Sawtooth Spire ding, ding, we have a winner

She returned to the persistent wailing of her second-born cub. Tonravik gripped at his scruff—where he drew very still—and then placed him between her forelegs. She nestled him near the crook of her armpit, but made sure his face was near the open air. Her own muzzle went downwards as she tested his new spot, wondering if this movement would cause him to settle for even an hour. Tonravik could handle the cub, but did often wish for him to be as silent as he had come into this world. But he was boisterous; she took it as a sign of strength. The alpha female could hardly wait for him to grow larger and be able to handle his vocal chords—she would never, in her life, miss these days. Her tolerance of the blind, deaf, and dumb was only as high as it was because they were a part of her... otherwise she would have eaten them all. The number extended to four.