Neverwinter Forest throw my fist

Today is their three week birthday! They can toddle around now, according to the Guidebook.

Cypress toddled busily around the den on chubby little legs, his tail jutting straight behind him and ticking wildly, like a metronome gone off the rails, as he veered to the left or right. His ears, still buttoned closed, afforded him a greater sense of hearing than he had previously enjoyed, and as a brisk, blustery gust of wind danced through the den door, causing one of the rawhide strips @Kieran had brought to rattle on the ground, he turned immediately toward it with wide blue eyes. “Nah!” he babbled, bumbling clumsily over to his dust bunny brother. It was one of his three words: “Mah” meant @Eshe, “Dah” meant @Scimitar, and “Nah” — perhaps unfortunately, as it only perpetuated Cypress’ grumpy bear status to negate things all the time — meant @Rannoch, or more specifically, Noch.

With the excitement of the very young, he quickened his tottering pace toward the rawhide strip, his forelegs moving stiffly as he pirouetted clumsily around it — with his eyes fixed attentively upon the previously forgotten chew toy, he sidestepped with his hindquarters, instinctively keeping his “prey” in his sights even as he strafed left or right. His attempt at a terrifying growl — a step up in intensity from the disgruntled grumble of a house cat, but not by much — curled his lips and warbled briefly before fading away into silence. It made him so mad! The little prince threw up his head in dismay, the whites of his eyes showing as he considered the audacity of the thing for simply existing in his world — and barked again and again, the force of his voice causing his whole body to jerk this way and that like an aggravated Pembroke Welsh Corgi puppy faced with an Extremely Offensive Pumpkin.

With everyday came new discoveries for the princes of Neverwinter Forest. Very recently, the two had discovered their legs. Though they had been unsteady at first, the boys soon found their stability. With the ability to walk, the boys had found that their days were filled with more excitement. Sometimes, the two would race about at high speeds while other times the pair would slow their pace to slink about. In addition to their ability to walk, the pair found that slowly-- but steadily-- their vision and hearing was getting better with each day. Very much like his soot-covered brother, the silver prince had developed quite the vocabulary as well. “Mah and Dah” were the words he associated with his mother and father respectively. His word for Cypress? “Bah”. Often, his brother was associated as ‘brother’ and not by his name-- so Rannoch latched onto this sound to associate with his older sibling.
 
He was napping when Cypress first went on the prowl, dreaming lightly as the first golden rays of ending of the day stretched into the den. As suddenly as he had found himself napping earlier that afternoon, the boy found himself awake as commotion filled the air. His head shot up as Cypress began his daring attack on the nearby chew toy, blinking quickly as he attempted to get a better look of what was going on. His eyes darted from his brother’s bobbing for to the rawhide and as he observed he found himself bristling.

Clumisly, he jumped to his paws and scampered to his brother’s side, his tail whipping wildly and barks eruping from his mouth. The heat of the moemnt had distracted the child on the fact that he had taken his first steps. There was no time to relish in the drama-- his brother needed his help! With his needle-like fangs exposed, the boy lashed out to grip the devious inanimate object and shook his head, as if he were teaching it a lesson it would never forget.

Cypress tossed his head, his little body wrought with tension — stiffening his forelegs, he toddled threateningly in a half-circle around the rawhide, the furrow of his brow emphasizing the seriousness of the chew toy’s crimes. So focused was he on his mute interrogation that he did not notice the approach of his brother — his hearing, after all, was still muffled by his cotton-stuffed ears — and as Rannoch popped up beside him, tail enthusiastically whipping the soot sprite’s haunches, Cypress promptly jumped in surprise and fell clumsily into a heap. “Nah!” he squeaked out, his expression alight with joy as a smile tugged at the corners of his blunt muzzle. Throwing his head back with such alacrity that it toppled him to his side in a position of lateral recumbency, Cypress howled victory as he watched his brother worry the rawhide into submission. It was a thin, warbling, piping sound, but in his child’s mind, it was a battle cry as fierce as his father’s.

Gathering his growing limbs beneath him with somber concentration, Cypress bumbled over to his brother — and without the benefit of an entreating, “please, may I play, too?” — he lunged clumsily forward to grip part of the chew in his mouth with an playful, wickedly mischievous light in his sky blue eyes. The game had changed now — the chew, no longer a foe, was merely a chew, and something to be tussled over. His inky tail lashed the air vigorously — so vigorously, in fact, that the sway of his hindquarters caused him to plop into a sitting position as he lost his grip. “Nah!” squeaked the babe amidst a peal of childish laughter, silvery and pure of timbre, though in time it would deepen and settle into the honeyed Southern cadence of his mother’s lilt. “Me! Me!” “Give me!” was the translation to this abbreviated cry, but Cypress gave his brother a head start — chasing was half the fun! He shaped his chubby little body into a playful bow, wiggling his rump entreatingly, then bounded one stride forward.

“I’m going to get you!”

