Go. The Fuck. To sleep.

Fever practically purred as Moros began to gently groom her fur. The girl loved being groomed. It was one of her favorite things. She liked keeping her coat clean and nice and shiny. Her poor mother was probably tired of brushing out her fur by now. The girl's mismatched gaze admired the plethora of fireflies that her grandfather had produced just for her. She felt so spoiled.

Moros began to weave his tale, telling the girl of her lineage and of the ways of her forebearers. As he spoke, the landscape changed to a sun dried canyon. This elicited a soft gasp from Fever as she looked around in wonder, her long tail swishing back and forth against her grandfather's chest.

Fever's attention was directed down below and the girl hung her paws over the edge without fear, watching with rapt attention as a very familiar looking wolf fought another. Moros spoke of his son, Alastor, being his crown achievement and Fever laughed softly. That was her papa down there! She continued to watch as Papa beat the other wolf into submission. Rather than let the wolf admit defeat, Papa tackled his opponent and ripped out its throat. A spray of dark red blood splashed upon the dry canyon floor and Fever gasped. What... was that?

Though a child, Fever's stomach had clenched hard upon seeing the life ripped from another. A thrill of excitement skipped down her spine like lightning. Never had she seen anything so beautiful, so enticing, so... absolutely breathtaking. She wanted to see more. Lots, lots more!

When the scene ended, Fever, eyes wide, backed up into her great grandfather's chest once more. She listened to his words about their bloodline being strong. The small girl looked up at him, a little frown playing on her lips. "I'm not strong," she admitted, then waved her paw towards the edge of the cliff. "Not like Papa." The girl deflated, sinking down to lay flat, her chin on the ground. Around them, the world darkened with her mood. "How am I supposed to be strong?"

"Speech"