Boartusk Heights [b] te sueño despierta

The litter was comprised of contrasting parts – three babies quiet, the other three loud, some wiggled incessantly, two others were still, and finally, amongst the pale coats of his siblings, one resided among them, dark like an ink spot on a white page.

Like he somehow knew the violent Nocturne tradition of culling the weak and the spares, Vincent is born thrashing and writhing as if trying to prove his worth to be heir. His tiny lungs cried – no, demanded – for air and milk. He is cleaned by the handmaiden and moved to be with his sisters, and there he eagerly searched for a teat, latching on greedily with no regard for the others as he peddled his legs and smushed his face in as close to it as possible. In time, he would learn table manners.

Unbeknownst to the four children, the two that had failed Reyna's scrutiny were removed, the spaces they left behind quickly filled with the ones who thrived. Survived.

When the handmaiden returned from the bloody affair, the rest of the pack was then called to bear witness to the royal line of pups and their christening. While he had been fashionably late to the party – not the first, but definitely not the last – Vincent was the first to be bestowed a name by their mother, a fact that would bring him great delight should he ever learn it.

With as smug of an expression a newborn could actually have, the boy cooed gently as he felt a warmth trace his spine, gently smoothing down the fur there and removing whatever ick remained. It was then he reattached himself to a teat to drink until full, kneading his mother's belly fur, content.