Hideaway Strath oh there's a great big beautiful tomorrow

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Ceallach presses against him much more rough than he ever had before. It startles the gangster who peers down at his mini-me with mild concern in the fiery depths of his twin sun gaze and a furrow to his brow. A high pitched squeal erupts from his last born son and Ceannsach shifts his weight, mindful of his other young children whom seem to be progressing the way they should despite their early delivery into the world. They are more active than they have been previously, wiggling blindly about the birthing den. “Ceallach,” The gangster coos in a smoky rumble to his youngest, drawing his tongue across the boy’s back in a familiar gesture of offered comfort only to realize as he pulls back that his eyes have opened and deduces that is likely the cause of the young child’s distress. Milky blue eyes stare though Arturo knows his sight is not yet what it would become. Arturo does not remember anything of his own time spent as young as his son (for that was many year ago) but he cannot exactly be called a stranger at puppy development.

“@Lotte,” Arturo croons to his gangster queen, as he watches Ceallach wiggle away and towards his siblings. His gaze touches them all and snickers quietly as he takes in the pudgy cream puff whom is sprawled out lazily, his back foot twitching in his deep seeded slumber. “Ceallach’s eyes have opened.” He takes on a softer tone in the confines of the birthing den, not wanting to overwhelm his children with too much noise, but his words are pitched alacrity at the development of their youngest in the hopes that his love will share in the excitement of it with him.

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