Ouroboros Spine liv. i'm trying to find all the love that you gave me

for the pupperinos! also, maybe @Shikoba or @Morte since they've been helping guard the kids? :3

shifts were often traded when it came to caring for the six cubs. lótë had taken some time to stretch her legs and patrol the borders in the lowlands of the spine in the morn but as brother sun soared past his zenith, his light fell upon the mother dove and the clutch of nestlings in her care. she had them gathered around, facing the stone walls of the ulaq that housed the hearth of second wife, having captured their attention with the rich berry dye she had mixed earlier that day. 

"like this," she murmured in instruction, dipping her paw into the purple liquid. she nudged the pups, encouraging them to be curious and hoping they might try smearing their small digits in the mix. when at least a few of them had investigated the substance, the cloudberry agouti swiped a vivid streak along a blank section of stone. gleaming gems of emerald dipped down to the children to see who might try to paint and who might try to simply wipe the colorful dye on a sibling.

like this
lótë received undivided attention from her eldest boy. he watched her paw carefully, meticulously taking note of the way her paw moved within the dye. when given encouragement, he extended his own paw and pressed it into the liquid.
lómion took a moment to inspect the pads of his foot. it was difficult to see with the approaching twilight, but the pink had been stained purple. It smelled oh so sweet. lómion giggled.
his eyes returned to his dear mother as she marked the wall with paint. It astonished the boy, and of course he had to try for himself. so to the stone he trotted, and lifted his leg to leave an imprint of his own. a would-be-perfect recreation of paw, had he not swiped to the side as lótë did.
look mummy! he gasped quietly but enthusiastically. he turned to her and smiled.

this is written under the assumption that the kids recognize shikoba as another adult to trust as she is a frequent visitor and guardian. if someone would like this changed, please pm me <3

shikoba is thankful that adrastus left without a trace. perhaps if he offered a more aggressive stance, shikoba would have done more than rip an ear off. but the man is no more than a memory in her head as she tends to focus on what is in front of her each day. and today, it looks like a finger-painting lesson.

she is quiet as she approaches the mother's den, though a soft chuff as a greeting and requesting entrance is given to löté before the native moves in any further. a red squirrel dangles from her jaws, something caught fresh and on the fly. their paths had crossed earlier on her way to visit, and sadly luck was not in favor for the smaller creature. a small gift, perhaps as thanks for allowing entrance so often, or perhaps a gift for the mother and her growing brood. either way, flesh is flesh and food is always taken graciously.

lómion was the first to give painting a try. his mother watched on with shining eyes, grinning brightly at his excitement. ”beautiful,” she breathed, bending for a moment to brush her muzzle against his crown. when she straightened, she dipped both fore paws in the dye and then reared onto her haunches — placing her digits against the outer wall of the den and leaving her prints behind when she had dropped down onto all fours. she hoped all the cubs would leave prints of their own, or at least some sort of scribbled doodle — almost like the notches in a doorframe measuring how tall a household’s children were. 

she turned at the pheasant’s approach, offering the warrior woman a welcoming smile. ”shikoba,” she greeted warmly, tail picking up a joyful wag to have company. she spent much of her time with children these days. though she found she loved motherhood, it was nice to speak with adults occasionally. ”i greet you. we have been practicing painting if you would like to join us.”

skipping with permission, apologies for the wait!

she looks curiously to the two of them, seeing the smears of color against the blank canvas of stone. shikoba feels enamored with the sight, as it heavily reminds her of the paintings and markings she once partook in in her tribe in the desert.

she leaves her catch to the paws of cloudberry and offers the woman a smile. "shikoba's mother painted stories too, many moons ago." she says this quietly as she observes the work and feels almost excited to see others doing this wonderful activity. her father's paintings, on the other hand, were markings of talent and adulthood. a smear of red was once upon the brow of shikoba, after her first successful hunt of large game. an entrance into adulthood.

"what does löté paint with children?" was it an animal, a story? or perhaps an abstract piece?

so sorry for the wait!

Lótë grinned, releasing a bright burst of wind chime laughter as a few of the pups began to tussle over the squirrel Shikoba had brought. Her spring gaze flickered to meet the first hunter's sulfurous one, somewhat abashedly. 'Kids.' 

She moved to sit alongside her village sister, content to watch the gaggle of pups wrestle over the squirrel and smear themselves in paint. The soft words of the Pheasant Tail caught her attention, however. Fallow ears pricked forward to catch the reminiscent wisp of the warrior's voice, face softening as she turned to Shikoba. 

"My mother was a painter too. Both my parents," she shared in turn, shifting closer so her shoulder brushed against the agouti's in comfort. "Perhaps it is something we could keep alive, here in the village. I think our ancestors might like that, should we chose to honor them that way."

"Today is the first time they've seen paint. They're simply experimenting with it," she grinned, bemusement and pride evident on her face as she gestured to the blurred prints and smears of paint decorating her den. She did not allow herself to think on why she had not painted in so long, there was no place for sadness in the warmth found here. 

he was invigorated by her praise. his tail wagged gently behind him. 
lómion was eager to mimic his mother once more. the boy coated his paws with a fresh coat of dye, then turned to balance on the wall. with a few firm presses, he’d made his little mark.
then there was a shadow that dipped into their home. following that came a mouth-watering aroma. lómion pulled himself away from the wall instinctively. his tongue swiped over his little maw eagerly. he eyed the squirrel with clear intent, only to watch it be snatched away by his kin and used as a play thing. 
no longer did he want to eat, too afraid to be caught in their crossfire. instead he sat as his mother’s side and glanced between the adults as they spoke to eachother.
i wann’a to paint stories. he turned to shikoba. what kinn’a stories did they paint?