Stavanger Bay down by the bay

mom? <3 

isengrim didn't exactly know how to say his name. as much as the boy tried, he could not get past the combination of so many sounds and the complex use of his tongue that was required. 

"eshhhh," brow furrowed, he looked completely focused in the task of properly sounding out his name while staring almost grudgingly at his feet. " -- imm grin .. grim," no matter the variations he spoke, none sounded like his mother and father called him. 

"moooooom?" he whined his mother's name in the end, after what seemed like hours of attempting; thoroughly peeved at the fact his tongue seemed incapable of doing its job. flopping over -- far too dramatically -- he lay playing dead (tongue stuck out and all) until his resident caretaker would take pity upon his mopey state and do something fun. the boy had far too little an attention span, even for his age and he found himself constantly restless within the confines of the Stone Dead. 

even when @Doe was around to play with him, she was often whisked away to do whatever the big people seemed to do in their spare time (?? it was a great mystery to him), leaving him to have to concern himself with his sister and the Invaders. it was not pleasing at all, and he found himself building a small rock collection (A ROCK COLLECTION !!) in the hours he found plain. this too, did not please him in the slightest nor arouse any feeling whatsoever of elation.

sighing, the boy attempted and stumbled on his name again; calling dejectedly and quite shrilly on his mother once more.

Doe's ears flickered uneasily as she entered the den. She'd lost three children, now, to various evils, and part of her felt as though it was simply waiting for the next one to be taken away. Not him, she'd thought at the shrillness of his call, and when she'd reached him, she wasted no time. Her paws fell to either side of him, forming a possessive cage, and her muzzle poked briefly into his side to take stock of his health before popping back up to bear teeth at any dangers that might try to befall him.

But the den was empty of danger, at least as far as Doe was concerned. After a few seconds ticked by, she allowed her rigid stance to falter. Bat-like ears twisted in every direction, the only sign that she was still watchful as she descended on her son once more, mercilessly tickling the child for frightening her like that.