Sawtooth Spire this whole rhapsody

His father was a good sport, breaking into chase at his child's prompt. The fox did not have the size or strength of his siblings and never would, but already he had noteworthy sure-footedness and grace, and speed to go along with it. He raced across and around the bone pile as though he had practiced every step for months before hand, delightedly increasing his speed as Iqniq nipped as his tail, and bending in the opposite direction of his father's touch on his flank.

He giggled as he ran, and as his giggle ramped into joyful laughter, his grip on the skull slipped. It dropped to the ground between his legs as he flew over it. He skidded to a stop, pivoting as quick as he could until he was at a standstill facing the skull that now laid between his father and him.