Sawtooth Spire Harvey Two-Face

YAY

For once, he wasn't asleep. Instead, Sitamat absent-mindedly chewed upon a twig he had brought in as a souvenir from the world outside the den. It didn't taste as great as the regurgitated meat his parents presented him with, nor his mother's milk, but it kept the tubby boy occupied. Once or twice, one of his brothers tried to steal it from him, which Sitamat quickly protested against with a possessive grumble.

He had been almost halfway down the now sodden, splintered twig when Tonravik called from the entrance. He looked up, both confused and conflicted. Sitamat. That was his name. Why didn't she call for the others, like they usually did? Unsurely, the youngest got to his feet, casting his siblings a fearful glance before slowly waddling up to where his mother stood waiting. He greeted her with respectfully folded back ears but an eagerly wiggling tail, coming to an obedient sit before her beastly form.