To my one sweet life squeezed tight in a vice grip

Another call from Mother Absinth rang out within the Polar Sound, her voice reverberating through the valley with purpose, summoning those who wished to learn. Another day, another lesson. It was early morning, and Zagan had just emerged from the den, laying in the springtime sun to warm his body. His fur was finally starting to come in, but it was thin and wispy- a wool coat came in handy, but nothing could beat the sun's warmth. He was enjoying his sunbathing, but it was mundane in comparison to attaining knowledge- so, he was quick to his feet when Absinth called, following her scent until he reached the clearing she claimed as her classroom.

She looked up at the sky, observing the pack’s ravens circling above. Zagan looked up too, pinpointing his raven as it blended into the abyss of black feathers and cawing melodies. Absinth’s voice drew his attention to her, and Zagan listened with purpose, absorbing her words and eager to learn from her teachings. She was teaching the principles of combat, and creating your fighting style. Stance and balance were important, acting as a foundation. He followed along with Absinth’s demonstration, spreading his paws out, bending at his knees, and centering his gravity. He wiggled his toes, digging his claws into the soft soil.

"Zagan Saxe"