Hideaway Strath nothing in comparison to that one minute

Content that his aspiring guardians run the borders as he finishes up his patrol Ceannasach moves towards the birth den with the intention of reveling in the marvel of being a new father. New is not necessarily a correct term — these children are his third litter (if considering Chusi whom though is adopted is just as much his daughter as the ones born of his flesh and bone; in fact he sometimes forget she’s even adopted at all) — but the excitement and all the comes with it feels renewed. He has forgets between litters how territorial, how cruel he is until he is placed between a threat and his children. Domestic or foreign. He knows he yet needs to branch off the Golden Glade and strike a deal of if not an alliance then at least neutrality between their packs. He knows and yet the thought of leaving Teaghlaigh, of leaving his nine day old babes and Lotte is an unwelcome one. Yet, he reasons to himself that now is the best time when the babes still don’t need him. They are still blind, deaf and unable to do much but eat, sleep urinate and poo on themselves. It was when they were older, speeding to and fro that he would need to focus his duties heavily upon his Strath and his third journey into fatherhood. The show was yet Lotte’s. Not alone, but for the most part.

He decides he will broach the topic with her later as he shrugs into the birthing den, lowering his body to the ground so that he does not accidentally step upon his wee children if one managed to wiggle out of their place from Lotte’s flank. One managed it — one of the two that reminded him much of his mother, Boadicea and one of his elder girls, Devin. The pale snow drop had managed to wrangle herself from the congregation of her siblings. He carefully plucks the frail snow drop up by her scruff and hesitates for a moment before he draws her in between his paws as he rests sphinx like upon the ground. “@Eirlys,” The deep, smoky accented timbre of his voice a low murmur though he suspects she cannot yet hear him. He draws his tongue against her baby soft pelage, nudging her closer to his chest so she might absorb his warmth. He casts a glimpse at the other Lotturos nestled against his queen’s side with a tenderness that bespoke his unconditional love. A tenderness that, perhaps, to a third party observer is almost blindsiding given the gangster’s cruelty and merciless nature.

he can always send her off! <3

The medic had found some more herbs for Lotte and now that the children were a week old she wanted to see how they were doing. Her bundle was carefully kept in her mouth as she departed from her own densite where she'd left Sirius for the time being with strict instructions to stay put. The flamekissed wolf made her way towards the space where Lotte and Arturo had denned to keep their young protected and safe, the King Sequoia's roots put down would show them how to be just as strong with their own roots.

When she neared the den she lowered the bundle to her feet, chuffing to see who was awake; not that she feared waking the cubs, most were quiet lumps of flesh and fight, rarely showing off their own strengths. It might have been that Hemlock had not approached when the children were their most active, or perhaps she had just been so attuned to their states as patients more than anything - she tried, for her own sanity, to distance herself. Loving, well. She'd found that to be a hurtful pasttime.

"How are we doing?" She asked lowly, not meeting Arturo's eyes out of respect, even keeping her voice pitched low to not disturb any slumbering at the densite.

Eirlys’ protest was muted — a breathless little wail that ghosted feebly from her muzzle with an exaggerated push of her thin sides. The snowdrop was everything her eponym suggested she ought to be: delicate, fragile, and…frankly, a little droopy. She wasn’t as tenacious as her siblings when it came to nursing, and that was beginning to show — but it wasn’t for any lack of effort on Lotte’s part. Eirlys should have died. It was a miracle that she’d lived this long, but the young mother reasoned that the mingled Ansbjørn and Fearghal bloodlines had forged a thread of unbreakable steel in her children, and even her weakest daughter was not exempt. It was this steel that had pushed Eirlys to use her little turtle flippers and strike out on her own — and now it drove her to fight her father as she occasionally fought her siblings.

“Eirlys,” the ruthless gangster fairly cooed, casting a much different countenance than he had even on the day of his children’s birth, and although Eirlys couldn’t hear him she coincidentally moved toward him at exactly that moment, lending her the illusion of responding to his voice. Blunt puppy muzzle gaped as wide as it could go to attack her father’s toes before he drew her cozily against his chest, but she didn’t settle immediately. As it turned out, the snowdrop had a lot to talk about: she squeaked, she grunted, she snuffled, and she wormed around, instinctively trying to shove herself into the hollow of Arturo’s axilla.

