Bearclaw Valley in june 323 BCE

he came out fighting. throwing punches, elbowing his older brother with useless noodle legs. it was a fervor so great it challenged the gods; and then came his battle cry. a song for the ages, echoing loudly amongst the den his father had carved out for his mother.

reduced to small mewls as he is swathed in his mother's tongue, groomed from top to bottom with harsh licks that cause him to hiccup.

but once he is free from the shackles that bind him, the little warrior soars! he finds his mother, and it is greedily. sniffing at her underbelly, searching vigorously for a teat to feed from. finding the one jackdaw nursed from and attempting to steal it, before he was nudged aside by his mother's large nose and directed to an open space.

the beast is sated... for now.