Wolf RPG

Six hours post-birth saw the first war between Nightjar's slowly developing mind and his instincts.

You see, Nightjar was feeding almost constantly. There was nothing stopping him from getting to any of his mother's teats and greedily draining it whenever he felt like it, and since he was always pressed so close to her, he really only had to reach out and open his mouth to receive milk. The other parts of that singular entity constructed in his mental map of the den were smaller, and unable to dislodge him, for the most part.

But there was a heavy feeling in Nightjar's stomach. Instinct told him that he had to stop, although he had no idea why he should. This was where his brain came in: a brief blip in his otherwise absent brain waves told him that he didn't have to stop. He was a certified badass who didn't have to listen to the urging of his body.

So, without allowing the heaviness in his gut to dissuade him, the pup latched onto a teat again and began sucking, ignorantly ignoring any queasiness that overfilling himself caused.

Peregrine had positioned himself opposite Fox, curled around their brood like a black crescent moon. While she caught some much needed z's, he watched the newborns wriggle and squeak. He was absolutely and irrevocably in love with each one of them. They were perfect. They all showed some degree of their parentage, save for their firstborn. Some might call him a wildcard but Peregrine saw the pups' grandmother, March Owl, in that fuzzy, pale coat. Without a doubt, they were all Redleaf-DiSarinnos.

The father's eyes focused on Nightjar in particular for a moment. The other three were sound asleep (or so it appeared) but he was feeding greedily. Peregrine's lips twitched as he watched his son eat like a pig. That was a healthy sign if he ever saw one! Licking his lips, he sat up a little straighter and reached out to touch his nose to the boy's back. The size contrast between him and his older brother was mind-boggling... and it would only increase if Nightjar kept eating like this. Peregrine chuckled under his breath and gave the fatty's head an affectionate lick.

If he knew there was another body aside from the one that produced milk, Nightjar likely would migrate to it. Even this young age was marked by curiosity, albeit subconsciously. But Nightjar currently had no awareness of any other bodies, and his subconscious viewed them all as the same singular entity. Peregrine was just another limb.

However, that limb was unlike the others. It reached out to him, momentarily distracting him from his overindulgence. The touch of Peregrine's nose on his back made him release his personal boob with a loud slurp... and as soon as he did, the heavy feeling came back, worse than ever.

Catalyzed by the touch and discomfort, Nightjar rolled on his side and then his back, curling in his frail limbs and whining uncomfortably. Urine leaked between his legs as a sign of submission, as though the child briefly intuited that submitting to the entity would also ease his stomach ache.

Nightjar reacted to his touch by rolling onto his side, then his back. Peregrine grinned at the tubby pink belly presented to him. If not for the squirt of urine suddenly dampening it, he might have leaned forward to tickle it with his nose. Instead, he did his perhaps disgusting but essential parental duty and swiped his tongue over the pup's underside, removing any traces of the fluid. Being damp and smelly could literally be dangerous for such a young whelp.

After cleaning up his roly poly son, Peregrine finally did what he'd wanted to do: he very, very gently pressed his nose against that irresistible little tummy. Little did he know that he was putting possibly uncomfortable pressure on the gluttonous youngster and that it might have regrettable consequences.

For a brief instant, Nightjar was assaulted with yet another tongue. It was almost like he was a jawbreaker and everyone wanted a taste or something; he'd been licked exactly 47 times since being born, and this was the 48th. As always, the gesture quieted him and sent a shiver dancing along his spinal column. It was enough to quell his discomfort for about one second.

But then, in its wake, a cold and broad piece of the entity pressed down on his tummy. Discomfort reared its ugly, monstrous head, along with a sweep of pain through his abdomen that made Nightjar squeal. It was at the right pitch to sound a little cute, but in reality, he was about ready to blow up... and signalled this with a loud hiccup.

