Stone Circle Little Toes, Little Nose

Faðir claims that this is food. Dear brother Ujurak had tried to protect her, soothe her; Sven bravely nibbled at it; and surely enough, her papa soon followed in Ujurak's steps with his own attempt at calming her temper. Now scooped up helplessly within his grasp, she makes a feeble attempt at wiggling free. No! she hollers again, a trail of snot beading from one little nostril as her features scrunch. Mill! Milk! I want milk! This pile of goo is stinky!
She stares at the mush with ferocious daggers for eyes, and decides that perhaps growling and pitching a fit will make it disappear. Her jaws find Faðir's toe, and with a series of hisses and tiny, high-pitched snarls, she makes a big chomp. You can't make me!