4 points       Report

Nothing Special

Two

Cliff’s mother had told him that soon they would get to leave the den and explore the rest of their little camp, and meet the rest of their family. Only mother entered the den, her dark brown and gray fur soft and full of familiar scents, as well as new ones.

Vulture pawed at her throat as she laid inside with them, pushing his snout against her windpipe until she opened her jaws and regurgitated the hunks of meat that made up their meal. Each of Cliff’s siblings tackled the food, writhing to reach the warm, saliva-coated flesh first and eat their fill. And there was Bone, shoved to the back and avoiding his siblings’ scuffles as they battled for their mouthfuls.

Fern shoved Vulture off of another piece of their meal, taking it in her own little jaws and maneuvering her way over to Bone, where she dropped it at his feet. Their little brother mustered a smile of thanks and dove into eating, swallowing quickly before sidling away, hiding between their mother’s strong front legs.

“Enough, Vulture,” she scolded, pushing him away with her nose. “You’ve had your fill. Give your brothers and sisters a chance to eat, too.”

“Can you tell us a story about the ancestors?” came Bone’s quiet voice from where he laid in his safe spot. Cliff had to keep himself from rolling his eyes: that was all Bone wanted to hear about were ancestors, ancestors, ancestors. He never wanted to hear about the outside world, or their family, or hunting. Always the ancestors.

Their mother smiled, nodding. “Of course, little Bone,” she said gently. “Of course.”

- President Loki

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