Nightjar squealed adorably, then hiccuped, stealing even more of his father's heart (if that was even possible!). But Peregrine was no first-time father, nor a stranger to the bodily functions of newborns. The noise might have tickled his ears, yet it was a warning of things to come. Had his son been a bit older, the Alpha might have plucked him up and carried him to the den's mouth to avoid messing the sleeping area. He was way too small for that, so Peregrine began preparing himself for the inevitably messier cleanup coming in three, two, one...

In a spectacular impression of the volcano on which he was born, Nightjar hiccuped again, then blew his top.

Well, not literally. His head remained connected to his body, yet lifted off the ground as though to herald the coming of an eruption. His mouth opened wide and suddenly he was projectile vomiting hot, sticky, sour milk straight at his father. The stench was horrific, a mixture of sweet and sour, that instantly grabbed his attention when the stream of sick finally stopped.

The pressure in his stomach was gone, but a new, uneasy feeling was creeping over Nightjar in the aftermath of his volcano performance, who opened his puke-filled mouth and cried out loudly.

Blastoff! Peregrine thought even as Nightjar began to spout sour milk. It was actually quite impressive, as well as disgusting. Cleanup on aisle five, he mentally added with a touch of cringing humor. Dutifully, the father began taking care of the mess before it could disturb Fox or the rest of the brood. He essentially shut off his conscious brain and resorted to only his baser instincts until the putrid mess was gone. Otherwise, he would have vomited himself.

In five minutes' time, Nightjar was damp and definitely stinky, yet all trace of the spewed mewk milk was entirely gone. The stench would linger in the den for a while but that was just par for the course. Dealing with piss, shit and barf and all their lovely and varied odors was just a part of wolf parenthood.

The pup had been crying for much of the past few minutes but, presently, Peregrine soothed him by licking his face. He pondered nudging Nightjar toward a teat, yet if he was throwing up, was it really wise to eat more...? Gently, the Alpha male closed his mouth around the tiny pup, turned him around to face away from Fox's tempting nipples, then pushed him against her warm fur. Hopefully he felt better and could now go to sleep.

Peregrine attended to his task with silent stoicism, which was lucky for Nightjar, who didn't really notice at all. His awareness shrank back into the background as dark inactivity enveloped him once more. With nothing to stimulate his instincts anymore except the smell of his own barf, he remained on his back and wriggled his nose curiously.

That is, until Peregrine soothed him with another lick, this one spanning most of his tiny chest and smooshed face. He was quiet, a sign that he was grateful if ever a newborn could show one. He was crying and kicking again in mere moments, however, when Peregrine suddenly lifted him from the floor... and then he was bathed in warmth.

As the stress of being picked up and moved ebbed away, leaving Nightjar with no stimuli to complain about in the instinct department and no thoughts to complain about in the mind department, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep that involved the kicking and thrashing of his tiny limbs.

Of course, even if he did go to sleep, it was only a matter of time before he woke for an encore performance... and just the first of many. Not to mention the three others. He and Fox would be up to their eyeballs in excrement. But Peregrine wasn't fazed. He'd raised this exact number of pups before and he knew he could do it again. It would be his pleasure, no matter how many bodily fluids touched his tongue and how many offensive odors assaulted his nose in the course of his paternal responsibilities.

Well, Nightjar seemed content enough now. The Alpha watched the largest of his pups for a moment longer, then let his gaze drift over the others. Their derpy firstborn was no more than a tiny cotton ball tucked closest to Fox's anterior. The youngest of the four was snuggled next to him, quite a stark contrast to her paler brother. She was suckling gently, perhaps in her sleep. Her older (by minutes) sister had jammed a paw in her mouth and was sucking on it rather noisily. He smiled.

Sighing happily, Peregrine let his chin fall to rest atop his foreleg. He shifted slightly so he could keep his eyes on them. He didn't dare let them close, even though his eyelids were growing heavy. It was hard to resist the siren call of sleep in the warm, cozy den full of sleepy wolves. But resist he did, never once taking his eyes off his new family.