Moonspear Two for one, you know a bitch buy four

While everyone else was apparently trying to sleep, a certain little prince was bound and determined to find his voice. The previous day of howling and carrying on had only bolstered his desire to be active, and Altair had wasted absolutely no time in springing into practice.

It was exciting, this new form of noise making.

In a moment of rest as he sized up the denmouth—and what a curious little patch of light that was, how interested he was becoming in and those who came and went—, his tongue lolled out of his mouth in a fit of weariness and over stimulation; he was oblivious to Mira’s plans.

He instead drew in a breath as far as it would go, preparing to rally all.

The sound was barely out of his mouth when Mira came knocking into him, cutting off his attempt with a squeak. A growl replaced it in the stumbling fashion he went teetering towards the ground—how dare. Much like the serpent way she had struck him he was rounding on her in a wobbly puppy fashion, his mouth ready to grasp at anything she put in his way.