Sawtooth Spire i am not in control of my extremities

He was laid on the den floor in the manner of a sphinx, quietly watching what he could see of the world outside the den. His tail twitched idly, and his ears turned frequently. His hearing had improved, and now he could hear distinct sounds from the beyond their nest, and within it. He shuffled forward, his childish curiosity inclining him toward the den entrance, until something crawled over his paw. He drew it back with a soft gasp, ears thrust forward and muzzle turned down as his icy eyes attempted to focus on a small, moving bit of darkness.

It was a large beetle of some sort. His tail started to wag and he smiled. The third born stuck his paw out to poke the beetle, and it scurried this way and that. Pingasut's lips split into a broad grin, revealing the sharp points of his baby teeth, and then he poked it again. This time it hurried even more, clamoring over rocks and debris and whatever else was in its path, eliciting a delighted giggle from the family's oddball.