Dragoncrest Cliffs Widowmaker

DIBS.

Thus far, Artaax’s existence had been lackluster at best. The pudgy babe did little save for eat, sleep, and defecate – three things that he scarcely recognized but still felt pleasure and contentment in. He cried often and loudly when he was hungry and found himself wriggling amongst a heap of siblings in search of Wildfire’s life-giving milk. His other vocals usually consisted of soft gurgles and muted whines.
 
He slept dreamlessly until his mother’s warmth shifted away to which he responded with disgruntled mewls. After a few moments of squirming around blindly, he was able to nestle up against another furry presence. His slumbering resumed, but not much time passed before he was jarred awake once more by perhaps the most eventful occurrence since his birth.
 
Suddenly he was snatched upward and before he was able to that abrupt and most-unwelcome sensation, he went tumbling roughly into his mother’s dark figure. Piercing cries echoed through the family’s little home as he wriggled helplessly against the Heda in search of comfort after the traumatic experience.