Sawtooth Spire ding, ding, we have a winner

The (thus far) indomitable foreleg. She watched with disappointment as he fell. Shame. Tonravik had thought for a minute she had produced miracle children. It appeared not. She watched as he wormed his way forward, toward her toes. She pointed her paw so it would round like a pinball machine, and then shifted the other foreleg to cage him between her forelegs. Tonravik kept her head high, watching him above, feeling utterly omnipotent of her presently lumbricus-like son.