Hoshor Plains i bet you didn't know that i was dangerous

The puncture wounds granted by Rakharo were now scabs; a series of marks that formed half circles on either shoulder. As Papref grew, so would the scars that would eventually form, preventing the fur that would grow there from laying flat. He would never remember the moment he received them, but those scars would be a constant reminder of his position as a slave.

For now, however, the little coyote's entire world was simple. After the commotion of birth, his existence had settled into a quiet darkness— the warmth of his mother's body and the bodies of his siblings, the smell and taste of milk, the hazy worlds of sleep and wakefulness. He nestled at his mother's teat, gorging himself on nourishment.