Sawtooth Spire me seagull you boardwalk trashcan

In a way, the third born had sought to calm his brother, and in a way he had succeeded. Malrok had stopped fussing and now was pulled into slumber; he could be no more peaceful. Slowly, the gumming on a fox-like ear ceased, and it was about the same time that the litter's oddball followed suit and drifted into sleep himself. Once more, the den was quiet and serene.