Blackfeather Woods AHHH! It's demons! Run Jim! Ruuuuun! Ruuuuun!

He got no more than a few warm mouthfuls before he was knocked aside. Euron wailed loudly as one of his mother's kicking feet sent him rolling, scrabbling, and flailing across the den floor. He cried urgently for help — for protection — as his tiny claws curled into the dirt attempting to anchor him to the ground. The pup shook and shivered, and whimpered once — quietly — before he stilled and made no more sound. Euron, defenseless and fearful of another strike, pressed his tail to his flank, laid his white chin on the ground and drew in his paws, bade by instinct to make himself as small and inconspicuous as he could be.

Even as Euron was lifted again he uttered nothing and made no twitch. He was limp like the dead, and placed again where he last had been — at his mother's side. His nose was engulfed in the same scent as before. He felt her presence. Only this time nothing about it felt right. The pup made no move at first, and then his only action was to stretch out his forelegs in a weak attempt to shove himself away. But hunger was a demanding master. So Euron pulled himself closer and fed ravenously. He would take in as much milk as he could muster before he was deprived of the chance again.