The Sunspire I am hanging in the bathroom at the biggest party of the fall

Three had (presumably) been christened with a name, Wisteria, in the hours following her birth. Since debuting, she caught only brief winks of sleep and the rest of the time she spent wailing for no particular reason. Every waking hour heralded a new expression of Wisteria's displeasure with the ongoing overstimulation. By the end of the second day her throat was sore from intermittent screeches and she quieted down at last, if only to save herself the continued grating at the back of her mouth.

Despite all this, she ate heartily, kneading at her mother's belly alongside her other family members. That was where she was presently, guzzling greedily and pressing her feet insistently into the side of whichever sibling was closest to her.

Wisteria's screaming didn't bother Breccan; he couldn't hear it yet, as his little ears were still sealed up tight. But when he was right next to her, he could feel the vibrations caused by her vocalizations, and while he didn't understand what it was or why it was happening, he would try to get away from her. This, of course, was usually unsuccessful, since his legs were less than functional.

There was no thrumming coming from his next door neighbor at the moment, but she did kick him, which elicited a grunt from the boy. He wiggled and squirmed, and had he the cognitive capacity at the ripe age of two days old, he might have thought, Yes, I think I put some distance between us. But his non-existent thought was wrong, as he felt her toes press into him once more, and he gave another grunt.

The pedaling of her feet rarely went unnoticed. That was true this time, too; the surface that Wisteria was kneading against began to churn under her toes, contributing to her overstimulation whether he knew it or not. Wisteria's mouth popped off of the teat with a subtle slurp and she harrumphed her disapproval, but there was no instinctual understanding that her actions were unwanted. There was no sharing of his feeling of discomfort. So she kneaded harder as she rooted around for the teat once more, almost as though her feet could still the rolling motion of Breccan trying to escape her if only she pushed them in harder.

Rather than stop, the prodding continued. Breccan grunted again -- this low-pitched, single-syllable sound seemed to be his primary form of communication so far -- and tried to ignore it, instead attempting to focus on something of more importance: eating. He mouthed at his mother's belly and began to nurse, only to receive a stronger punch from his sister.

His response was the same: he tried to get away. But this time, he thrust with his own back paws, and just so happened to return the kick to Wisteria.

Life could be good if only Wisteria could nurse and pedal her feet without interruption, but that wasn't feasible. She found the teat again and suckled vigorously for a few seconds, but at that moment her brother decided to slam her in the gut with two powerful but uncoordinate paws and she let go of the teat with a wheeze.

This was an unpleasant sensation. It was also very unwelcome. A keening wail began to build in her feet as she suddenly began to thrash out with her limbs in every direction, striking mom and Breccan and whoever else was near alike, in a true tantrum in the making.

Everything suddenly got much, much worse. Instead of the relatively gentle pressure that Wisteria had been applying to him all along, she assaulted him with a barrage of kicks, accompanied by an unholy squeal that he thankfully couldn't hear. Breccan was caught off guard, and his little body stiffened as he was attacked. He stopped nursing and wiggled in an effort to get away from his sister, but it was to no avail.

So he did the only thing he could, and began to wail too. Luckily, @Liffey was there to intervene, and he felt her mouth close around his little body. There was a sensation of cold air beneath him as she lifted him, and then he was settled back into the warmth of her fur, a safe distance from Wisteria as their mother presumably tended to the screaming girl.

His children's fussing had been anticipated—the tantrums had not. 

Although Rannoch had not seen what had caused the uproar, he was quick to react. While Liffey worked to amend Breccan's distress, Rannoch focused on Wisteria. "Oh, Wisp," Rannoch crooned to his youngest daughter. "What's going on, hm?" He stepped over his wife and children and laid alongside the portion of the nest where they laid. Once settled, Rannoch picked up Wisp and placed her between his forelegs; she had his undivided attention for now.  

"It's going to be okay," Rannoch assured Wisteria as he began to groom her. "Daddy is going to make everything okay."

Though Wisp was prone to fits and was far from a simple infant, she wasn't utterly inconsolable. Neither of the babes was strong enough to pull themselves away from the other, and they had gotten themselves into something of a situation where both were desperate to be parted. Wanting something and being unable to secure it was distressing; thus did Wisteria wail and screech until she was cocooned in Rannoch's warm embrace.

While on the one hand his grooming was more stimulation to an already stimulated baby wolf, the rhythmic press of his tongue on her downy fur was comforting enough that her cries began to quiet down into whimpers and grunts, and she resumed her kneading, this time against her father's ankle.

It wasn't Liffey that took care of Wisteria, but Rannoch -- not that Breccan was really aware of it. He only knew that he was away from her, and he wriggled until he was firmly snuggled up against his mother's side, happy to have a break from the kicking -- at least for now.

His mouth opened, but it wasn't with the intention to eat. Instead, it was a big yawn, and soon after he drifted off into dreamland.

Eventually, Wisteria succame to a more content state of being—or at least, that was how Rannoch had interpreted it. He smiled and watched in awe as his daughter began to massage his inner-ankle. 

"I don't think you'll be getting much from there," Rannoch mused. "You hungry? Or just giving your 'paw a massage?" 99.9% of his time with his children was spent wondering just why they did what they did.

The deep rumble of Rannoch's voice swept through Wisteria as a series of tremors, and this would turn out to be the most effective means of settling down the least consolable of the litter. There was something about the gentle thrum of vocal cords sending a wave of sensation, not too intense, through her that made all her muscles melt. She dealt her father's paw another soft knead or three before a huge yawn split her flat gums and then, smacking her lips, she fell into an immediate slumber.

With Breccan and Wisteria quieted, Rannoch felt satisfaction in what he had accomplished—somehow, everything had been resolved quickly. 

Although all was tranquil within the den, Rannoch resumed his watch. He would be there if anything else went awry.