Redhawk Caldera i've never been great with peer pressure.

The beginnings of life came easy to the little blackthorn. The small pup, only a bundle of unconscious nerves and cells, was aware of nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing. The only sensation he was aware of a certain floating sensation, but it was incredibly soothing and for the most part, the boy drifted in a still, dreamless state — until everything changed. Almost immediately, the unknowing cub was thrust into a world that was much more… sensational than he had ever known. He felt so many things that she had never encountered before; couldn’t even imagine these possibilities! There was the rush of oxygen in his lungs and his mother’s harsh tongue — it was strong against his infinitesimal frame. There were the muffled voice of his father and the feeling of his small chest rising and falling with each breath and it was all so strange that he couldn’t help but cry out! This was too new! He wanted back in, where it was warm and reality was suspended. Yeah, that had been nice.

Suddenly, the cub was overtaken by a need to nurse. With vigorous movements he sought out the form of his moth and when he latched — with gusto! — he pulled milk forth. It was thick and coated his tongue in an ultimately pleasing way — but while he easily figured out how to pull the milk into his mouth, swallowing was another thing entirely. It seemed his muscles of his throat had yet to waken, so the liquid pulled into his mouth but dribbled pathetically out the sides of his mouth. Soon his entire muzzle, neck and chest were covered in the stuff and sure he wasn’t really nursing but did the mottled boy care? Goodness, no! The simple act of suckling felt so real, felt so right, that he resigned himself to a life of this: drinking and feasting against the wriggling masses of his many siblings, all of whom were both doing the same exact thing.