Sawtooth Spire we are nothing but waddling colonies of tiny little monsters

He wanted to play. He would have accepted a cuddle too. But he got neither, because his mother was a brute of a bear and was bent on preparing them for them for life. He was used to this, but while he had established himself as quiet and patient, in this moment it was bored frustration that over took him. She thrust her muzzle at him, bowling him over without effort, and he retaliated with the quickness of a coiled snake. He was on his feet and lunging; his milk teeth were fully erupted and sharp, and he aimed them at her muzzle in a purposeful nip. If she wanted to play rough, fine, but god darnit they were going to play. He was not going to just go lay down.