Sharp and pointy

Malico watches his mother, tail lazily wiggling behind him as he watches her mouth. He gives a small nod at her words about getting use to them and questions, “If wolves aren’t supposed to have them, then why do we?” At that question, his mind turns to his crimson counterpart and he quickly adds, “And if we have them, why doesn’t Mar?” Brows furrow as he tries to deduce these things on his own but is quickly distracted by the game. The boy puts all his attention on his mother’s lips as his body stills, waiting for the word that will separate the winner from the loser.

As she begins to form the word claws, Mal is moving, flexing the muscles that make the daggers appear and is reward with being first. Eyes round in surprise as the boy really did not expect to win and looks between his claws and his mother’s. Tail thumps the ground hard and a grin tugs his lips up as she reaches out to playfully ruffle the fur on top of his head. In return, he gives a happy growl. Without warning, he lunges up to capture the retreating paw, easily wrapping his forelegs around her slender ankle and pulls it back toward him.

Once in range, he feigns a bite before licking her toes, growling viciously as he does all while his tail beats out a frantic rhythm on the ground. The boy’s obsidian claws remain firmly in his paws as he holds her leg.


"Malico Mendacium"