Sawtooth Spire there's lots of middle ground between the kings and centipedes

backdated to march 20th! papabär @Mahler?

for days the depths of her aegean gaze could only be seen through a slight-made aperture; and there was a dubious air about the way she looked upon the world she couldn’t quite see. 
it was on one of the warmer spring days that the gunky lids prised to reveal wide blue eyes in full. her gaze was far-away, unfocused. her environment could only be captured in pearls in full motley; her focus, unable to converge on any single object, merely caught shifting transitions of chiaroscuro and blears of amorphous shapes passing the denmouth, where the light blazed most bright. most of the time, she kept her eyes hidden from the world and its curious lookers-on. 
her mobility was a more exciting development. while she still mostly sculling about on her belly, balancing on the balls of her front feet was becoming less of an effort, and in coming weeks she would be unanchored; in spirit— in willfulness— in promise. the underlying, perennial urge of freedom and impatient youth burning like reams of sulphur. 
she clumsily danced on wylla’s heels to the mouth of the den, pressed to her leg, but paused at the entry while her mother continued on and disappeared through the thicket. with a huff, phaedra rocked to hindquarters. the milkmaid did this more often nowadays, though she rarely stayed away for long. even still, the child had yet to enroot an understanding of gone now, not forever, and losing her all-access pass to the woman’s milk was frustrating.
a crestfallen whine formed in her throat, punctuated by a disgruntled growl that vibrated and strummed curiously in her vocal bands. unable to hear herself, she repeated the gnarling noise and plucked at her chest at the ensuing judder up her gorge. 
the little stormcloud with thunder in her belly rolled against her back—which no longer troubled her with soreness—and popped a paw in her mouth, siring an adorable litter of babyish growls as she suckled self-soothingly on her pale toes.

today mahler was full of a trepidation. he had placed sagtannet into a situation that might prove untenable: two litters, sired by himself, but between two mothers, and not without their own foggy history.
mahler had no true grasp upon the breadth of the issues between wylla and nyx, save for a vague memory of tension within grimnismal. 
despite this, he found he did not regret his choices. nyx was a valued individual who had earned her right to motherhood through firm work and loyalty. in doing so she had also garnered his affection.
and wylla. in him was a great flame for her fierce raw ways, one that burned hot and unquenchable. he was utterly smitten. 
he did not understand either of them.
loud little phaedra. calm baby thade. they charmed the craggy gargoyle and he was quick to relieve wylla of parental tasks wherever possible. today was no different; mahler approached the den as she departed, brimming with soft feeling for all of them. 
and there on the stoop was his tiny daughter, enlivened with a new pair of murky blue marbles, and vibrating with adorable growls. "nun, süße ente," the gargoyle grunted, sliding forearms to either side of her round body as he lay down, half-inside the den. he always lapsed thankfully into his proper tongue when alone with his children, perhaps a bit rebelliously. "was siehst du?" 
he looked warmly down upon phaedra as he spoke, lavender eyes quite lacking his usual coolness.

phaedra’s half-mast eyes beheld the approaching umbrage of her da and a gurgled coo of glee dimpled her cheeks and smiled in her eyes. phaedra didn’t know a stranger and would have given her merry countenance to the occasion of making a new giant friend even if she didn’t know this one’s scent just as well as she knew how to find milk-dew in a scarfskin. (those had gone to decay, anyway, and had been replaced with clean peltries decidedly not stinking of turned milk and birth dross.)
the cygnet allowed his canoodling and meanwhile wrestled with his large muzzle, batting it with her feet as he settled above her and rolled like thunder in words she couldn’t yet hear. still, she was in transports of rapture whenever he did this anyway—held one-sided conversations with his daughter in rumbling murmurs. the warmth of his breath and the tickle of his whiskers always made her coo and chuckle deep within her belly. 
when he loomed closer, her eyes widened and her lips encircled a drawn-out croon. she placed her warm toes on the bridge of his snout and plot a course across the blurry sea of her vision, searchingly peering at the galaxy of colors she couldn’t bring into focus. 
movement was easier to follow, she decided, and her squinny eyes tracked the more dramatic movements of his head. rolling her own head back, she also eyed motion in the sky as a bird flew from on high and alit on a branch. another flutter of giggles danced in her stomach and she kicked her rear-feet against mahler’s cairn-like chest before turning her gaze back to his attention. ”oooo,” she babbled conversationally.

