Bearclaw Valley So raise your glass now and celebrate exactly what you've done.

He knows he's done the wrong thing and somehow deserves the teeth aimed for his flesh, knows what it will feel like to have them pinch and pull, knows the taste of the dirt even now. That expectation of an attack is helpful to him. He does not have the brawn of his forebears yet but he has the height and pulls away from her as she reaches for him.

Teeth graze his nape, too close for comfort, and he thrusts his sharp snout towards her as if to joust with her neck; whether he is successful or not the boy feels a flood of adrenaline and - for the first time - a vague thrill of confidence. It is there, and it is gone, but the taste is delicious.