Iskandor moved with quiet precision, following closely in his father's wake as they navigated over the slumbering bodies of his littermates. His ears twitched with every soft sound, every shift of fur and paw, his heart racing beneath his composed exterior. Once they slipped free of the den, the cold air outside hit him with a sudden clarity, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the crispness. The faint glow of the night’s sky reflected off the distant peaks of the Col, casting long, silvery shadows.
He turned back briefly, watching as Basilisk gently closed the den door, sealing them off from the safety of home. The quiet crunch of paws against the dirt was the only sound as they padded down the path, heading further into the vastness of the wilderness.
When his father finally spoke, the words hung in the still air like a question carrying more weight than just choice. “Cliff top or beach?”
Iskandor’s ears flicked, his gaze shifting to his father, catching the raised brow and the subtle challenge in Basilisk’s tone. He knew the question wasn’t just about exploration—it was a test. Each path held a promise of discovery, but each also carried its own risks. The beach meant venturing closer to the unpredictable waters, a realm of uncertainty and untamed force. The cliff, however, promised height and vision, but with the danger of a fall should he misstep.
The boy considered for a moment, his mind already analyzing the choices. Despite his young age, curiosity surged within him, urging him to make a decision that would prove his growing boldness.
“Cliff top,” he responded, his voice steady, but his eyes betraying the flicker of excitement within. He wanted the height, the vantage point—to see the world from above, just as his father did.
"Speech"
