Sawtooth Spire no color

The mother was unamused. Only for a few moments did she let this battle ensue. Then she imagined the coming days of Malrok trying to sneak off, and his siblings joining him. It was too annoying to handle. So the mother moved to join the game, clamping her mouth around the branch before aiding her son and tugging it in their direction without so much as a sound. 

Mom was not a patient mom, and had enough of the Tom-foolery. His day was coming, and she was inclined to give it to him now–but the instinct that rooted her brought forth the stronger desire to linger and attack whoever came too close. This stick was her mates mercy, but she did think of taking it only to thwap him on the head with it. No, then the bear cubs would all make a run for it. They were getting better at it.

Tonravik then released the branch. Let him know she was there to mediate and would rip the stick from him should he think to bait their babes and fish them toward him. They'd have a whole body to scale and shed sooner rip the stick from him than let them gain even an inch. For now she let them play. “That was Atuaserk and Sitamat, helping Malrok,” she growls, finding herself very amusing.