phaedra was alive with the sound of music the unfolding realities of her new sense. mahler took a great pleasure in attempting to follow her muzzy bobbing gaze with his own. how unfamiliar and how fascinating the world must now be. and though he could not remember things from so young a time, he sensed if any could it would be phaedra.
the blessing of children was to see the magick in their growing-up, to see them whirlwind in frames while remaining still. and here he was, the ever-present memory of his first brood upon his heart even as the daughter of his second cooed up her their father.
he was overcome; no words emerged, but he growled a low note in return, broad nose seeking her soft downy belly and there lay tickles until phaedra knew laughter could pair with her new eyes.

it was true: a downy belly was indeed prime real estate for tickling purposes.
phaedra burbled happily when her da loomed closer and she squirmed as he tenderly escorted the awny prow of his nose against her skin, making dozens of butterfly wings in her tummy flutter and tingle crazily. the sensation both warmed and panicked her.
slobber bubbled from her gums as she sputtered wet raspberries and a shriek of giggles, pink tongue unfurling from her mouth in a feeling smile that pushed up her cheeks and crinkled the blue of her eyes peering so bright and charmingly at the bleary visage of her ticklesmith. her pupils darted in deep concentration as she sought a connection with his eyes, but then another stirring prickle interrupted her engagement and phaedra shied away with her head reeled into the fat rolls of her neck.
after a bit of playing in the bromegrass of his whiskers, the little muffin’s tinkling mutters of mirth blossomed into a deep, gurgling belly laugh and she bucked her head back and pinched her eyes closed, unable to stand it anymore! she boxed her soft toes against his muzzle, belly pitching very fast from sending out tassels of laughter so big and with joy so fertile and wholesome it was as though her entire being was sculpted with the intention of introducing it to the world.

phaedra laughed, a burbling sunlit sound that reverberated through every inch of her small body. mahler caught a chuckle in his own throat, but what came next was the fluted roughness of a sob, followed by another, and another, until the gargoyle found he could not stop the hoarse cascade of them.
and so his baby daughter blurred from sight, and mahler choked upon a deluge of saltwater so unfitting for her but so befitting her long-dead siblings, and how the memory of holding them so had long faded from the hallways of his heart.
poor phaedra, to be so showered in sorrow at the very apex of her heartfelt giggling?
would he ruin all things? oh — mahler gathered himself and swallowed and smiled blearily at the new-made little cub.
"it is good to hear you laugh, phaedra."

ja, ja her laughter, so daedal in its fashioning, so sweet and pure and nectared, that it made her old man wax verklempt and sob.
that would have been the ideal occasion for his fell tears. alas, it was more complicated. much more complicated. treacly so, and not a story meant for her ears. just the same, if only she could find the empty spot in his heart where his losses resided and snuggle into it, maybe that would make her daddy feel better? or she would sing all of the laughter she was allotted in her lifetime into his veins if it meant they would never again run cold with dismay.
his cloudburst rained upon her, guttering down his muzzle to water her like she was a potted posy on his windowsill. she tucked her petals against her chest, and stared quietly up at him as her tummy soaked up his sadness. if all it took to take his sadness away was to soak it up with her tummy, then she was proud to do it. ”diiiidaa,” she blathered softly, eyes restlessly scanning him as though she was deep in poseidon’s realm of concentration—determined to read his face. 
still unable to do that, to her vexation, she blinked several times in succession and clouded her brow. 
there was a touching melancholia to his voice, though she could only feel the rumbles in his chest, which made her feel hushedly giggly again. ”daaaaaaa.” phaedra said in a whispery prattle. it was in no manner associated with the man before her, nor the first intended word upon her tongue; it was simple baby babble.
her charming smile reappeared, the tip of her pink tongue between her lips, and she reached for him imploringly, asking with grunting insistence that he hold his face closer.

not a word, and yet such a word; his grinchless heart sprang several sizes larger all the same, and the sunlight of his affection dried the tears that remained. a new deluge did not threaten, and yet mahler was filled with a tangible sense of delight, something pure and welling up like molten gold from the core of himself.
something new.
"dada, indeed," mahler chirruped back in his gruff manner. he patted her with a soft brush of his broad paw. "phaedra." and to his chest "dada."
answering her behest, the man put his scar-crossed muzzle within her reach, smirking at the irony that she should now in her tiny way behold the healed wounds he had received at her birth.
"a lesson learned," he breathed to no one in particular.

she cooed with a smile when he brushed her cheek with his paw and leaned into its calloused warmth. ”blllth,” she babbled with a yawn. 
when he obliged her request and she could feel his muzzle touch the fine fur of her belly (which bounced with an abrupt chuckle from the tickle of his whiskers), she grabbed onto the marred snout with her legs and hugged him close to her face. another lesson learned, he had whispered, strewing warmth against her stomach. 
this time, there wasn’t a peep from her. the lamb had already fallen asleep, draped over the breadth of his muzzle.