Stavanger Bay little memories, marching on

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oh yes, the boy was indeed angry. angery that his father had put some irrelevant girl before him in his thoughts, angry by his fathers enticement, rilled up by each word that passed the Leviathan's lips. the boy grew in his anger as he grew in his size, which would one day balance each other out as his physique would equally match the mass of his fury. but for now, he fumed, a low snarl growing within his underdeveloped vocal chords. at that point, he neeed little push to prove to his father exactly what his father wished to see. rage.

his attack was futile in the face of the Leviathan, but his attack was a true one at that. the boy had watched before the extend that two adults could go when their claws were invoked, and though he knew he did not have the strength to maim the man he called his father, but his movements were childlike in the sense that he was quick. nails extended, he aimed to slash at the front of his father's chest, the most calculative effort he could give until his father fought back. teeth at the ready, the tiny peircers were ready, awaiting their turn to take the scruff of flesh within his jaws. isengrim was entirely confident, and his blood pounded within his ears, his heart seeming as if it was ready to beat outside his chest. the rush, it was everything. the feeling of danger and the assurance he woud leave virtually unsacthed gave hima sense of superiority, one that would carry with him into his greater ages. and just like that, he was hooked. addicted to the bloodlust and the need of the cheap thrill that was unparralleled rage, and perhaps, assuring what would be the catalyst for his eventual downfall in the process.

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