Sawtooth Spire weebles wobble but they don't fall down

As her son went to sniff at the beetle, Tonravik unceremoniously swept down to eat it. She licked it off of the ground, likely swiping the tongue and pugged-muzzle of her son in the process, and swallowed in one fell swoop. Crunchy, and strangely satisfying... but not so satisfying as meat. Tonravik, in her youth, combed for meaty dirt-dwellers and ate them until one tasted particularly awful. Now doing so was a necessary evil, and she did not so much mind the taste of beetles. She had a feeling it would not be the last one she ingested.

Then came the first-born. Here he bumbled, and the mother watched him. If he were to collapse into his brother, she would let him. If he were to collapse on the ground, she would also let him. The mother knew the boys would have to learn for themselves... but at least, the fall was not so far that he would feel pain. Just disappointment, if he could even recognize that emotion yet.