Arturo is not sure if his youngest daughter responds to his voice or not — though he doubts it, for while it has been a long while since he’s been a father to newborns he knows that it takes some time for their hearing to truly develop (and even if she could hear that is unlikely she would know her name) — but coincidentally Eirlys moves towards him in that moment regardless. His ears perk forth atop his crown at the sound of approaching footfalls and for a moment his upper lip quivers with a lingering warning and threat ready to spill forth whether in words of a low growl but it dissipates as quickly as the protectiveness flares up as Hemlock’s chuff fills the cavern of the king sequoia. The flame kissed Leifteanant appears seconds later as Eiryls buries herself into his axilla. Ceannasach looks away from Hemlock to peer down at the snowdrop where she is nestles close to the junction between chest and leg a white, frail smudge against the over-creamed coffee of his chest. His fiery gaze of twin suns rises as Hemlock speaks and the gangster takes a moment to contemplate her words unsure if she is referring to Eirlys or the babes as a whole. “I’m not sure.” Arturo eventually admits. His worry for the snowdrop is great but so is the ferocious belief that if she is anything like his mother, like him she will defeat the odds. Unfortunately, Arturo had never been great at keeping blind optimism. Eiryls is strong, he knows that, but he does not know if she is strong enough. He is and always will be a realist and so he does not keep his hopes reaching. For his sanity and for his heart.

Hemlock watches the babe as it squirms and moved, pleased that she had the energy to do so even if she has not been as eager as her siblings. Hemlock reached down to nudge the bundle of herbs over towards her Banrion, giving a small smile. "We are doing better than expected," She responds, viridian gaze still on the pale female. "I worried, but she came back - she refused and still she fights." Hemlock was proud of the little child, of the creature she was no doubt meant to be. Of course there was a worry - many cubs were lost to their first few months and there was no promise that any of them would make it. Still, she had the hope that all of these would. "How are you doing?" She asked her leader, a small smile on her face for him too. There was no hiding her fondness for each of the Fearghal family. They had truly become her own.

Arturo’s fiery gaze flickers down to his pale daughter as Hemlock speaks. Eirlys may be fighting, may be proving them wrong at every twist and turn but she is not in the clear yet. Ceannasach is not a man of blind faith and his complete lack of belief in any sort of deity (despite how stubbornly his mother had tried) did not allow him to pull the wool over his eyes, nor did not rise cause for him to praise the divine. Burying the stillborns that Lotte had given birth to had been hard but if he had to bury Eirlys — or any of the currently living Lotturos — he is not so sure that it would not break him. His children were easily the gravity of his world, the only good he believes he has done in the world; for he knows and has long ago accepted that he isn’t a good man. There is too much evidence stacked against it to try to delude himself. Not everyone can be a saint nor a martyr. The world needs its villains. His attention rises to Hemlock when she returns the attention to him and he lets out a small breath. How was he doing? Arturo didn’t even know where to start. “I am worried and I am frustrated,” There is a twitch at the corner of his lips. “but nothing that I am not used to, nor that I cannot handle.” Teaghlaigh has had a rough run the past few months and he only seeks quietude for The Family. They more than deserved it after everything they all suffered.

He shifts his weight, mindful of the fragile daughter still nestled against the junction where his leg meets his shoulder. “Hemlock, there is something I’ve been meaning to speak with you about,” He has not spoken with Lotte about it but given how close the two women have become the Fearghal patriarch does not foresee her having an issue with it. “I would like you to be the godmother of the children.” Though it was not poised as such it was a question and she had the choice to decline him if she so wished; but the truth was that if something were to happen to him and Lotte there wasn’t anyone else he trusted with his children more than Hemlock. She was the logical choice. His first and admittedly only choice.

Hemlock regarded the pair for a moment, watching the way that Arturo considered her question and his own response. She might have smoothed her tongue across his brow were he not her Alpha; even though she is fond of him endlessly her respect runs deeper than that. She gives a grim smile to the response - understanding what he meant but still wishing there were more that she could do. She would take as much as she could, relieve him of his burdens, just as she knows Lotte does. Perhaps that is part of why she was so fond of the woman, perhaps it was only a piece of the larger puzzle that was Lotte. "You admit it, though, and that is freeing in a way." Denial was so strong it became a prison in some - thinking of Olive and Dakarai, who feigned their innocence until the very end. "It goes without saying anything I can do to ease those burdens I will." Hemlock still was compelled to state it all the same, wanting to provide for her pack as she had been provided for.

