Arrow Lake you deserve grandchildren with 82 legs

Now that the weakest of Stigmata's illicit (could it be called that?) litter had crested the hardest rise of his recovery, Stag was allowed near. Stag took this new freedom with the highest honor, and did not approach @Trench's den without ceremony.

While most of Stag's intentions were pure (puppy playtime, new friend, adventure), Stag also approached for a different reason. He had it in his head that he was the strongest of all the puppies born this year (Aurewen's litter already completely forgotten) and thus, had to scope out the competition. Approaching the den with his massive ears airplaned to the side in listening intensity, Stag dropped the leaf-studded branch of maple in his mouth, and sniffed inquiringly at the den's shadowed mouth.

It was the sound of the branch hitting the earth that stirred the boy from his slumber. Sleepy jade eyes flickered open once or twice before he breathed a tired sigh. Trench’s mind had been filled with remarkable dreams only moments before, but they had slipped from his head and were swiftly fading from his memory. When he felt perfectly grounded in his waking mind, the dark pup rose to his paws and slowly moved toward the mouth of the den. It was here that he got his first vision of the pale boy called Stag. Trench peered at him with wide eyes, taking in the shape of the ivory child and then waving his tail from side to side.
 
“Hi,” the boy greeted in a soft voice, still hoarse from his illness. The branch remained on the ground. Trench peered at it curiously, sniffing once or twice at the maple leaves that still desperately clung to the spindly twigs. “Who you?” the inkling inquired after a second of silence, drawing his silver-flecked vision to the features of the other boy.

As to be expected, this little inkblot was not much to look at. Stag assessed him with a knowing eye, smug in his measurement -- this child was not like him, in any way shape or form. He felt pride well in his chest, for he was still (in his eyes) the undisputable best.

He snapped at Trench's face as the boy sniffed at his stick. It had been a trick, a ploy -- while his teeth didn't mean to connect, the intention was clear: mine, not yours. His tail rallied proudly behind him, waving -- but his eyes were studiously cold.

"First." Stag answered, his chest puffed - first, and obviously the best.

Trench did not see the swift motion that had thrust Stag forward in a threatening snap. When he glanced up to see the larger boy looming toward him, there should have been a spurring of fear. The dark young shadow did not seem to be swayed. A single blink closed the dark lids over his beryl gaze. Pride might have reigned dominantly in Stag, but Trench was not so easily swayed by such things. It was possible that time would turn him – would make him a boy of ego – but there were no signs of that in the moments he shared with the pale older child. Trench was calm, almost fearless, when faced with the snapping motion of his half-sibling.
 
’First.’
 
The dark child blinked at this. He knew enough to know that first was the beginning, so that must have made this boy the oldest. “First…” the lean child tested this moniker on his tongue, finding it peculiar but unwilling or unable to admit such a thing. Drawing his crown upward, the inkling cast an easy smile toward Stag. “I Trench,” he offered. Not the first. Not even the best, but there he was.

Stag's siblings, used to his shenanigans, were usually more reactive to his ruckus-raising than Trench had been. This earned the dark cub a fair bit of side-eye from First, who usually was able to measure up individuals by how they reacted to his bullying. Puffing his chest, Stag decided maybe this one was stupid.

"TRANCH!" He repeated back rather loudly and abruptly, snickering to himself at his own inside joke. Since Trench had repeated his name, Stag only thought it fair to do the same.. with his own fun twist, of course.

Pulling the stick back towards him, Stag eyeballed it and tried again: nudging the edge towards Tranch as if inviting play, the boy waited -- eyes alight with mischief.