Bearclaw Valley No, child, you cannot have grenades or assault rifles in the classroom

Round and round went the world, making Aventus so dizzy that he could only slouch in the grass. Nothing like knocking your brains around a little. By the time the vertigo passed, Astara was looming over his prone form and laving a soothing tongue over the dome of his head. He lifted muzzle into the breeze and felt the telltale cooling of liquid on his nose and snout, followed by a gentle pattering of blood on the ground between his paws.

He beheld these beads of crimson with shocked eyes and his bottom lip wobbled, but he held back the tears that gathered on his eyelids. Even at this tender age, Aventus felt that crying was weak—he was too young to understand it, but something in him believed that his sister wouldn't cry and neither could he. He would upset his mother if he did.

He picked himself up off the dirt, but although his willpower was strong enough to swallow down his natural desire to cry, he couldn't muster enough of it to keep going. He turned and began to slink back to the den, deftly licking his own blood from his lips.

Wrap?