Sawtooth Spire no color

The day prior, their mother had coughed up something strange and placed it before them. It was not milk, but Malrok (and presumably his brothers) had been compelled to eat it. The smell was irresistible, even if it was a bit strange compared to the milk he had consumed before. This new substance was, of course, half-digested meat. His teeth had started to poke out of his gums, and it allowed him to chew the meat. Granted, he did not have to chew that much, but just enough to make the pieces small enough to swallow.

Tonravik had just deposited another hunk of meat into Malrok's mouth, to which he gobbled up and swallowed in a matter of seconds. She went on to the others, even when Malrok insisted on more. Once feeding time was through, the boy began to wander around the den. He used his new-found sight as a helper, though much of his world was still explored by touch, smell, and taste.

He'd managed to wrestle down a skunk earlier without being sprayed. How he'd outmaneuvered the creature was a mystery to him. It'd been a risky endeavor, but his time spent hunting small meals here and there for the residents of the whelping den appeared to be paying off. He was getting better at it. His stealth was certainly increasing and he was having an easier time at finding the unsuspecting victim. As long as it put food in the mouths of his young, he was perfectly okay with everything. It didn't much matter to him what they ate.

He settled outside of the den, guarding once more as Tonravik fed not only herself, but the children. He was used to the scent of milk seeping from the den here and there, but this time it was different. There was a slight taste of bile upon the air as Tonravik fed his children pre-chewed meat. That was certainly different, but to the new dad, impressive. His children were growing up so fast.

Shifting, Iqniq turned and inched towards the mouth of the den. Laying upon the ground, he tucked just his nose inside the mouth of the den and chuffed lightly. The pups were fed. He could hear the pitter patter of tiny paws padding about the ground. There was starting to be a considerable amount more life in there. He was just unsure as to how much and how quickly they were growing up. Could they hear yet? He woofed again, listening to see if they could register the outside world.

Malrok could hear, though not in the same way he would one day know. What he heard was muffled, and he ignored much of it because it made no difference to him. His other senses: sight, touch, taste, and smell, were far stronger. The latter of those senses—smell—alerted him to a presence outside the den. Sight was quick to aide him along. The fur looked much like Pingasut's, though the smell told Malrok right away that this was not his brother at all. Not only that, but the sheer size of this red blob was impressive. Just as impressive as his beast of a mother.

Curious, as always, the second-born began to march toward the strange entity. He was intent on getting up close and personal, provided nothing got in the way.

Y'can skip me and just assume she is consistently dragging Malrok back before getting too far! I'll probably chuck in two more posts for the entirety of the thread.

The chuff of her mate was not missed by the mother. So long as he did not enter this crawlspace, he was safe. As for her son who thought it wise to escape? Tonravik, when she deemed him too far, moved to grab him and deposit him near his brothers again, growling a rebuke. The cub would likely not understand the reprimand yet. It did not matter; he would come to, in time. She shifted her own self, so that her mate would come to find her dark furs instead of the bodies of the babes; she likely would not have done this had the second-born not tried to escape. But she would let her cubs do no such thing. It was nearly time, but not quite yet.

He could see their shadowed bodies begin to move about. There was something contenting about knowing Tonravik hadn't rolled over and squished any of them yet. Four boys. Four healthy boys and he had no idea which one of them was feeling adventurous today. He made his sound and watched as one of them drew forward, hoping to catch a glimpse at what rest outside. The tiny pup wandered forward before Tonravik quickly snatched him out of the way and brought him back to the rest of the others.

His mate lay down, huddling so her body was between him at the entrance and the pups who played beyond. Someone was grumpy today. It was evident enough to him that those pups were eager to explore and more than capable at doing so. They didn't need to go far at all to see him and their legs were strong enough to take them there. Soon, he'd have the opportunity to show them their great big world, but until then, their mother-bear was an adamant fun-sucker.

He was not content in this. His pups wished to know of the world and he would educate them properly. Lifting from the mouth of the den, he removed himself long enough to find a lengthy pine branch with a couple of sweeping pine needles dangling from the end. He returned to the entrance, hunkered down, and baited that branch like a fishing pole where he dangled the pine needles over his mate and attempted to coax whoever was on the other side of her into play.

