Sawtooth Spire i am not in control of my extremities

This little one came closer than all the others had before. His gaze peered around the entrance to the den as he watched the red-orange child draw through the shadows and nearer to the light. He spied it. For just a moment, he caught a glimpse of that fox-like fur that was a few shades lighter than his own coat. Three. That was the one Tonravik held concern for. They'd discussed it briefly before, but seeing the flash of orange before the she-bear drew him away was enough for him to dissuade himself of the concerns she'd raised in him by doubting their third-born before.

Iqniq grinned. He liked the spirit in that little one. In all of them, truthfully, but there was something about a miniature duplicate of himself that caused a twist of pride to swell within his chest. No doubt, despite the concerns Tonravik held in their son's coloring, he would grow to be a handsome wolf with a fiery personality to match. Pingasut would defy all odds and squash all doubts his mother had. Iqniq would see to that.

"Is that when your instinct has decided to let up?" he questioned. He did not think instinct had anything to do with physical time. In this, he wondered if it was her own stubbornness holding her to that deadline. The pups were quickly proving they could hold their own. A few paces outside of the den would not harm them.