Arrow Lake There is a cat hovering in the men's bathroom at the radio station

For @Aurëwen, @Mahler also welcome!

The days since his birth were as uneventful as any newborn's to the onlooking eye. Dragomir had mastered the art of securing a teat and pulling milk from it. He'd mastered flattening himself out on his rotund baby belly and falling asleep in an instant. Movement was still a major hurdle for him; he had only flimsy, muscle-less neonate limbs to propel himself around with, and they weren't effective for much more than scooting a few inches or spinning himself around. The effort wasn't often worth the reward, so he spent a lot of time simply lounging in place.

From Dragomir's perspective, this was all very different.

On an hourly basis, he was beset by enemies. Today it was space invaders, with tentacular eye stalks, rippling maws, and scaly, reptilian skin. You might wonder how a newborn could imagine such things. They say that a newborn's mind is so incredibly vast, they can experience all realities at once, and their imaginations are limitless and capable of drawing on ancient knowledge. This was true of Dragomir as well. But don't worry. Dragomir would grow out of this expansive knowledge, as all newborns did, by the time he was able to speak, and would soon forget about all the different worlds in his head. There would be no miraculous stories of life beyond, no incredible impossible knowledge as he aged. This was a time for just his infancy, where his brain was developing so rapidly, it was no wonder he was experiencing insane things inside his head. The only lasting impact would be an appreciation for fantastical, clearly fictional stories.

The leader of the Gnargk'han—that was the name of this species of alien that he was battling in his imagination—clattered its five spears against a crude buckler held in its sixth wriggly arm, and Dragomir issued a challenging roar in response, a sound that translated into the real world as a tiny peep.

Late afternoon light flooded her thicket today, and her own slumber, put up against that of Dragomir’s, was rather dreamless in its entirety. But she was roused, and did so with a languid, luxurious stretch of ivory; shaking a wispy ruff out to rid herself of spring debris. The alarm in question being a hiccupy pip from the baby boy at her belly.

Taking care to not disturb Isilmë, Aure curved herself towards the soft blot of mauvey ink that was her son — son, never believing for a moment she’d behold one of her own — and pressed the pink of her nose to the own blush that stained his gaping snout. ”M-ai trezit, micul meu explorator.” The tone was faux accusatory, gentle, but each word was a pressing kiss. Her personal love felt for Vercingetorix had only deepened through the delivery of their children; and she loved them, too, so much that verbal gesticulation was ever-futile. Was it possible for love to become more than it was?

She wriggled her nose against him, mouthed at the peach-felt pudge of his belly. What did her ‘Goo look for in his dreams? “You will rattle ze stars, prihană.” The little endearment was anything but insulting; he was a mark in her life, as Isi was, too. She cherished this little “blemish” of theirs — one that she had wanted since she’d first fallen for Verx, and one that Aurëwen would welcome for forever.

He remained in the prime reality for a time, feeling the cool floor on his belly and the subtle shifts in the environment around him. The largest part of this was Aure, the source of all heat in young Dragomir's infant world. He startled at the feel of something on his face, drawing his face back in the skittish manner of a head shy serpent, and parted his lips to drink her dewy breath as she whispered words over his minuscule form.

He reacted with similar restive energy when she disturbed the flab of his belly, pressing his toes firmly against her nose and pushing away with all his might. Then he was back inside his head, his paws were twin battleaxes held in a parry across his chest, forcing back the spears of the Gnargk'han chieftain, and he swung one to strike a heavy blow against the shield...

...lifting a tiny paw and bringing it down harmlessly on Aure's nostril.

Her laugh was low, lilting as her son — would her heart always flutter at that? She hoped so — reared his blackberry head to hiss at her assault. The velvet of her scarred muzzle scrunched, and she relented at the struggle against it; but the corners of her lips quivered in anticipation for Drago's retaliaton. Enraptured as he raised a doughy paw, as if to clobber her righteously... only for it plap onto one of her own pink nostrils.

