Dragoncrest Cliffs Widowmaker

Wildfire blows off the suggestion to go see Portia with a quick I’ll be fine and her ears twitch and lay flat against her head. When she gets closer, demanding to see the boy, Thuringwethil does not move and keeps him tucked between her front legs and in the shadow of her cranium. Other than a little upset, and blood smeared upon him, there is nothing she can note is wrong. If he hadn’t hit her when he’d been chucked, it might have been a different story, and now she’s hesitant to ever walk away from the children in the care of her mate alone.

“He’s fine,” she says and it takes every effort not to speak through her teeth. However, she searches Wildfire’s nose to find the smear of pink across her muzzle. “He won’t be if that bite is serious; you need to see Portia,” she insists, trying to cool her tone. Perhaps the break away from the children might give her a piece of mine, tending to herself for once instead of being sucked dry by four little mouths. “I’ll watch them. Will you go?” Slate eyes angle upward, hoping she will not have to force the mother away.