Malrok was unceremoniously yanked backward. It was not the first time he had been prevented from approaching the light of the outside world, but that did not mean that he would quit trying. If the tan and black cub was one thing, it was determined. He scowled his best scowl, then scrambled over Tonravik and headed toward the entrance again. Once more, he was pulled back. This time, he batted a paw at his mother's muzzle, growling as he did so. His attention was drawn away, however, by movement from above.

He screeched as the pine bough dangled overhead. He crouched low to the ground, attempting to avoid its prickly needles. However, upon realizing that they were doing him no harm, the boy began to bat at them with his paw. They jiggled in response, and he looked on in awe. Absently, he attempted to take one of the smaller twigs in his mouth, pulling on it when he had a good enough grasp.

Big, scary branch incoming! Based on the sounds on the other side, he'd effectively spooked his own kid. Good job, Dad... He let the branch linger. They'd have to get used to outside things at some point, so better to conquer those fears now, rather than later. He let it linger, keeping the branch still so the pup could see that it wasn't out to get him. It was just there to be interesting. Dad, would do Dad things. It was only amount of time before Mom did the Mom thing and snapped at Dad.

But! Since he was in the clear, he waited to see if the branch would gain any traction with the pups behind the fur curtain that was Tonravik. Success! The branch squirmed within his teeth and Iqniq moved his head ever so slightly to reanimate the pine needles. The movement on the other side persisted. Yes! He'd hooked one... and now it began to pull. A grin spread on his lips as he tugged at the branch and gave slight resistance. Puppy tug of war? Bring it.

The mother was unamused. Only for a few moments did she let this battle ensue. Then she imagined the coming days of Malrok trying to sneak off, and his siblings joining him. It was too annoying to handle. So the mother moved to join the game, clamping her mouth around the branch before aiding her son and tugging it in their direction without so much as a sound. 

Mom was not a patient mom, and had enough of the Tom-foolery. His day was coming, and she was inclined to give it to him now–but the instinct that rooted her brought forth the stronger desire to linger and attack whoever came too close. This stick was her mates mercy, but she did think of taking it only to thwap him on the head with it. No, then the bear cubs would all make a run for it. They were getting better at it.

Tonravik then released the branch. Let him know she was there to mediate and would rip the stick from him should he think to bait their babes and fish them toward him. They'd have a whole body to scale and shed sooner rip the stick from him than let them gain even an inch. For now she let them play. “That was Atuaserk and Sitamat, helping Malrok,” she growls, finding herself very amusing.

Needle teeth gripped the branch, and Malrok growled when it tried to pull away from him. He had no way of knowing there was something on the other side doing the pulling. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, and he tugged roughly at the stick, whipping his head back and forth. The game was interrupted by Tonravik, and she pulled the stick further into the den, causing Malrok to topple over. He grumbled, nonplussed with this development and suddenly bored with the stick, which he had lost when she pulled it toward him. Righting himself, Malrok trundled over to his mother, poking his nose at her face and trying to wrap his own tiny jaws around her nose.

There was a time when instinct border-lined far too close to paranoia for comfort. He wasn't sure where Tonravik was on that spectrum, but based on the way the pup was playing, Iq was fairly certain both he and his son shared the same desire for them all to enjoy what their little world had to offer. Not a large one, just enough for him to snuggle his children and show them the branch he held within his teeth truly did have a master.

Fishing for puppies was a game that quickly unravelled. Tonravik got involved. He watched her shift to snag the branch only to tug on the limb and assert that two other pups had been helping this one. Malrok. "Uh-huh." At least now he knew he was playing with two, but he was fairly certain the help of one and four was really the work of his grumpy bear of a mate. Her life would be so much easier if she could just trust him. Pity she was such a creature of instinct. There was more joy in this to be had if she would only allow herself to enjoy it.

Her interference spoiled the game. His ears flattened as he stole the branch back from over her back, spun it around, and swiftly began poking Tonravik's back side with the sharper end he'd pulled from the actual tree. "'ome on mom," he whined around the branch as his son assailed on Ton's muzzle. "Play wiff us. We 'anna play!"

