Bearclaw Valley What good to be a god myself, unless things can touch your heart?

Instinct drove his attention to the dirt the same way instinct would snap it back, murkwater gaze settling upon the dire shadow of his once-mother; he did not want to draw her ire and yet that was all he was ever good for, to others.

Up he came. His full height showcased how he might grow: those massive paws, a too-big head and broad shoulders, lacking any meat otherwise. His haunch shiverred and the boy thought about settling back down again, watching his toes.

His tail stiffly dusted the surface of the dirt.