Ankyra Sound as your heart measured in mountains, fell and climbed

He was born without much flair, and his announcement that he was here was no more than a soft whimper, softer even than it should have been, as he drew his first few breaths. His genetics had intended that he be more lively, that he be larger and stronger, but genetics were no safeguard against the randomness of life. They were only a blueprint of what could be in an optimal situation, but famine was not shy about altering those plans though his mother gave what she could. So it was that he was born rather runty, a small black pup that bore a frosting of silver along his nape and back.

Yet, he who was named Ingram, was not a lost cause. He found his mother's teat by way of a feeble crawl, and perhaps with the help of a nudging snout. But there was strength in his jaws, and determination in his grip. He suckled with zeal, issuing a complaint in the form of squeak should he be jostled from his purpose by his mother's movements. Perhaps he was not bestowed the body his father meant for him, but behind the blue eyes, that were so hidden, awaited the jack o' lantern orange of his mother's gaze, and in that intense hue lurked her fiery spirit. It was his, at least in part, and it would see him through.