Wheeling Gull Isle spichen

not yet a month outside her body and each day the four beautiful children of sweetharbor became a clearer reflection of themselves.
the pack was supported only by caracal and everett at this time, which caused some instinctual dismay. but consciously heda trusted her husband, though she knew his sleep came at high cost.
she kept their den pristine and brought one or two of the babies with her when she moved out of doors, not so far, but enough to balance the parenting load that a quartet of blessings had brought the young parents.

He had come here once to help deliver Mireille to Heda, but beyond that, Everett had stayed away. He had heard of a woman’s way with strangers and children, and isn’t that what he still was to them? A stranger, despite knowing himself welcome here.

So he had kept caches full and clean and had attended to the quiet shores while Caracal and Heda busied themselves with the children God had given them.

Today he neared them with a sturdy bone clenched in his teeth. It had washed ashore from some sea-bound leviathan and thought it had taken some effort to drag it up through the hills and fields… well, he hoped the children would like it, and the way it twisted in places and flattened in others. It could, perhaps, serve in games of make believe! Or perhaps be used to teach the art of etching. He wondered, idly and trying not to let his excitement mount, if any of them might be interested…

He stopped when he spotted Heda, and let the bone sag against the ground. Thought the kids might like a present, he offered with a cautious smile, a gift from the sea.

the golden eyes were more tired now, set further back in their silver holdings, but no less welcoming. "everett," heda sighed, "how good to see you." she looked toward his gift, tail shifting, and smiled widely. "i think they'd like it a lot," the young mother said, motioning him closer.
her eyes took him in. "how have you been, everett?"
and then; "would you like to meet them?"

Little by little, the daughter grows stronger. The once-smooth fur that covers her pudgy little body fluffs out and grows brighter in hue, from a warm brown to a deep russet. Her vision grows clearer. And presently, she is able to hold herself up on four wobbly legs for almost ten seconds at a time. 
The cool darkness of the den is replaced by the warm gift of sunlight. Blinking, Dinah's head moves from left to right, mouth agape as a squeak is let out. There are colors, ones she cannot yet put names to, and a voice she has never heard before. 
Curiously, she points her little nose to the air, squinting her eyes at the strange figure before flopping down into a splay beside her mother. The ground is warmer here, but she doesn't mind. Her eyes do not stray from the man, wonderous and wide, the cogs in her brain turning as she tries to piece together his features. That's not Dad, so who is it?