I awoke in my den, surrounded by four yipping cubs — and a motionless one, curled into a ball. Oh god. Two seconds into Shelter
, and already I’d failed as a parent. I approached the cub, and gave a bark, trying to wake it. Its siblings responded. The still one did not. At a loss, I walked down a tunnel, wondering what I could’ve done. I came upon a root vegetable. I grabbed it between my sharp teeth, and continued on. But as I tried to walk down the tunnel, I kept balking backward. The game wouldn’t let me leave my offspring behind. I thought for a moment, and returned to the lifeless cub. I offered the vegetable. My cub wolfed the tuber down, and color returned to its fur. It got to its feet, and trotted along after me.
A voice appeared in my head, cutting through the game’s mellow soundtrack. “Having successfully learned to feed her cubs, the young mother can now venture into the forest.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“I’m Sir David Attenborough,” the voice said. “I will be providing your imaginary narration.”