The light outside the den shifted between dim and bright for the morning in the world outside of the birthing den which was beginning to feel overcrowded and in some sense claustrophobic as Ein and his siblings grew, day by day. Milk teeth had been developed and beyond the improvement of his sight, hearing, and the ability to eat regurgitated meat Ein, along with his siblings, had developed the ability to babble. Not quite speech, but more than the small and limited baby noises they had previously been able to make. Ein had yet to attempt to babble if only because he was waiting for the moment to overshadow Tveir who had began screaming like some sort of miniature banshee with his infant nonsense as soon as he realized he could do it, and Ein had watched with observant (and perhaps jealous) eyes as both parents fawned and fussed over Tveir. As the older sibling that dug beneath Ein’s skin like a bug burrowing under the ground for the winter. It wasn’t like it was anything special or anything. Every baby did it.
The eldest child let out a loud snort, pushing away from Thistle as quickly as he could, miffed that Tveir got all the special treatment. He even got to go outside! Ein didn’t see Ragnar taking Gyda and him outside. He looked to Gyda with softened, milky blue eyes wondering how far they could get if they ran away. The way to the mouth of the den was an open shot and Ein was positive he could make it. He eyed Thistle wearily and then eyed the path before him, contemplating if he could make it. If they wanted something to fawn over, well then he’d give them something to fawn over, by doing what Tveir could never manage: sneaking out. Slowly, the boy of shadows began to creep up the incline towards the mouth of the den, each step slow as he inched closer to it not daring to look back lest he find out his mother was awake.