Her brows furrow for a moment as he says he has something to ask of her; normally their conversations had been full of the children and all about them. There was time for little else, it seemed, considering the ways that things had gone recently. This though - it is important enough to near knock the wind from her lungs and Hemlock blinked back her shock to let her eyes drift across the litter. She may never have her own young, but these; were these not her own children, in a sense, knowing nothing but her love? She smiled and reached across Eirlys, nuzzling tenderly against Arturo and ending it with a lick to his chin, submissive and grateful. "I will do all I can to not fail you or them."

Oblivious to the conversation swirling around her, Eirlys busies herself with exploring her surroundings. Infinitesimal paws knead against the curve of her father’s chest as she slowly, laboriously turns herself around and tries with marginal success to scale the hard ridge of his forearm. She “looks” up, her head bobbling unsteadily as she unwittingly turns her attention from Arturo to Hemlock and back again, peeping out from her safe hollow with her white-petaled paws hooked doggedly over her father’s wrist. Her rounded hindquarters shuffle, turtle flippers flopping ineffectually as she emits a furious squeak of protest and loses her balance, tumbling into a soft puddle of fluff. “Hey!” A soft, rhythmic series of cries blares from her tiny mouth like a siren. Like her mother, she wants attention and she wants it now.

The most frail of his child knead at his chest and it draws a low, affectionate chuckle from the gangster’s chest as he is reminded of Lotte’s feline-akin movements. “You are your mother’s daughter snowdrop,” The smoky timbre of his voice a low coo as he lowers his muzzle towards the girl to brush it lightly against her tiny body, gentle. As if he is afraid to break her; because he is. Burning, twin sun gaze rises to Hemlock as she speaks, lifting his muzzle slightly so he might easier speak to her, though he is careful not to ignore the demanding snowdrop. “I fear what keeping those things bottled up will resurface more than I fear what admitting them makes me look like.” Perhaps being honest will make the gangster appear weak before his wolves, but he’d rather they think his frustration and worry as weak then keep everything so tightly bottled that it causes him to crack, to begin to split at the seams. He fears that it might be enough to summon the parasite from whatever depths of hell Riptide emerged from. It has been over a year, Arturo believes, since he has felt the parasite’s presence in his mind but he remembers it as best he can and he does not deign to ever experience it again. The loss of sanity.

Hemlock accepts the duty of being the Lotturo’s godmother — though Arturo had not thought she would reject it; nevertheless he is grateful. He knows that if something unfortunate were to befall the Fearghal pair that their children would be in good, loving paws. “I know you will,” The gangster assures her with a gentle smile upon stern set of muzzle. A low hum of contemplation draws from the gangster. “I know, once, you desired a family of your own. Have you given any thought to bearing your own children?” If there is anyone that deserves it, Arturo thinks it is Hemlock. Teaghlaigh could not support many more children, perhaps one more and given the tragedies that had befallen Hemlock he is not even sure she still desires children of her own womb but he asks nevertheless though there is no obligation in his tone as he voices the inquiry.

There was nothing but fondness in her eyes as she watched the way Eirlys moved, her little paws set in motion. It had been a long time since she had seen children so small and she cherished these tiny movements and the shift of her body as she grew to accommodate the spirit within her. Hemlock knew some of Lotte's heritage, her proud Tundran upbringing, but their stories seemed vastly different in the ways of their respective clans. It was a silly desire but Hemlock would have wanted more of them here, with her, to give her part of her home here in what was her new paradise. Even though they had family in each other, Hemlock knew the ache of missing siblings and cousins and even broken mothers who needed tending to like children.

Arturo gave a near cryptic response but she did not fret over what it might have brought. They have known one another so long now, it seems a lifetime ago - and Arturo has been a fixture in many of the important events of her life. "You have outlets and supportive ears for the times you do need that release." Hemlock offered with a smile, knowing that between herself and Lotte they would both be sounding boards for the troubles that he fretted over. A quiet sort of sense drew over her at his question, and Hemlock felt that pain in her again. "I fear that Sirius and the little bears will be as close as I come to motherhood." She admitted. "I was more open to the idea than Palisander - and he... Well. He was a fluke. I did not expect to love. Still, I do not." Hemlock could scarcely put into words how accomplished she felt; she did not quake or cower when she was in the presence of males buy still she did not trust them beyond those that carried their banner.

"Should all the stars align again I would not be opposed to the idea. It would take a great deal of work from the heavens though, I imagine." She decided to end on a more playful note; she would not reject the notion of children but she certainly couldn't make them on her own after all. She would be content with the babies she could love and cherish as their godparents and guardian, toeing a careful line between her place and her hearts desire.

