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He just wanted to see what was in the bag.

The newborn stumbled over to the sack, thick little fingers gripping at the edges of it, and tugged. He barely had the dexterity yet to slip open the ribbon holding it, yet somehow he managed it. Inside was something like him, but softer and cold and not moving, with wide open eyes. He put a hand to the something's face, puzzled--

When his sire leapt from the brush, claws in a frenzy, ripping at his face. A squeal escaped from his throat as he tumbled away from the bag, something wet and stinging trickling down his face.

"Useless whelp!" Mordred hissed. "Never touch him! Never! It should have been you!"