Sawtooth Spire we are nothing but waddling colonies of tiny little monsters

His teeth clicked in air, and his momentum carried him forward and down, aided by another shove from his mother, until his fox-like snout was abraded by dirt. His frustration mounted, and he exhaled in a sharp snort. He renewed his efforts, gathering his paws beneath him he sprang at her again, going this time for a leg; something she could not so easily pull away from him. His play was augmented with a determined ferocity, but still his strike was restrained. His teeth sought purchase but not blood. He had, at least once, bested his brothers in their play, and had been thrilled to do so. But his mother? She remained the unconquerable, and he was not keen to see she kept that title (however misplaced his goals were at this time).