Ein might not have been able to understand what he was thinking, the bitterness that swelled like a bubble of magma into his chest where it writhed and seethed burning with ferocity, and he didn’t understand it but that did not mean that he did not feel it, nevertheless. As his body developed, so did his mind and the conviction that because he was the oldest (something he just inherently knew without knowing how) he thought that he should get everything first and it bothered the child when he didn’t. Ein hadn’t looked to see if Thistle was awake, and presently, couldn’t find in himself to care. He wanted out of the den like Tveir got and he would get outside of it, no matter what. The sweet taste of victory was on the First Born’s tongue which had lolled out of his mouth as he crept closer and closer. So close only to curl into an instinctive ball when Thistle grasped him by the scruff and lifted him from the earth.
“Nuh, NUH!” (So much for saving his epic babbling skills) He cried out in protest and the uncurled himself and began to twist and fidget trying to break himself free, certain that she would force him back beside his younger siblings where he didn’t want to be. Else he might rudely wake them up by picking a fight with them; but Thistle did not turn, instead, she moved forward, towards the light and Ein’s eyes widened before they squeezed shut sharply at the onslaught of light. She spoke to him and he understood his ‘number’ certain that she was addressing him. She set him down and he scrambled for a moment, watching as the scuffle of his paws rose up light colored dust that floated lazily in the wind. Everything looked so much different out here. Ears perked as he blinked, eyes adjusted, glimpsing all around him at the things that lived beyond his world of the darkness of the den.
