Ankyra Sound 'Cause only gold is hot enough

It had been over a week since the child had been born. Life had still maintained a monotonous sort of schedule; Illidan would wake from his nap, eat, and nestle himself close to his siblings in order to sleep again. This had resulted in the young pup having grown increasingly rotund off of his mother’s milk. It was a fun game to roll atop one of his siblings so that they couldn’t move and wait until their mother or father had to pull him off. At least, Illidan thought it to be enjoyable. There was a feeling of being scolded that came in the form of Kierkegaard’s rumbling voice against his body, or the soft snipe of his mother’s breath against his coat. There was no other way Illidan would have known that he was being difficult.
 
His own blurry eyesight had started to form early in the morning when he had opted for second breakfast. He had been scurrying over his sleeping sister when he missed his step and landed face-first against the den floor. While he had released a shriek of fear and surprise, when he had steadied himself against his youthful legs, he found that the world had changed. All light had started to filter through, and he could see the movement of massive blobs within his vision. After a few hours, he’d grown used to the idea that life was a series of murky color. He’d puttered around with a few mewls before he saw an abnormal tinge to his otherwise grey world. Ephraim’s sandy coat appeared like a wiggling ball. Blinking his otherwise useless eyes, Illidan scrambled toward him with every intention to collide.