Silvertip Mountain Bring on the rapture

It was not exactly the miracle that people labelled it, birth. Mason Virtue Silvertip entered the world as chief at the head of a procession of death, trailing slowly behind. Mercifully his ears were spared the wrought screams of his mother. Feeling her warmth leave him was enough. For some moment - or was it minutes? - he lay on the cold floor of the den, gasping. His fur was soaked in various fluids and his body began to shiver of its own volition.

Suddenly the movement in the air around him stopped. And then her muzzle was there, nudging him close to her, bathing his silken fur. He was tiny against her, he shouldn't have come this soon. Mason didn't care, as he felt the warmth of his mother's tongue caress him he felt at home.


After a wonderful bath he was nudged close into the soft, warm curve of her belly and the scent of milk captivated him. He did not know of the harrowing words his parents spoke, and he did not yet know June survived alongside him. His mind focused solely on moving his head closer to her body, grabbed a teat with his pink gums, and then the reflexive suckling began.