The Sunspire whale rib

still a wobbly week-old, chewed on yakona's ear with what little strength his tiny jaws could muster. his tiny teeth nipped at the fur, more for the sensation of it than for any real intent to harm. his bright eyes, already holding an air of quiet observance, looked up at his sister, her sturdy presence so comforting to him. he clung to his mother's back, his little body unsteady as he shifted with her movements, but his grip was surprisingly firm.
the remnants of his siblings' lives haunted the den, a grim reminder of the harshness of their world. the warmth of the caribou hide wrapped around him was a strange comfort, as though the spirits of those before him whispered in the rustling of the fur. ts'okhun let out a soft sound, something between a growl and a whine, as if communicating the discomfort of this world, the tension that ran beneath the surface of his tiny, growing body.
he couldn't understand the weight of what had happened—his mother's grief, the omen of death, or the fierceness of his kin—but the sense of loss hung heavy around them all. and yet, he chewed on yakona's ear again, seeking some connection in the quiet, a momentary distraction from the weight of what had come before.