Moonspear for sale. rock. never peed on.

Atlas was awake as soon as the sun's radiance bled into the sky. He marveled at that, transfixed by the many hues brought on by morning sun. There were some puffy white things drifting listlessly across the skyline. What were they called again? Clouds?

Tearing his gaze away, he sets about sweeping the immediate area. Hydra told him to never stray far, leaving little to the imagination what could befall a whelp such as himself. Death is bad and scary and that's all he knows. Avoid it all costs but don't let it rule you, she had said. Basically.

Atlas busies himself cataloging odors. There is a lot of foot traffic near the den. Far more than he first thought. Turns out his father was not the first (nor last) visitor to their hollow. His mind churns eagerly, tinged by adolescent trepidation. As enthusiastic as he is to meet new faces, he cannot ignore the uncertainty of it. Mother was there to alleviate his dismay. Meeting Dirge had not been too terrible...Only, Dirge is a step above what he's come across out here in that he is their father. One can't have two fathers, right? Or three, or four, or —

In the dissonance of his speeding thoughts, Atlas tumbles over a rock, falling and skidding on his front. Righting himself, he huffs loudly and circles back around the offending mineral. He hikes up a leg and pees on it. He completely misses it, nearly pissing on himself in the process. Atlas lets loose an exasperated yap. How dare his faculties disobey him?

Just here for observation but probably more bc of who I am as a person!!!

 

Too far was not far at all, yet, as they were still limited as to who they could see and where they could go until she moved them to the rendezvous; soon, was it not? That time was coming, she sensed... things would change within a few short weeks... long for her curious, inquisitive cubs, though. @Lyra and @Alya ever circled the permiter, as protective as she herself was. Atlas was near enough for her to see, still, and she snorts at his clumsyness from afar. Was that normal? Her mother was not here to ask, and Hydra desired nothing short of perfection from her brood. 

She would cultivate it. It would come. 

You must always look where you are going, son, she advises from afar. Not simply with your eyes, but your ears, your nose. There are things on this earth stronger than you, young and fresh as you are—hungrier, too. The rock is a part of nature, but nature can be cruel, too. You must be more observant. The whelping den was perhaps the softest, safest place Moonspear harbored—she had made sure of that much. But her mind was ever sharp in her selection; she had wanted some measure of obstacles to be faced here, to entertain and teach them both.

Her imperative voice cuts across to his ears, echoing some of his own sentiments and expanding on many others. He knows she is trying to guide him — that is her duty, after all — but he cannot shake off this undesirable feeling forming within him. It is malevolent. It must be. Why else does his skin become hot, his heart to quicken?

Atlas' first taste of shame forces his attention earthward. There it stays. His ears slick back after his mother's guidance comes to an end. You must be more observant. Indeed. Else he would not have toppled as he had. Worse than that, he let mother down. While this whole spectacle is nowhere near as terrible Atlas thinks it is, Hydra's words mark him; a white-hot brand that broils and aches in his depths.

Youth demands he not dwell on it.

So he doesn't, returning to his venture with a dark and wearied visage.

Hydra observed her son, seeing the shame he wore. One ear leaned forward while the other flicked, and she rumbled: you have done nothing wrong this time, Atlas. I would be disappointed in you only if you were to not listen, and make the same mistakes time and time again. You are learning, and saying so soothed her own feelings on the matter significantly. Hydra hoisted herself upward, and with the flick of her tail @Alya emerged to settle where she had rested moments ago as the alpha bridged the gap between herself and her son. It took no time at all, and Hydra stepped over him and toward a root that split the earth and, at some point, wedged itself between stone and the tree it was born of. Sniffing at it idly, she turned to him and spoke again.

There will come a time where you memorize what is beneath your feet, you know the land you walk so well—but it is always wise to look where you step. Rocks and stones move, and roots may emerge; life promises us these obstacles. We overcome them, came her voice, steady and firm.

And again, her voice rings out, giving pause to the storm brewing within his breast. So she's not upset? Mollified, he circles round to watch and ultimately follow in her footsteps. He is pleased to know she is not as terribly disappointed in him as previously believed. That in itself eclipses all else. Which is why he follows her now, knowing he needs to focus and imbibe her words.

She comes before a tree with a protruding root. It disappears into the soil, maybe even the stone crammed against it. He sniffs it, too, tail idly sweeping behind him. He does not understand the correlation between a root and succeeding but he understands it is something he must take within himself, this talk of overcoming obstacles.

In an attempt to appease her, Atlas steps over the root without tripping. He attentively steps towards her, studying her expression and posture. This is what she meant, right? He hasn't misconstrued her words, has he? He needs to know.

Oh-der-come? Talking is hard but he trusts Hydra to decipher his babble.

