Sawtooth Spire here goes the cold water

Each cub behaved differently in regards to the storm. Tonravik watched with apt interest. It did not surprise her that Sitamat was the most anxious about it, nor did it surprise her too much that Pingasut seemed utterly unaffected by the sky's distant growl. Perhaps it was because it was faraway he did not fear it... but the sound had startled her as a child, when she would snap at the sky and snarl right back. If she feared it then, who could say? She could not remember. But she could remember wanting to fight all things that snarled at her... the sky had been no different.

Sitamat whined, and Tonravik looked to him. Her mate spoke a tongue that had appropriately become his own... he knew the language well, now, and it pleased her to hear him say the word. Her eyes fell to him, next, and remained upon him before moving to the shifting fox. She watched as he nudged his brother and chuffed. What would win out in the end? His fear, or his love for food?

Her mate ate, and when a raindrop plopped against her own hide, she shared a look with their mate. Mutually, they agreed, not yet. She wanted the storm to be a bit nearer, to watch their faces as the snarling grew louder. Would they recognize the sound as a challenge, yet? Storms at this elevation were rare; her own first experience was a bit later than their own, so she did not know what they would recognize here. If it was just a loud, annoying sound... or something to (try and) fight off. Since the rain was not yet consistent, she felt no need to usher the babes in. They did not have the coats of their parents that enabled them to sleep in this sort of weather, yet, and were vulnerable to the cold and sickness. Only when the rain fell at a pace she recognized in the distance would she and her mate push them inside. By the sound of it, it would not be too long... but it was not yet.

The thunder was closer, now. She hoisted herself into a sit, ready to make her boys hustle into the den in the next couple of minutes.