The whelp was an entirely useless creature at his current age. He ate and wobbled about in small half-circles until he fell asleep. More often than not, Illidan needed his mother to scoot him back to the warmth of her frame. The grotto was dank and grey, but he would not know this for some time. He was a blind and deaf little boy, who was very confused as to why he had been dropped from his warm home and into the unknown. 

Searching for his mother’s milk, Illidan scrabbled about with restless little feet. He pawed at what must have been a sibling and released a high squeal. 

All at once, the baby felt his limbs pulling him with such strength and grace, but without warning a prodding limb swung and sunk deep into the soft tissues of his belly. Feeling so invaded, Illidan parted his lips and began to squawk loudly to alert his parents that he was – indeed – being assaulted by a foul creature who had stolen into their den late at night. In all truth, he had no real comprehension that his small sister was being smothered by his legs, or that it was her leg that was protesting against him by sticking so fiercely at his stomach. Their matched weakness meant that the two were stuck in something of a lock until Kierkegaard reached down and plucked the boy from his sister and scooted him a few inches away.
 
With a fresh take on the world, the blind pup began once more to trudge toward Raleksa with a feverish swinging of his stubby limbs. Illidan was set on her and after a few moments of wobbling his way across the grotto floor, he had found his dark sister and had begun to climb her like a small mountain.

Raleska was already proving to be something of a bother. Illidan would have scoffed at her if he possessed the ability to do so, but instead he could only clamber as quickly as his stubby limbs would allow. It didn’t take long before Kierkegaard swept in and scooped up the boy in his mouth with a soft grunt that registered to Illidan as a rumbling throughout his entire body. He squawked in protest and kicked his hind legs vigorously before he was placed several inches away from his sister and the contested warmth of his mother’s stomach. The boy babbled for a moment, waddling around in the same small radius before he bumped into Ephraim and moved on to Rhakios. Some part of him was seeking her again. There must have been an instinctual brotherly response that said he was intended to torture the dark girl, so he scrabbled until his little grubby paw reached her once more.

The sharpness of the previous movement had caused a bit of vertigo for the young boy. He squeaked and shook himself weakly, hoping that it would straighten the rest of the world out and allow him to return to his goal. Raleska had found an ally in their father. While the gruff ghost of a man had really been there strictly to protect, Kierkegaard had started to warm to his children. It was a byproduct of being around them for such an extended period of time. He had started to see their individual personalities shine through, even at a young age. 

Illidan was a wildcard. 

As his dark sibling met contact with him again, the young pup reared his head back and parted his lips. With a triumphant war cry and a dramatic thrusting of his figure, Illidan aimed to snap his gums against his sister, not really knowing where he might land.