Last post from Eiri!

The rumble of Arturo’s smoky timbre is something felt rather than heard by the snowdrop, and its gentle waves are enough to lull her into the soft, easy slumber of the newly born. Just before she drops off fully, she fights against the heavy sensation of impending sleep, burbling and crying fretfully — awake is where papa is, and therefore where Eirlys wants to be! — but eventually the flurry of motion adds to the soporific of her father’s voice and the tiny ball of fluff falls asleep with one last grumble warbling muzzily from her lips.

Arturo listens to Hemlock as she offers him a response to his question, sparing a quick glimpse down at Eirlys whom has fallen asleep tucked against him. He offers her a soft kiss, careful not to stir her into consciousness before he turns his full attention to Hemlock once more. The words she speaks …the utter acceptance that she will never know motherhood for herself causes sorrow within the Fearghal monarch. He understands, of course. There was once upon a time that he thought he would never love romantically, that he was incapable of it. The most pleasant surprise was that he wasn’t incapable of it. He wonders if Hemlock and him are more alike than he realizes. There is a terse tug to his lips as he contemplates her words. Still, he does not see why that means she can never know what it is like to be a mother to children of her own womb. If it is what she wants …why should she be denied it? “Love often finds us when we least expect it, even when we think we are incapable of it,” Arturo speaks from his own experience, though. Still, he offers it as some sort of comfort though whether it accomplishes it’s goal or not he does not know.

“Are children contingent on love for you?” Arturo inquires, considering after the words are spoken how it may sound. “I mean, would you consider it if you respected the father even if you did not love him?” Subtly was failing him, or his nerves (ha, funny that) were getting the better of him. Frustration at his own ability to effectively communicate what he was trying to offer was in the furrow of his brow and Ceannasach shifted, careful not to disturb the snowdrop. “I’m afraid I am unsure how to offer this in a classy manner as I first intended to,” The gangster offers her a sheepish expression. “If do not think you will ever fall in love again, and children are your heart’s desire, Hemlock, I am willing to sire them, if you’d like.” Arturo does not stop to consider that this might put strain on their friendship but in the gangster’s mind it makes sense to offer it, because she has been with him since the beginning, because he wants her to be happy. “I do not aim to offend with my offer, I only seek to put it up for potential consideration.” What she does with it is entirely up to her and regardless of how Hemlock takes it Arturo will be as respectful as he has always been with her decision, or lack thereof.

It is not as if the offer is a small, minor one, after all; nor is it one that Arturo makes lightly.

The soft sweet sounds of the snow drop as she drifted off draw a gentle smile to Hemlock's face. She could not deny her affections for the children, nor for their parents, especially not with how she melted around them. The girl she was before winter seems an entirely different woman, but more of her shows in the weeks since the children's birth. She likened herself to being distant and cold but that creature has faded with time as well, it seemed. Whether she wanted it or not again her affections and relationships have come and wound them self into her heart with little concern for how it left her feeling.

She knew she would have done anything for them, but, what Arturo is speaking of isn't just a duty. It's a priceless sort of privilege, something she thinks he probably struggles with after the fiasco with Olive and Dakarai. "I was not born of love, and it broke my mother... I do not think love is the only basis for having children, but I would like to have a partner.' Hemlock admitted. She did not think that she was failing Sirius, but she still worried if her influences were enough for the boy. "I almost feel that would take even more work, to have a sire you were not bonded to... There would be a great deal of compromise in the arrangement I imagine." But then Hemlock could not fathom not wanting to be involved in the raising of young, either.

Hemlock is aware of the shift of Arturo's tone, the way that he seems almost nervous. Her ears shift forward curiously, and her tail gives a brief slow wag as if to soothe - but then, she never would have imagined this from him. They are friends, yes, and she did respect him - but there was a love there too, as he has been steadfast in his loyalty to her and the cause they have shared since the beginning. Hemlock blinks back her surprise at his offer before she leans forward again to nuzzle gently against him. It isn't with the foward sort of affection she holds for the Banrion, but still, she is gentle and more genuine with him than any other. "Have you and Lotte discussed this?" She asked curiously, still mulling the idea over.

There is no doubt he would have been her first choice if she were provided the option, but still, with her Banrion and the children there is a great deal to consider." You are sweet to offer, and I know this is not something you say lightly. I do not know when my next season would come; we could consider it more, together, before then." Hemlock finally settled her her words though the fluttering of emotion in her stomach does not go away.