Milk-teeth probed at her nose and she withdrew sharply away, snarling in the face of her son in legitimate displeasure. They brought a stinging pain, and had she no maternal instinct at all she would have gobbled him up for the offense. It was then her mate probed at her with the sharp-end of whatever he had lured Malrok with. Tonravik responded in the only way she could. She moved each babe deeper into the den and shuffled along with them, then turned away from her children to go and try to tug at the branch independently to get it out of his (her mates) grasp entirely. What if a babe had somehow maneuvered there? Incredibly unlikely, given her own incredible persistence, but the mother took no chances. Besides, Malrok had liked the opposite end himself. She would chew off the pointy side and give it to him; he could get lost in the "mini-brush" and be entertained for perhaps a whole day there!

Besides, he had asked her to join in on the playing. Tonravik obliged him in her own way, with her own intentions and drive behind it. She kept the whole of her body stretched outward so her sons could not escape her... but then let go of the stick, her instinct to look at them and see that they were doing alright. After doing a head-count and seeing none had moved, she sniffed at the son who had bit her nose.

Mother was nonplussed, to say the least, but Malrok only giggled in response to her aggressive display. She got up then (to pull the stick from Malrok's father), and the boy attempted yet another escape. This time, however, he stumbled over his own feet and went face-first into the dirt, letting out a cry that may have shattered the ears of anybody who had heard him. And now he was grumpy, shuffling away from Tonravik as she sniffed at him. He wanted nothing to do with the stick any longer. Malrok retreated to the furthest reaches of the den, intending to settle down and pout.

He knew not what caused it, but a snarl escaped Tonravik. "And you're worried about me with the kids?" he questioned. Between the two of them, she displayed far more violence towards the children in that act alone than he had in totality since the moment they were born. He raised a skeptical brow towards her and kept poking with that stick. Aww. She was moving away now and taking the kid with her. Game over.

A frustrated sigh escaped him. He'd been trying to get Tonravik to give into the idea of play since the get go and it appeared as though he'd made zero progress in that endeavor. Or maybe not? She tugged back at the end of the stick and he was relentless in keeping it within his grasp. This stick, was his only way of reaching into the den to entertain his children. He was keeping it. Finding another would be a pain.

She let go. His body lurched backwards with the momentum as he nearly rolled over, branch in tow. Catching himself, he instead pulled the limb back out of the den, spat out a few nasty pine needles, and stared back into the shadows. "I said we want to play... Not just me." Now it was his turn to pout. His boys were bored and Tonravik didn't know how to play.

Tonravik snorted at his giggle, and almost when to shove him before she got to something else... more important business than bullying her cubs. When her son fell, she turned to look at him and her ears flattened at the cry, loud and high. She continued to watch him as he meandered away, to a corner where he would host his own pity party. Mff. Tonravik let him have at it. The woman was not much of a comforter and he had fallen on his face. What was there to say or do?

As for her mate who pouted outside... the mother ignored that, for now. The stick was gone and the escape act had been put on hold. The mother slid onto her belly again, and then reached out to paw at Malrok.

A paw reached out to him, and he forgot about the other incident entirely. Instead, Malrok decided it was time to eat. He marched (just kidding, it was more of a wobble) over to his mother's side, using his nose to poke against her belly in an effort to get to his food source. Considering she was laying in a more sphinx-like position, it wasn't going to be easy unless she cooperated. This little trick had worked countless other times, and Malrok had no reason to believe this time would be any different.

The branch, the mysterious force on the other side of it, and the outside world were quickly forgotten in lieu of his newest quest.

Last post from me! We might also be at a good place to fade. Your call @Malrok!

He was ignored. With no response from inside the den, Iqniq set the branch off to the side and reserved the stick for later. He frowned into the dimness of the dwelling and wondered what more he could do in order to steal back the attention of the boy. In his dilemma, he heard Tonravik shift with a grunt. Tiny suckling sounds and the scent of feeding reached his nose. Ah well. He couldn't compete with food. Playtime was over.

That settled it. It was past time for Iqniq to venture off to other endeavors. He had a perimeter around the den to explore and if something tasty happened to cross his path, he'd make every effort to catch it. Break time. He'd tend to his duties and come back for another round later.