Sawtooth Spire Introduce a little Anarchy

@Sitamat

Her cubs had grown, and continued to do so, at a fast rate. This pleased her greatly. They could even speak more, now, and seemed to understand things better. Tonravik had not enjoyed them as babes she had to maintain when they could not maintain themselves (as newborns), but now, she found she did moreso. Tonravik permitted their noise due to understanding that now they were truly beginning to learn and understand. Sometimes they vocalized what they were doing, and Tonravik was pleased to see that they knew.

Her bilingual cubs switched in tongues without knowing or recognizing it. Tonravik would not reprimand them for this. Their branch would learn the tongue with them, and all of the outsiders would not be told. Tonravik let them learn as they would, and it seemed each cub was as quick to learn as they were to grow. She and her mate had bore four creatures who were bright and strong. Her pride was great.

Tonravik rose well before first light. The Gamekeeper looked among her sleeping bunch and her eyes landed upon the dark Sitamat. His eyes were still changing, but this son was most like her in appearance already in his furs alone. No one son was identical; the bear cubs were diverse in their appearance. She licked her nostrils and stepped toward him, careful not to step upon any other in the process. It was him her wet nose pressed roughly against, forcefully waking him as she often would on these mornings. At this point, surely he was used to it. Perhaps even expectant of it. On Thursday mornings, she had her son join her on her cache and Gamekeeper activities.

What translator do you guys use? There's so many inuit languages D:

He had grown used to being roused early in the mornings, especially on a particular day every week. Not that he had any concept of weeks and days, but there was a certain routine emerging, he had found. The youngest had been in a deep sleep when Tonravik pressed her nose against his side, yet he woke suddenly and completely, blinking twice before looking to his mother. She was but a colossal silhouette in the dim light, but Sitamat did not panic like he would have done a few weeks prior.

"Anaana," he greeted his mother softly with a nuzzle to her chin. He found he could reach body parts he previously struggled to before, oblivious to the fact that it was because he was growing taller by the day. Accustomed to this routine now, the boy yawned widely and got to his feet, shaking out his coat and ready to follow Tonravik out to wherever she decided to lead him today.

He was quick to rise, and did not complain. Good. How wise her cubs were. It pleased her. He swept his muzzle beneath her chin, and Tonravik's own jaw traced the shape of his head with the gentle-roughness she possessed, entirely unable to be altogether gentle, try though she did. It was never her desire to hurt them. Only protect them. He greeted her with her name, and she stepped past him as he rose. Time to be on the move, and get to the first cache.

Daylight would soon come fully. The sky was still dark, but changing colors as the moon set and the sun began to lift. The first cache was relatively close by, but still a distance away. Her gait was mindful of the size of her son. Although they grew quickly, they were still small in comparison to her bearish form. It was hard to think that one day they would be the stature of their parents... except, she thought, Pingasut. He looked small, and she had no doubts the boy—prettier than her and more precious than her, at that age—would not grow as his brothers paws suggested they would.

Sitamat had noticed the fact that their mother was...rougher with her shows of affection compared to those of their father. He didn't piece together what this meant entirely, but he wasn't fussed by it. Any affection from his parents was a-okay in his world. He allowed Tonravik to exit the den first before following, bounding awkwardly over the stray limbs of his litter mates and scampering to his mother's side where he stood, looking up at the dark sky.

There were hints of light that promised sunlight soon but, for the most part, the world still slept. Tonravik was quick to set off, Sitamat hurriedly following after her with his bumbling gait. He hadn't the grace of Pingasut or determination in his steps like Atuaserk, instead possessing an indecisive sort of waddle rather than an actual stride. Still, he kept up with the woman as much as he could, running forward when he fell out of step. "Cache?" he questioned eagerly to where they were headed, looking up to her although he knew the answer already.

Any time he fell out of step, the mother would continue to move on or nip him, alternating between the two. Her patience had never been her strong suit. And as ever, she wanted him to stay on task, to not dither and dilly dally. On occasion she would stop and sniff with him an area, but then, usher him along. At present, she had left him behind some steps, and he bounded forward to meet her. An ear flicked at his query, and she repeated, "Cache." A stiff nod was granted to him, and then, she stopped in her step.

In their tongue, the mother of four rumbled, "Where?" Could he remember the location, yet? Could he smell it? It was only just ahead, but she wondered on the mind of her children, and what they could do at this point.

Cache. Just as he thought. A small determined smile appeared on his face and his tail waved with joy — both because his assumption was correct and because the food caches were his favourite place. They continued forward a few more paces before she paused, and Sitamat stumbled to an ungraceful stop beside her. He looked up at Tonravik's deep voice. It was a simple but direct question, one he understood fully.

With a nod, the boy leapt onto all fours again and took a moment or two to get his bearings. "Taku," he spoke, gaze sweeping the area. Look. He voiced his actions mainly for his own benefit, to set certain routines in his mind before a particular task.

When he spotted a patch of disturbed ground, the two-month-old bounded forward hastily, unfortunately falling a few lengths short of the actual cache. The scent of meat was strong here, though, so Sitamat stuck his nose to the ground and breathed in the smell. "Smell," he announced in their tongue before crying, "dig!" and digging into the ground, huffing in dismay as he realised all he unearthed was a single, wiggling worm.