Being idle is the worst, some would say. There was one type of wolves which just didn’t bear staying still for hours, quiet, relaxed, no. They had to set something up, walk around, go for a hunt – and the farthest, the better. Hyperactives.
On the other hand, some were perfectly adapted to resting times and doing-nothing hours in their diaries. As the reader can guess in so far, Zwey was of the second type.

To be precise, the brown wolf wasn’t that lazy. Sure, he was on the track to be considered as so by his packmates ; but they also had developed this habit of showing up at his wrong moments. Was he having a nap, some guy would come out of the blue asking for training, hunting or whatever the hyperactive type would like. Sometimes that was annoying, really.
No wonder why he would leap at any chance to get asleep in a dark and peaceful corner of the camp.

Really, Zwey was happy to help, and balking wasn’t like him. But seriously, what did those wolves have against sleeping ? From the morning until now, when the sun was high and hot and radiant, someone managed to disturb him anytime he tried to stretch out somewhere alone. Hunters and fellow sentries, even pupminders, everyone had something against him sitting here or getting there in the way. Zwey became kind of upset. But it didn’t mean that he would drop it out and make himself useful elsewhere : he had spent a long night of watch after all, and nobody would deny his right to recover for a few hours. His hunting trip would come soon enough. And the camp has to be guarded by adults, anyway – as pups just enjoyed themselves the most running out of it at any time of the day.
Obviously, being asleep wasn’t the best way to watch out for little demons. Well.

Anyway, the young wolf thought as resting his head on his paws, in the cool shade of the cave, he wasn’t good in child-management. And surely would never be. Didn’t matter, he conclude while, at last, falling asleep.

Zwey was dreaming of grub, for a change. Thankfully, his dreams were quiet enough not to distrub the whole pack by growlings and fang bangings. Didn't want to be seen as a psycho either.
Anyway, he was sleeping peacefully when something touched down his back. Something furry, heavy as as big squirrel, or a small fox. Zwey opened up a hazel eye as the "something" was clumsily climbing up his head.
Hi sunshine. Hey, can't you let me sleep in peace ?

« Hello ! Do you want to play with me ? » A little voice said from above.

Zwey yawned, and slightly righted his head upon his paws :

« Hello. Do I really look like a climbing tree ? »

All of a sudden, the brown wolf bent the head down so that his furry visitor fell between his paws.

« Well, well. What have we here. » He said, as he looked down to the pup.

It didn't tak time before the sentry identifies the wolf cub as the son of Freux. Small, cheerful, all white, and a tiny problem relative to his fourth paw. Like, the fifth wheel somehow. Zwey didn't remember his name, but he remembered what the other wolves were thinking of the little one.
The brown wolve brievely blew on the soft white fur and said :

« It's nap time you squirrel. Aren't you tired ? »