As he stepped over a root, Hydra watched. He did not stumble this time; he had known it would be there. His voice filled the air, and Hydra nodded. Better, she spoke, but you knew it would be there. These can be anywhere, she explained, placing a paw upon the exposed root, before she then moved toward a larger stone that may prove to be an obstacle to any who did not pay attention to their surroundings... as can these. They in particular were notorious for their change in location; wind and storms and fierce rains moved debris around to where it pleased. 

​Hydra knew her children and their own ability to speak was developing, but it seemed they could grasp concepts as simple as this. If not, she would simply instruct them again until they could retain it... she longed for her mother once again, though knew her mother had done it alone (without her own) and had done brilliantly; so too would she. She was her daughter, after all.

She is momentarily assuaged, guiding him back around to those mischievous rocks. Atlas is quick to take up arms. Using his muzzle, he flips over a sizeable stone with a jaunty hmph! A small, waifish tail curls over his pitch hindquarters. The stone looks no different with an exposed underbelly. The great beast is slain! That's enough for him.

Whirling around, he struts on to his looming mother-mentor donning a wicked mien. He cannot conceal his impish impulses for anything. In spite of this, the boy reaches for Hydra's wrist with his teeth, wanting to rasp against the tender flesh there. Surely she won't mind? (But he knows she will and that is what drives him to do it in the first place.)

Hydra was pleased to see him act as he did against his would-be-adversary. His spirit was fierce, and Hydra snapped fiendishly at the 'underbelly' of the rock, as it so happened to be, for good measure and sending it skittering. Her gaze shifted toward her son who now faced her, and recognizing his expression the mother adopted a look meant to inspire more thinking on his part. But he was just a boy, and had yet to recognize such things.

As he reaches for her, Hydra is swift to lift her foreleg, extending it only slightly to apply a small measure of her weight to attempt to pull him roughly enough in an effort to unbalance him, though not to do him any real harm. It took a great deal of restraint on her end not to teach him properly and pinch him cruelly with her own teeth, but motherhood had brought with it a newfound awareness that there would be no retention earned from this recourse, young as he was. Still, she was impatient with her own brood—she wanted more. Hydra would have it.

Sweeping to his left and circling him, the queen picked up a stray stick and waved it tauntingly before him with a playful growl.

The fierceness Hydra demonstrated upon the evil rock warrants a peal of laughter from her intrepid son. It is loud, childish and so very full of joy. He loved it when his mother showed her teeth against something other than him and let slip that savagery she commands so effortlessly. It wouldn't be too off the mark to say that that was one of his favorite things about her, honestly.

She's seen and endured the worst of all their teething, so she's not about to take his needle-like fangs lying down. Hydra gives him a look but the urge is strong within him, driving him with each step.

All it takes is one push to rethink this erroneous endeavor, foundering inaudibly. Oh. He thought himself sturdy enough to withstand Hydra's push. Guess not. But the likelihood of one day matching her weight — maybe even surpassing it — draws him to a stand.

All thoughts of munching mother dearest fly out the window when she belts around him with a spirited grumble, brandishing a stick. Atlas darts after her, seeking purchase upon one end of the stick. Maybe together they'll tear it apart. That's always fun.

Effectively distracting her son and bringing his teeth upon something more deserving (if the inanimate object could be called that), his aim was true as he lunged for the end she proffered with her impish wave. She does not make it too hard for him today; some things could be that easy. Not always, though, she would teach him this in time.

For now, though, Hydra was gentle (enough). The snarls that came from her were fearsome but ended in a playful pitch only her family and pack would be able to note. Shaking her head some to make things slightly more challenging for her son (but not so much so as to rip it from him), Hydra also took a step back so that he might move with her. The stick was not so thick so as to withstand too much from the duo, but strong enough to not splinter or snap here.

This thread is old so can we wrap this up? We can end it here or you can post again. <3

Teeth sink but do not fracture their wooden plaything. Seems it is made of more resolute stock.

Hydra's vocalizations are echoed by the sounds of her coltish son. He takes after her familial playfulness but it ends there, quite happy to sound as hellish as possible. If that is at all possible.

Gnarls taper off into silence with gentle tugs. It slips in his hold to his bewilderment. He grips it tighter than ever until his jaws ache under the exertion. It's not going anywhere. Not unless it breaks.

As she moves, so does he, advancing with a sureness now that his mandibles are securely around something. His rumbles return, less Hadean than before now that he is tethered, in a sense.

Fading <3

The two did play until the stick met its end with a snap. Her intent was to expend his energy so he would sleep soundly, and she was sure after this activity that tonight he would given how she had worked him. Not long after, the two made their way back to the whelping den, their end of the stick in tow.