Moonspear but i know that i love you so

He grew, taking shape, slowly, steadily until he could move, feel, then so much more. A blissful existence, entirely unaware, until suddenly he was not. Much changed. He was changing, too. 

The little dark whelp was born late in the night, after his sisters had made their appearances and just before it was all said and done. He took his first, soggy breaths and filled his new lungs with mountain air when he had no choice. He found his strength enough to squeak after, then after, when his small spread of self-awareness became entirely his to behold, he tasted and felt warmth as it overwhelmed him. Comfort came next, despite not being able to understand why, and he was able to rest.