.
    â€œThat’s more like it,” Blue Boy said under his breath.
    The wolves spent the day playing with the pups. Watching the pups frolic, I noticed that none of them had any of their father’s blue in their coats, but this didn’t keep Blue Boy from beaming at them. Not even Lupa or Raze could resist