His brother’s cheering drove the fire within his heart and drove each whip to the rawhide to be more powerful. To the common adult, this power would be the equivalent to the motion of casually nudging a branch out of the way. But, to Rannoch, it was the most ferocious he had ever been. Growls escaped from his grip as he showed the object who was the boss. His ego was at an all-time high as Cypress jumped into the fray and grabbed the other side of the chew toy. Though the time in which the object connected them was short, this time allowed the gears in Rannoch’s mind to shift slightly. Though he was still heated from the quarrel, a new edge of playfulness seeped into his psyche. As Cypress tumbled fell back, the silver prince paused for a moment to watch what had happened, worried from the moment that he landed onto the ground. Said concern was put to bed when the boy sprung back up and initiated a new game that just happened to be Rannoch’s favorite: chase.

When Cypress bowed, Rannoch quickly spun around and darted away. He knew that his best bet would be to reach his mom before Cypress could  get to him. But, it was only a matter of out-running his brother. All signs of aggression had turned playful as the game had melted away from the boy as he bounced away and giggles fell freely from his grip. Chase me, brother! Chase me!

With a babyish squeal of unfettered joy, Cypress waited until he could wait no longer — which was, let’s face it, not a very long time — and then bounded after his silver-etched brother on oversized paws that were just beginning to learn how to obey his imperious commands. It was too difficult to vocalize and run at the same time, but tiny grunts of determination fell like rainwater from the little boy’s lips unbidden as he chased his brother. His paws scrabbled furiously as he took a particularly sharp turn, but a sense of triumph reigned within his great heart as he kept his balance and continued to bound after Rannoch. Although Cypress had been a few steps behind timeline wise, they now appeared to be evenly matched as far as size, strength, sight, and sound went. The soot sprite smiled readily now, his lips pulled upward and back to reveal the loll of his tiny pink tongue and his needle-like teeth. “Awuffooo! Nah!” he piped out between ragged breaths, the concentration required to form words causing his paws to tangle. I love you, Noch! He bounced harmlessly off of his mother as he stumbled off course, forcing his chubby little legs to work in double time as he tried to catch up with his dust bunny brother.

The tempo of his falling paws only increased as Cypress bolted after him. Between each ragged breath, the boy spilled bouts of laughter from his parted lips. Each pulling of his clumsy paws brought him closer towards base. But as he neared, an idea suddenly popped into his mind-- one that would involve tricking his unsuspecting brother. Braking suddenly, the child whipped around so that he was facing the racing soot spire and lowered himself into a bow. Panting heavily, the boy mustered a low growl in a manner that suggested her was challenging his brother to a duel.

Okay, so, braking — it wasn’t something Cypress was very good at yet. Adulthood would strip the chubbiness from his broad-shouldered frame and give him towering legs built for endurance and speed — but for now, when Rannoch drew to an abrupt stop and whipped around to face the soot sprite, Cypress tripped over his own paws and went flying with a dusty thump. He clambered uninjured to his paws, prancing toward the dust bunny with a stiff-legged gait, his fur wild and unkempt in a puffed out expression of irritation.

With his own rump wriggling excitedly in the air, Cypress bowed his forequarters and yapped — bouncing and taunting Rannoch, interacting with his brother similarly to how he’d interacted with the clattering strip of rawhide. Pert pink tongue lolling from betwixt needle-like teeth, Cypress too wrinkled his muzzle with a growl that was more endearing than menacing — a warbling, pitchy sound the undulated like the uneven buzz of a bee. His milky blue eyes glinted with wicked mischief as he steadied himself, paws spread to shoulder width to afford him greater balance as he kept his eyes trained on his brother.

His features softened as his brother tumbled. Wide eyes watched on as dust swirled about the fallen prince and for a moment the boy fell silent, waiting for his brother’s rebound. Once his brother did jump to his paws, Rannoch exhaled heavily in a manner that suggested that all of his pent up stress from that moment was simple released. As his brother jumped back to action, Rannoch’s expression shifted. His nose wrinkled and his eyes glistened in the dim lighting of their abode. He knew that this was his time to strike. Pushing himself forward, the child leapt in the direction of his brother, hoping to land a pounce.

Rannoch pounced — but rather than avoiding his brother, Cypress spread his arms wide like a bear to take the full brunt of his brother’s weight as they toppled to the ground. It wasn’t the best reaction — sort of like using a catcher’s mitt during a knife fight — but the soot sprite didn’t mind that so much. Rolling over onto his side, he tried to wrap his forelegs around his brother and kick with his hind legs, but he was giggling so much at this point it was hard to tell whether his “attack” would end up successful.

His attack was welcomed with welcome arms. Landing in his brother’s grasp, Rannoch collided with Cypress with a gentle “oof”. He rolled with his bro and took each blow that he got to the gut. Despite his discomfort, the boy could not help but laugh as he was beat upon. As the attach persisted, Rannoch reached up to his brothers face and attempted to bat at his brother's ear as a counterattack.

