Moonspear maybe in time

A glimmer of darkness reached out to him through the waving grasses.

Here in a moment, gone in another, only to return again. He made a swift summary of it and who—Atlas, had to be. Too tall he thought to be Antares, too broad to be his mother, and perhaps too invested in his thoughts to be anyone else for the former two would have surely sussed him out.

Altair pulled a grave look to his features as best as he could, but it was impossible to keep the smile off them for long. He was certain he could do this, the practice Hydra had funneled into them just the other day hadn’t gone to complete waste. He wriggled forward an inch or two, his ears so sharply forward that they seemed liable to break if they bothered to turn.

When he could no longer contain the urge, he charged out of the brush.

The war cry was a mockery, almost unnecessary, but his own way of separating a hunt from play as he sought to entangle himself with his elder brother. He swung a muddy foot at his side and a mouthful of shark-toothed baby teeth grabbed for purchase.