Ouroboros Spine you know you're on my mind

Hopin' for some babies @Lariat @Nantahala @Lightfoot — it doesn't have to be long!

With all the help they had, Valiant had very rarely found himself alone with his daughters. There was too much excitement about them, the new father swept up in it every bit as much as the rest. But things were slowly quieting down, and for perhaps the first time, Valiant found himself enjoying a lazy day in the den with only his three snuffling children for company.

"The world's gonna be all bees and sunshine by the time you three are ready to run around," he told them, already trying to picture it. But it was hard for him to superimpose anything over his current reality. Because everything was perfect — he'd checked. He'd counted all their toes several dozen times over. Two eyes each. Twelve strong legs, each set getting stronger by the day. Stronger and longer; they already seemed to be twice the size they had been at birth, just a few days before.

It was happening so fast. He'd hardly gotten used to the sight of them as they were, never mind imagining what they would soon be.

"I think you two are gonna be hellraisers," he said, pushing his nose against Nantahala's tiny paw pad. One, two, three, four — all her toes were still there. He prodded at Ikniqpalagaqï as well, reassuring himself that all three were still alive and well.

"You're gonna have to keep 'em in line," he whispered conspiratorially, this time to little Yuralria. "You're like your momma. These two..."

He smiled down at them, entirely besotted.

"I don't know where the hell they came from — must be the gold dust, huh?"

For both gold-dappled girls already seemed... energetic. And — not that he or Vairë were sedentary individuals or anything — he supposed he'd just expected all three of them to be as calm and sweet as the girl they'd called dancing one.

nantahala was shaping up to be quite the fireball.
a little singer, a little yapper; the blonde babe spent much of her waking hours yowling with her piercing banshee voice, wriggling about in order to steamroll her sisters with her most-powerful stomp. she was brave and she was strong!
but being so chaotic took a lot out of her. in the present moment, she is nestled in her daddy's arms; if one listened closely, they could hear the rumble of her snoring. up and down went her round little belly with the patterned breaths, arms and legs spread wide and frog-like along the den floor.
when he speaks to her, she stirs; her jaws spread wide in a milk-breath yawn, and then: one big blue eye opens. squinted, very much so, but still open, and it is then followed by the second as if she were a little frog.

While Nantahala was blessed with the most powerful lungs, little Lariat possessed perhaps the most impressive gift of all: patience. Often would she let her sisters use her as a fuzzy climbing frame, accepting the playful bats of their paws with sweet giggles of her own. It was only when they interrupted her most important tasks of eating and napping that she drew the line.

Momma was absent today, but daddy was here. And Yuralria had discovered something fascinating. Shapes and colours swirled in a blurry kaleidoscope - nestled in the furs of his tail, her father's soft breath was followed by a squint of her newly-opened eyes. The thistledown girl lay on her back, mouth ajar in the shape of an "o" as she gazed in awe at the suddenly very exciting den ceiling.

Valiant did not feel excitement so much as he felt relief when he saw those first pale slivers of baby blue. Things were progressing normally. They were hitting all the right milestones. They were healthy and they were safe, and sometimes Valiant could hardly breathe for fear of upsetting that balance.

But the fact of the matter was that life was good. Frighteningly good. And Valiant was so blissfully happy that, when he laughed at the little sound his lilyflower made, there was a wet sniffle to go with it. He kissed her belly as lightly as he could, not wanting to disturb her nap, and then looked back to Yuralria to watch her with as much fascination as she watched the rest of the world.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he asked her in as soft a voice as he could muster, moving his face into the edge of her vision.

at first, the pale girl was a bit clueless as to what she was looking at.
her vision was merely a burst of light and shadow, blurry blobs of faint colors and tones. she, like her sister, was now enamored with the ceiling of the den, reaching a paw up over her face to rub the sleep from her eyes. she is startled into being fully awake when she feels the cold press of daddy's nose upon her belly, amd she squeaks a sound of surprise in response.
but then, there is laughter. it is rather nonsensical and hard to pick out from other baby babbles, but it is there, and she reaches out a stubby paw to touch her daddy's cheek.