Generational Trauma

Xairo, distracted by the playful seals frolicking in the icy waves, looks up with a start. The sight that greets him is not what he expects. A looming figure draped in a half-cured pelt that smells of salt, sea, and sorrow. Xairo's first instinct is to bare his teeth, but the size and aura of dominance radiating from Sephiran stops him in his tracks. His tiny heart thumps against his chest, the beat echoing in his ears as he stands stark still. His sharp green eyes dart over the brute before him, taking in the duality of his gaze and the harsh set of his jaw. Despite the unease pooling in his belly, Xairo raises his chin in defiance, mirroring Sephiran's assertive stance to some degree- he is still only in the first several weeks of his life just yet. “Who are you?” Xairo asked, his voice a defiant bark, both curious and impulsive. The question hangs in the frosty air, the only sound other than the huff of their breaths and the distant caw of one of his mother’s ravens.

"Xairo Saxe"