Northstar Vale Their names are called, they raise a paw.

The battle had been ferocious and, in the end, Sable conceded victory to his wombmate with the fetal equivalent of a brisk handshake. Then, she was gone, first born.

Sable was soon to follow his sister into life, as he would for all of it if the fates allowed, cleaned and primped like a specialty show pony. His mouth opened at the treatment, wide as he could feasibly make it.

But no squeaking would come, as a normal puppy might. Just a hissing rasp, like the centuries old keeper of a king’s crypt. Sable, of course, did not notice this.

He was drinking his fill and sleeping before he knew it, a pudgy, parchment paper colored blob at his mother’s side.