Taste of Freedom

When Desolate called for him to stop, he did, if only to make sure his brother wasn’t being eaten by some foul beast. He didn’t hear any screams or shrieks of agony, in fact, Desolate sounded worried. Perhaps that’s what it was that had his head whipping around, only for his feeting to tangle and trip him. Spirit would tumble, rolling to a stop against the side of the den walls with a soft thud. Groaning, he looked up at Desolate as his brother told him he was kidding. Ears fell flat and eyes narrowed but that anger quickly morphed to hurt when he was called a baby. Tears would well up in his eyes, he quickly blinked them away. “I-I’m not a baby..” He muttered, nearly whimpering. He just didn’t like being frightened. Shakily, he would rise to his feet, tail tucked between his legs and head drooping in resignation. He didn’t want to go outside anymore.