Sparring was the natural way of things, and although the boys’ first forays into it were harmless and playful — and painfully clumsy — both Rannoch and Cypress were honing skills that would remain with them for life. At this age, the boys were fairly matched, and when Rannoch batted at the soot sprite’s ears, Cypress “roared” indignation — a warbling, piping cry of mock outrage that dissolved into giggles. His muzzle went straight for Rannoch’s face, though at this stage of life they barely had muzzles to speak of — they were short, rounded things with tiny little teeth, but not enough to do any real damage yet. Cypress lacked the facility to pin his ears back, but having them boxed had taught him a very real lesson to guard them. He reached out and swung clumsily, as though to say, “See how you like it, Noch!”

His brother’s roar fueled the tiny spark within his heart. A hit! Pride swelled within his being and a smile formed upon his lips. He had done it! He had succeeded! But, in the midst of such gloating, the child got a surprise. It was his first lesson in the art of fighting and one that he wouldn’t forget anytime soon. Pride turned to sheer horror as his brother made his mark not once but twice-- a blow to his muzzle and his ear. Shaking his head with a new sense of determination, the cub attempted to shake off his brother as a new found determination surged through his being.

Rannoch’s vigorous thrashing made Cypress incredibly dizzy — for instead of allowing his body to go slack, reducing some of the brain-rattling sensation engendered by his brother’s automatic protest, the pudgy little raven fought the motion every step of the way. He had no choice to let go, his milky blue eyes blurry and unfocused, but he was far from ready to give up. The vertigo made him vulnerable to whatever Rannoch’s next attack might be, but he puffed out his feathers like a displeased black robin and bounded forward regardless with a purling snarl that seemed incongruous with the expression of absolute glee on his face. “Come and get me!” he fairly roared, throwing his head back with a piping howl of invitation — oops! too fast! — and falling flat on his fluffy posterior with the force of it. Scrabbling dizzily to his feet again, Cypress bent his head and scraped his paws on the den floor like an enraged baby Triceratops.

He ceased the shaking of his head as soon as Cypress’ grasp loosened. With a smile on his face he looked onward as his darker attempted to gain stability in his standing. Taking this moment to his advantage, the greyscaled Frostfur gathered himself into a crouch suddenly before bounding  forward. The raven’s war cries rang loud and clear as Rannoch propelled himself forward, only to find that vertigo had done his work for him. This did not stop Rannoch’s attack and instead it only motivated him more. He let out a sharp bark as he lept at Cypress, hoping to land on his back. If he did just this, he would then go straight for the ears-- his favorite target and his person achilles heel.

Despite his ferocious bravado, the miasma that plagued Cypress had slowed his reaction time significantly and he was already somewhat off balance by the time Rannoch darted forth like a fluffy, gray battering ram and body-slammed his raven-furred brother to the ground. The air whooshed from Cypress’ lungs as his misty blue eyes filled with involuntary tears; he blinked rapidly, trying to get his bearings, but in the next moment his sensitive ears were assaulted. It roused a berserker-like rage in the stygian prince, and he bucked like a bronco with a cry of effort as he tried to unseat the dandelion fluff boy with little success. Then, using his position to his advantage, Cypress dropped his shoulder and tried to roll, aiming to scrape the boy off as his lips curled and a furious growl tangled in his throat.

It was the drop and roll that always got Rannoch. As his dark-furred sibling dropped Rannoch lost hold on his grip. Falling flat onto his face, as his breath escaped him quickly, the silver prince landed comically. He didn’t dare move in that moment and instead laid awfully still as pain of what had just happened overcame him. The only thing to escape him in his silence was a small whine that slithered from his hidden lips.

They are feeling ALL THE FEELINGS!

The moment he was free of Rannoch’s clutches, Cypress spun clumsily, forepaws splaying in a playful bow — and a few vigorous barks escaped his wickedly grinning muzzle as he spiritedly tossed his head and pranced a clumsy pirouette of triumph. Yet Rannoch did not move, and for a moment the pudgy little raven was fraught with confusion. “Nah,” he ventured uncertainly, “eepin’?” Could the dandelion fluff boy have fallen asleep so fast? Cypress tiptoed closer to poke lightly at his brother’s shoulder, only to wear an expression of horror as Rannoch’s voice melted from his body in the saddest of mewls. “Ono!” cried out Cypress, and he tucked his body protectively along his brother’s side, licking the boy’s face vigorously to cheer him. His own eyes bubbled with tears — both boys were likely punchy and overtired, and abruptly the game lost its fun. “Nah,” hiccupped the raven forlornly, sobbing, grooming his brother with frenetic worry, licking at his face and shoulders to try to cheer or rouse him.

He no longer wanted to play this game. He was done. Whimpers slipped as Cypress’ kisses began to fall upon his week cheeks. Inching closer to her brother, the child positioned himself against his brother so that he could be the little spoon, proposing that perhaps it was time to cuddle.

Now that both puppies had dissolved into a small, blubbering pile, the game was finished. With gentle urging, Cypress herded his brother to Eshe’s side, allowing him to have the treasured place alongside her — and he coiled his similarly sized body around Rannoch so that the dandelion fluff boy was surrounded on each side with love and comfort.