the hardest lessons

His father had laid out posts in the sand. Some skinny, some long. Some short, some high. The Warlord had told him he must learn to complete the entire obstacle course by the end of the week. That it would teach him control over his body. When he’d complained about how difficult his large paws were to navigate, he hadn’t expected this.

He looked at the course with some trepidation before stepping forward. He rested his forepaws on one of the lower posts, and then heaved himself up. His body was already a stocky thing, and the post was small. He tried to get his back legs on, but they missed. His front paws slid off, and his stomach hit the post. He stood there a moment, post resting against his stomach, paws resting in the air. How was he ever going to achieve this?


"Citadel Fatalis"