Noctisardor Bypass the universe had to fall apart

though the morning outside of the birthing den promises of a day to be humid and sweltering, the dark, stony world slug exists in is cool and sheltering. it would be a while yet before slug and his sisters were able to venture to the world outside, though the bleached paragon of his paternal grandfather stirs awake and stretches, blinking baby-blues to the welcoming shadows and blurring shapes of the birthing den. the young, still-deaf legionnaire squints and lets out a squeak akin to a call of arms and slug nestles against a sister for a few seconds before seized by impulsiveness that would one day be akin to curiosity; slug lets out a low grunt of effort and starts to partially wiggle and partially army crawl towards the open space of the birthing den; though his small burst of energy wanes quickly and he lets out a huff of exertion in the next handful of seconds.

So far, they were uninteresting at this age. They squirmed, made small noises, and got all of their sustenance from Arbiter. Kaertok had taken over, giving Arbiter a short break to go outside and stretch her legs. Arbiter insisted on calling them names he did not approve of, and so Kaertok had named them per the Tartok tradition: Atuaserk, Malrok, and Pingasut.

The latter was wiggling and crawling into an open space of the den, and Kaertok watched lazily. So long as Pingasut did not try to escape the den, the Tartok wolf would let the sole boy do as he pleased.

She was studiously observing a beetle (not to be confused with a Beetle) scuttling along the rear wall of the den when a squeak captured Grub's attention. She slowly turned to watch as Slug squirmed away from their sister and began wiggling around the den. Her eyes followed him, partly erect ears twitching as she registered some faint scuffling noises. Her attention briefly flicked to their father stationed near the doorway. Then, finally, Grub turned back to resume watching the insect, only it was nowhere to be found.

The pup blinked, nonplussed, then slung her pale belly to the ground and began sniffing along the seam where the wall of the den met the floor. She huffed quiet breaths which bounced off the hard-packed dirt and stone. When that produced nothing, she began to dig, hoping she might unearth the beetle.

stubbornness sets in; unyielding. a few breaths are taken, a small rest from his effort to army crawl, well, like a slug across the birthing den floor and he's at it again. subconsciously ( or consciously? ), he notes arbiter's absence keenly. with a newborn's woefully underdeveloped hunter's instinct, buried deep within the very marrow of his bones, slug-pingasut searches for her to no avail. the shifting shadows of the den offer him no reassurances. he turns himself around so he faces his sisters and then with a grunt wiggles towards kaertok next, weak nose working furiously though it, also yet, is too weak.

Malrok seemed content to sniff at the floor, now digging through the dirt. Kaertok blew air through his nose, tasting the scents of all three children that were decidedly his. He had heard many times of the connection between children and their parents, and yet... he did not feel anything like what had been described before. These things... they were so small, so weak. They could do nothing to fend for themselves. How could he feel for a thing such as this? It would be like feeling for a helpless fawn, unaware that it was supposed to stay away from sharp teeth.

Pingasut made his way toward him, and Kaertok watched, only mildly interested in the movement. How long would it be before they could walk properly? Before they would learn to be proper wolves? Nearly a full month had passed, and although they grew larger, they did not seem to change much to him.

Her tiny toes flexed as she tore at the dirt. Soon her paws were filthy and the sight of them, changed so drastically in color, momentarily gave Grub pause. She stopped and held out one forelimb, which wobbled. She put it back on the ground and stared at it some more.

She began to lose interest when she spotted movement. Her attention darted to the unearthed beetle as it scuttled out of the pile of dirt and toward Kaertok. Grub huffed and gave chase, clumsily trotting after the insect. Before she could consider pouncing it, it disappeared beneath her father's leg. Grub herself face-planted into it an instant later.

Malrok bumped into him, and Kaertok rather carelessly pushed her back. Lost that round, he taunted. Why was she so stupid? Were they always this stupid when they were so small? He wanted them to be grown and strong, like wolves should be. This phase was positively embarrassing. She could not even catch a slow-moving beetle.

When her father pushed her, Grub didn't so much think as react instinctively. Forgetting entirely about her pursuit of the beetle, she sprang at his foreleg. Her own stubby forelegs flailed, trying to grasp and then pin his paw so she could swoop in and bite it. What she did with it beyond that, even the puppy didn't know. It was all a rather automatic and mindless process, the movement triggering the predatory responses innate to her species, no matter how young.

She stumbled backward a bit, and Kaertok rolled his eyes. Then, there it was. There was a glimpse into what Malrok was meant to be. She had much training (and growing) to do, but here, he saw potential. Better, he praised, although his tone was still unimpressed. He knew from his mother that he could not be easy on them when they were young, or they would turn out soft. Soft was not a word meant for Tartok wolves, and Kaertok would push his children to their limits before they would earn that name.

He shrugged her off of his foreleg. Again, he commanded, This time, try harder. Do better was heavily implied.

She didn't quite manage the hit she intended. Coordination and precision would come later in her development. Still pleased by her success, Grub let out a growl muffled by the flesh and fur in her mouth. Soon it was torn from her and the suddenness took her by surprise. She blinked, then recovered and unleashed a savage snarl.

Grub didn't necessarily register her father's encouragement consciously, though it certainly played a part as she launched again. This time, she clutched at his foreleg before biting it, then sank her whole body weight against it to keep it grounded. Of course, he could still fling her off if he chose, easily, but Grub didn't consider that. She just poured all her energy and focus into "killing" his paw "dead."

She tried again, this time using the (pathetically small) weight of her body to try and keep his foreleg down. It did not do much. Malrok had much to learn, just as he once had. Kaertok would ensure that she did learn. With very little effort, he shook her from his leg, and she tumbled on the floor of the den, rolling a few times before coming to a complete stop. He watched, his eyes curious to know if she would come at him again or if she would give up. Fight or flight was another skill that one must learn—perhaps the most important one of them all. A fight you could not win was not a fight worth getting yourself into.

Not only did he shake her off this time, he flung her. Grub was disoriented by the time she sorted herself out and stood up again. She blinked owlishly at him, not particularly keen on repeating that exercise, especially since the impact had made one of her paws smart a bit. She shook it out.

Anyway, there was easier prey to be found in the den. The beetle was gone, yet Beetle remained. There was Slug too. Grub put her paw down, gave Kaertok a long look and then turned from him and pounced at her sister instead. Beetle could put up a hell of a fight, she knew, but she couldn't toss her across the den like Kaertok could. It was a fairer fight which would hopefully help her build the skills for a rematch some other day, not that Grub actively thought about any of that.

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She seemed to learn that attacking him was not going to be the ticket. Instead, she moved on to her sister, and Kaertok watched the two of them wrestle it out among themselves. Malrok showed promise, even at this age, and already he had chosen a favorite. Clearly, he had failed to read up on all those parenting books.