Bearclaw Valley king pest

Slowly, slowly, the infant made his way up the slope of the den, squinting against the sudden brightness that assaulted his newly acquired sense as he reached the entrance. He was entirely unaware of the fearsome battle going on just meters from his home, the seething fury of the shadow and blood-thirst of his father. The boy only saw shadows, shapes, flashes of light as the adults quarreled fiercely.

Remaining by the den's mouth (if only because the commotion of the battling blurry figures was enough to keep him put), he suddenly seemed to focus when he spotted the smaller shape, brighter than the others. He stared at it, not quite seeing, enamoured with the vivid red of its coat. It moves, up and quickly down, before the darker shadow is sent through the air and his head snaps to its position.

He huffs a confused little noise, before deciding he had seen enough of the Outside for now, and trundled back to where his mother and brother lay, nosing his way into Ikkalrok's thigh and disappearing into the dark fur there.