“No,” The gangster admits as Hemlock’s gentle and surprisingly (to Arturo at least) affectionate touch lingers upon his flesh where she nuzzles against him. “but it is a topic worth discussing with her if you are considering it.” Arturo tells Hemlock, smoky, accented voice lingering in a contemplative state. He cannot pretend to know how Lotte will react to such a conversation. He is aware of her jealous tendencies but he also knows how much Hemlock means to her …would she deny Hemlock a family …little ones of her own simply because Arturo offers to be the father? He doesn’t know and does not attempt to fill Hemlock with empty promises he cannot deliver on in regards to the matter. He can offer to give her children, he can offer to be just as much a father to them as he is to the Lotturo’s or not a father at all if Hemlock would prefer it but he cannot and will not speak for his wife. “Of course.” Arturo murmurs in soft agreement. Children, after all, are no small matter. He shifts his weight once more, careful not to disrupt Eirlys. He glimpses down at the slumbering snowdrop tucked against him and cannot help but wonder what children born of Hemlock and himself would look like. It is a contemplation born out of nothing but mere curiosity and it fades just as quickly as he received it.

The slight burn of contact is more because of the charge of emotions in the moment. Hemlock is certain of that, just as she is certain that discussing it with Lotte would have to be with caution. Her Banrion is rightful protective of her status and her mate and that is something that Hemlock does not consider out of the ordinary at all. She is not afraid of her, not in the sense others might have been, but Lotte matters greatly to her and Hemlock had no aims to upset her.

"They would be handsome things," Hemlock murmured softly, her viridian gaze on the sleeping children. She wondered if the children she bore would be as bright as she was, their pelts chased by the smoke of Arturo's heritage. Perhaps it was vanity, but she could not see a combination that did not bring about a beautiful child; but then, what mother did not find their young to be beautiful? "I will bring it up with Lotte, at some point." Hemlock said with a small smile. "If we were fortunate, we wouldn't have to worried until the height of summer. Let the children grow more, but then... Such things rarely wait for proper timing." Maybe with all she'd been through such a thing would be impossible - who knew.

Arturo assumes that Lotte is fond of Hemlock but how far that fondness might extend the gangster cannot believe to say. Would it extend it far enough that, should Hemlock go into her estrus that Lotte would bless a consummation? It could be claimed as a favor between friends …because that was what it was, right? Giving Hemlock children, if that was what she wanted, was something he could do. He does not strive to replace Palisander for her, he does not strive to make her fairy-tale promises — for he is so very far from Prince Charming; he always fancied himself more of the antagonist — he does not strive to make her fall in love with him. The coywolf sovereign tells himself it was what any friend would do. Most of his children bear something of him in their coat colorations — except for Devin, Roarke and Eirlys who look more like his mother than they do anyone else, and Mallaidh whose coat resembles Lotte’s, but still he bears darkness in his own coat, melanistic as it is. Unintentionally, Hemlock’s contemplation spoke aloud gives way to his own: wondering whom those children would look like or if they would take from both of them.

“Mhm,” He murmurs in absent agreement to her words. He does not speak that not a single one of his children have grown up to be ugly but that sounds pompous even in his head and he does not give voice to it. “There is a slight chance she may kill us both.” The gangster teases with a fond chuckle; though he does not think his wife’s reaction would be that strong. After all, it isn’t as if Hemlock is homewrecking or he is cheating. Neither would have them bringing the possibility up with her beforehand. “We will worry about it when your time comes,” Arturo offers her a soft smile, attempting to reassure her. Of course, bringing up the possibility with Lotte is first priority but beyond that Ceannasach saw no need to fret about it otherwise. As of right now: Hemlock had plenty of time to decide.

At his little tease there is a ghost of a smile on her face, her eyes drifting down to Eirlys and then over to the other puppies nestled in their pile. "Well. It's that or one, or both , of us get chased off." Hemlock said with a quiet laugh- but that possibility is very, very real. She gave a resolute nod to his statement that they would worry about it later. They had time. Of that she was certain. How much? That part was the question.

After a bit Hemlock let her head rest on her paws, her eyes growing more heavy. Before she dozed off she decided to stand, nudging Arturo gently. "I should check in and see what trouble Sirius has gotten into." She murmured quietly. She would find the boy, maybe corral him for a nap. "Hopefully I will see you again." She said with a flash of a smile before departing the whelping area to go chase her own ward down.