Dragoncrest Cliffs You are wildings: untamed, unholy, ungod

Soon enough, the last pup was cleaned and tucked in beside his brother and sisters. Wildfire took in the whole litter for the first time, chestnut eyes lingering on each child before moving onto the next, then repeating the process over again. Occasionally, she shot glances at her mate, her black tail giving a happy thump at Thuringwethil's words.

"Get in here," she said, shifting her fatigued body a little to make space for the commander. "Look at this," Wildfire added, pressing her nose against the youngest pup's feet even as he drank greedily. Her brow furrowed a little as she counted his toes, which seemed too numerous. She shot a quizzical glance at her mate, then blew out a breath.

If that was the only disfigurement in the litter—not counting the little bat girl's ears—then... Wildfire would be grateful. She thought of poor Falcon and Hawk a moment, wishing things had turned out differently for them, but then looked at the four living, breathing puppies at her side and knew Thuringwethil was right. Even with her questionable genes, they were strong. And, more importantly, healthy.

"I know we should give them names and all that jazz," the Feisripa murmured after a bit, "but I'm not sure I can keep my eyes open much longer." As if on cue, her jaws parted on a huge yawn. "Could you call for @Artaax, @Blixen and @Bobby? You should tell them the news, nomi." She paused to stifle a second yawn. "Plus I like the idea of the whole family being close by."