He came along behind dutifully, yet with bright curiosity shining in his flame-colored eyes. And though he stayed behind Kazgut--following, attentive to the black pup's direction--his gaze still wandered. Everything was new to him; from the glitter and shine of the Spire's lights across this new rock, to the luminescent glow of the outcrops of crystal that studded the stone.

Fireheart was small, yet--still a newly-hatched pup--and his ashen fur only hinted at the snowy white that would come with age. His steps, on oversized paws, were bumbling but his stubby puppy tail wagged with joy at seeing the world around him.

But they weren't here for the stone; they were here for Vyette. And upon spotting her--as Kazgut barked, and spoke--Fireheart fell still. He peered at her: only the second other living being he had ever seen. She was paler than Kazgut, more like him--no, lighter-coated, even; white. She seemed daintier, more delicate, though hardly fragile. But where Kazgut was square and strong, even as a pup, Vyette seemed a graceful thing, almost poetic in her sleek lines and wavy coat. Fireheart could imagine, already, the truly elegant adult that she would one day become.

It was not that he was smitten, though; he admired her, for a moment, as he had admired Kazgut's void-black coat and moonglow eyes. They were, he noticed, opposites; black to white, white eyes to dark, and her stone atop her forehead, too, was pitch.

"Hello," he offered, and respectfulness, uncertainty, curiosity and good nature all blossomed from his heart, and into the movements of his body. A backward flick of his ears, a dip of his head, a peering at the pup, a wag of his tail--and then he drew himself up, a little. "My name is Fireheart."

He glanced to Kazgut, expecting the two to greet one another, perhaps; to catch up on however long they had spent apart. He wasn't sure how long that'd be, and nervousness--a consequence of inexperience--drove him into uncertain silence as he waited.

Fireheart was as oblivious to social niceties as Kazgut, and as pleased to see the pair as they, apparently, were to see him. He stood quiet, tail wagging, as Vyette sniffed at him; his little ears perked toward her, curious as to what she was doing. His gemstone would prove warm, but only that faint warmth as with body heat--there was no fire to it.

The wolf pup glanced back to track, for a moment, the black fellow who had led him here. Kazgut seemed almost preoccupied, nosing around nearby, and Fireheart felt himself at first hesitant and then, after a moment's consideration, at his ease. If they felt no need to stand on ceremony, then neither did he--he took his cue from them, in his ignorance of such things.

"Vyette-... Sister," he said thoughtfully. For a moment longer he studied her, in a friendly manner, his tail absently still wagging. Do you--live here?" he asked, looking around. There was no sign of a dwelling place, or even of the signs of this area of the cave being lived-in; no bones of prey that he could see, no stray fur or scratchmarks, no personal belongings gathered here to rest. But Fireheart had little concept of such things, regardless. He didn't know what it was that he was looking for, only that he wasn't sure about their area. But his tone was not judgmental--only curious. "You're pretty," he added, matter-of-factly; "Both." It was said with a nod of approval, of admiration; they were beautiful beings, like statues, like paintings, shadow and light, ivory and coal, and he found himself rapt by the sight of them. "You look--matched. It is nice," he added; and perhaps, were he older, his words might have found some of the poetry of his thoughts.

At the observation that Fireheart was both unique and "beautiful," (and that was the word he'd wanted; the word for the two of them; he added it into his mind) he swelled with pride. Him, beautiful? He had no reason to doubt Vyette's words; with youth came naievety and an obliviousness to the fact that some might compliment merely to be polite. Though even had he known, he'd likely not have attributed such things to the wraithlike white hound. Once he knew others, he might see her as standing apart, wraithlike and mysterious--but for now, Kazgut and Vyette were the only "normalcy" he knew. So now he incorporated that knowledge: he was beautiful, and that fed, just a little, a new arrogance born in the pup. Still, he amended his prior statement in a complement of his own. "That is what you are. Beautiful." He looked at them both, with this; for it wasn't just the form of one, but the poetry of both, that twinned into something magnificent.

"I do not want," he answered, thinking--but at Kazgut's mention of hunger, he found his stomach rumbling in response. A faint but sharp ache seemed to pierce his gut, and the pup turned to stare at his own abdomen for a brief and quizzical moment. Then he looked back to the black dog. "What are mice? I am hungry," he agreed. The words were swirling in his mind, now: hunger, hungry, food. They seemed, to him, to be quite closely-related to the churning in his stomach, although he couldn't as yet fully piece it all together.

And then, amending his prior statement, his flameglow eyes peering at Vyette thoughtfully: "I do want. I hunger." There. Yes; that felt right.

He wagged his tail at the two, waiting to be shown what "hunting" was. His expression remained both curious and friendly, his ears pricked up as he looked between Vyette and Kazgut beside her.