Blackwater Islands the insane clown posse is just the clown posse to the joker

He was growing.

It wasn’t a good thing.

Because growing meant he had legs. And having legs meant he was figuring out what having legs meant.

Okay he was planning a jailbreak. He had already reached the big outside, squinted and screamed at the sun for good measure because dammit he paid his taxes to not get sun in his eyes and here he was, sun in his eyes, but it turned out that pudgy puppy legs weren’t meant for jailbreaks.

So, a mere foot from the cozy earth, he huffed a great sigh, slid down onto his belly, and began to chew morosely at his toe beans. Oh, woe betide the other foot from the den. He’d get there, and he’d show that dirt what for. He narrowed his eyes, chewing a bit more aggressively at his pawpads. Yeah, he’d show the dirt.

skippable! will post when i have something to add.

ptolemy stood close to the edge of the cave, shadows disguising his small, dark form.  his eyes slitted against the assault from the brightness outside, and his head turned towards the direction of a pitiful squall.  once his eyes had properly adjusted, he saw his brother, laying in the dirt and sand, chewing on his toes.

he didn't understand what isangrim was doing.  though, to be fair, he did not understand much of anything just yet.

for now, he observed.

to watch them grow was to watch a miracle unfolding before her eyes. the days of their early infancy had seemed long, but the nature of time had turned fleeting as the children came into their own power. already the sprouts bore budding flowers. soon they would bloom in full.

morgra had been the first, but today isangrim found a new strength of will in following his sister's footsteps. the listener shadowed the boy in the torpid manner of ink creeping over a page, watchful but unperturbed. @Ingram stood watch not far from the den's singular entrance; the children were safe. her eyes found ptolemy as her path took her to his side, praise written in her sharp features.

you prefer to watch. good, she spoke in low tones, meant only for his ears. you need to see clearly, to see what lies ahead. for all of us. watch very carefully.

and the prophet left his side, seeking her secondborn. the spray of the waterfall scarce reached the stone pathway leading into the den, yet she felt the cool droplets touch her face as she bent to speak to isangrim. the spiritglade calls to you, i know. this place will always be your soul. but my den is your home for now. it will keep you safe, perhaps he did not understand. the listener herself had been slow to unravel the mystery of the language of wolves. it had been the weakness of her mother, passed to herself by circumstance; she would see to it that her own children faced no such hindrance.

The rasp tone of the wolf Isangrim was coming to recognize as Mother made the boy raise his still soft head, bleary eyes peering at her from the scrunch of his little muzzle.

His toes hit the ground with a wet slap, and Isangrim’s eyes followed it, before he whipped his head back towards the Listener, mouth wide and gaping, as though decrying the outrage that was his paw leaving his mouth. He was eating that, not dropping it!