Sawtooth Spire no color

There was a time when instinct border-lined far too close to paranoia for comfort. He wasn't sure where Tonravik was on that spectrum, but based on the way the pup was playing, Iq was fairly certain both he and his son shared the same desire for them all to enjoy what their little world had to offer. Not a large one, just enough for him to snuggle his children and show them the branch he held within his teeth truly did have a master.

Fishing for puppies was a game that quickly unravelled. Tonravik got involved. He watched her shift to snag the branch only to tug on the limb and assert that two other pups had been helping this one. Malrok. "Uh-huh." At least now he knew he was playing with two, but he was fairly certain the help of one and four was really the work of his grumpy bear of a mate. Her life would be so much easier if she could just trust him. Pity she was such a creature of instinct. There was more joy in this to be had if she would only allow herself to enjoy it.

Her interference spoiled the game. His ears flattened as he stole the branch back from over her back, spun it around, and swiftly began poking Tonravik's back side with the sharper end he'd pulled from the actual tree. "'ome on mom," he whined around the branch as his son assailed on Ton's muzzle. "Play wiff us. We 'anna play!"