Qeya River varos

butterflies clutched the tops of new flowers, and silvertongue showered yellow petals over the top of a child's downy head. she was out with them in the sun today, blinking lazily in the warm glow and singing a little song about una mariposa y el sol, while she watched the small explorations of her own cubs start in earnest. the qeya was beautiful, so lovely she almost kept the nightwoven face out of her thoughts.

cameo! also kinda vague

wren watches her wife from the slope that led to their den, letting the sunbeams spread across her back and her shoulders. she had been quiet since akavir showed up, unusually so. nothing was ever simple, was it? she could not know peace, could not know stability in her own home, in the life she had been dreaming of for so, so long.
she wonders if silvertongue would be happier with him. she also wonders if she already knows the answer to that question.
but she does not want her children to see her cry. she smiles down at them as her tail thuds against the earth, hiding the glazed eyes behind a pale wrist.

Phoebe had a rock, and she was gonna Cain the next motherfucker who tried her.

She carried it like an awkward stork, her neck bent back to the point of pain, but why would she give up? Huh? This was her rock, and she’d take a swing at anyone who took it from her. So, she pranced circles around mamá, rock held like a prize, daring her siblings to try it.

Of course, if they did, it was more likely Phoebe would start choking on it than drop it.

small paws reached to steal the stone. silvertongue batted the reaching limbs with a soft flick of her tail. "now, let phoebe alone. there are many things to find here. go and pick out something to bring here," she suggested to the others, before smirking at phoebe and teasing with a pretense at theft herself.

Phoebe was learning early that betrayal could come from any direction. Mamá tried to steal her hard won rock and the tiny, sooty girl hummed with a growl, sidestepping to avoid her touch.

But, well, balance wasn’t at the top of the baby checklist. Phoebe wobbled, side to side, rearing up to prevent the capture of her rock, but only succeeding in pitching ass over teakettle onto her back.

She let out a muffled shriek, a mix of pain and rage, wiggling her fat little limbs at the sky like a grub.