Dragoncrest Cliffs You are wildings: untamed, unholy, ungod

Wildfire doesn’t like the answer and her jaw tightens, watching her for a moment as she tries to sort the information and ask why, but she’s cut off. Her ears cup forward and she jerks forward, forcing herself back in place before she’s too close. Thuringwethil opens her mouth to brush off the concern but it seems to work itself off the table for the time being.

I think there’re more coming, she says and she’s curious, slowly inching closer to the opening of the tree trunk. If allowed, she inches close enough so that she can rest her head on the ground near her mate and if not, she keeps whatever closeness is allowed.

“Okay,” she says and, instantly, falls silent. And remains that way for a few awkward seconds, as if she hadn’t just agreed to talk. Her brows knit together as she peers toward their daughters. “They will be strong,” she tells her, thumping her tail on the ground a few times, watching as they wiggle and feed and fall asleep and do everything expected of them. “They are strong,” she rephrases. Whatever blip in her pregnancy a while had been, it doesn’t seem to impact the two they’ve created together and while the rest remain to be seen, she hopes these two are indication enough of what is to come.

Thuringwethil reaches out and touches her, nose to nose, with a smile upon her lips, and she talks about nothing and everything as her world becomes soft mews and gentle breathing of her small, sleepy family.