Slim brow arced and furrowed at this, lashes drawing low as she regarded Dragomir with a loving sort of mockery. "Oh, you are fearsome, aren't you?" Aure scrunched the pink of her nose once more, letting the movement wriggle into the milk-warm body of her mure. "Will you become a fighter, like your tătic, hm? Or a seeker, like me?" With a breathy chuckle, she nudged her snout further under Dragomir's scrawny chest and throat, letting him squirm along the ivory and red of her.

Felt and smelt the baby-breath on her brow, at her tuft. "Or, will you flourish into something that neither of us would ever think?" Her tender interrogation was insistent but gentle, though, encouraging Dragomir to evoke some sound and respond in some way. "You dream so much, mure; you dream like me. You must have given it some thought, mure, mm?"

The truth was that whatever her children wished to pursue, she would support. And if it took them years to finally know what their calling was, and if it changed incessantly — that was fine, too. She would guide them, as she could, and would remain steadfast when they deigned to journey on their self-discovery.

The Gnargk'han chief expertly blocked Dragomir's blow, sending his battleaxes in wide arcs away from his center. Sharp-tipped spears flew toward his expose chest, but Drago was ready for it. In this reality he had a reedy body shaped by years of hunting in the great mushroom woods of his home town, and he had a whip-like readiness about him. He curved away from the spears, throwing his spine back and bending effortlessly at the knees so that they fell short of his vital organs.

Little baby wolf Dragomir, meanwhile, was mimicking these actions in the real world to the best of his abilities. From the assault of Aure's tickles, he stretched back his spine and curved into a little comma, pressing his toes insistently against the soft leather of his dam's nose. Hers was the bulwark against which he strained in his other reality; her words, soundless to him but for the rumbles of his ribs, were timed with the spear strikes from the commander of the enemy army.

He grappled with her for a time, bringing his toothless gums down on her whiskered lip in a fierce display of his particular propensity for biting.

sorry for this Big Lazy Delay omg

Dragomir straggled against her assault, but it wouldn’t be in vain, for it was with a breathy and low laugh that Aurëwen withdrew... only for her son to gum down at her scarred lip. A riddled, silver brow furrowed in incredulity, but the corners of her lips tugged up and up nonetheless. “Yeth, verwy fearsthome,” she slurred, giggles feathering up from her breast as she wriggled her nose even more against Drago. “Suth a spiwited little balaur. Suth strwength.”

As gently as she could, she eased her lip from the gums that clutched it, and instead swept her tongue under Drago’s chin and along his doughy jaw; a kiss of affection, but perhaps it would be something entirely the opposite within whatever he dreamed of. Stifling a yawn and a stretch, Aurëwen pressed their pink noses together, before nuzzling it into the boy’s mauvey flank.

Before the twins had mastered the winter to the Teekons, Aure had never let herself hope for children of her own. After their desecration, any rosy, girlish beliefs in her wild head absconded such miracles — the real and imaginative alike. But as she curved an ivory throat over the second, ever-precious night-of-her-life, each horror that had happened went from her. With Dragomir and Isilmë, there was only hope and love and light to be found; perfection.

With Dragomir in his second phase of development (acquiring sight), this one's getting outdated, so do you mind if we fade with your next post?

Such struggles proved to be quite the strain for baby wolves like Dragomir. His gaping jaws gradually grew slower, his flailing limbs faltering, and as Aure whispered slurred words into his flank, he yawned. His shocking pink tongue, with its endearing dark splotch toward the back, curled toward the heavens and his head lolled. Just like that, the babe was out.

He didn't return to the battle in his head, but found himself as an amoebe instead, stretching feelers out into the dark as he crept along, searching for microbes to devour while the baby wolf that was him slept.

yeah, that works ^^

Her firstborn soon drifted into rest, the warmth of him pressed along her scarred snout; a place where few would ever have the privilege to be near, and even fewer who would only ever 'admire' from afar. Aure's doze took its time to dwindle into slumber, but it was as dreamless as it was when she first awoke. Whatever her son wished to roam, she would be with him in spirit, for every step of the way.