Blackfeather Woods don't you know

With his footing regained, there came an ounce of praise. Though nothing more than a single word, it was enough to set a grin upon the child’s face. He’d always enjoyed receiving praise of any and every sort, finding it to be appealing to his ego. It assured him that his actions were correct, too, and that he would not have to worry about the possibility of being corrected later down the line. He was glad that he hadn’t toppled over, as well, uncertain of what type of reaction it would have brought on. Cicero did not seem like a cruel wolf, nor did he give off the vibe that he’d use nips for correctional purposes if necessary, but the Inuit was still not entirely sure of him.

The question posed had Alexander’s grin fading away, being replaced by the knitting together of his brows as he thought. Neither of his parents were overbearingly heavy with muscles, but he’d never met any other family members. Desna was large, yes, but that had been pure fat. Thus far, he’d been informed he held a close resemblance to his father when the elder was his age, so, naturally, he assumed that to be his future. “Fast,” he answered, having given himself long enough to contemplate his response. His legs were not yet long, slowing him down significantly, but the leanness of his physique gave away what the future and his genetics held in store for him. To be bulky just wasn’t something he was physically, or genetically, capable of being, and he would learn exactly that as he aged.