Lost Creek Hollow Can't you see they turn blind eyes to we swift and spotlit strangers?

Hoping for @Akavir but all welcome! Some light pp, let me know if it's not okay

Mae was not adjusting well to life at Riverclan. She hated @Silvertongue and @Ash Paw, and even her father too, just a little. Her mother's absence was keenly felt, and as the sole remaining parent, it fell to him to shoulder the blame. Even so, she was clingy with him; almost as much as she was with her brothers, who were the only souls spared from her wrath.

Speech came slowly for the girl, mostly because she was so wrapped up in her own generally-sullen mood. But eventually the right circumstances arose, and Mae felt the desire to form her first real word. She was trying to get her father's attention, but he seemed occupied with something else. And that frustrated her.

She huffed and stomped closer to him. K'vir, Mae demanded, then coughed and tried again. Kavir!! That seemed to be the sound others made when they wanted his attention. If it didn't work for her now, the next step was to find the nearest squishy bit and chomp. Probably his toes.

He hadn’t expected the temporary transition to be easy—but he had at least hoped for some kind of high power above to cast him a small break, given the sacrifice the wolves of Riverclan were offering his children. They would get the final nourishment they needed—and when Akavir took them back home to the creek, they would move to a den more suitable for their age—a rendezvous den—and hopefully, begin to integrate more with the pack members and learn.

But, of course, he hadn’t expected the fuss in which would be made entirely—particularly when it came to the harshness of puppy teeth upon the soft flesh of new mothers. It was trying to reason with a toddler—logic simply didn’t enter the equation.

Oddly, the notion wasn’t lost on him that he had felt much the same way when dealing with Reverie and Lestan.

When Mae barked his name—the girl clinging to him every moment she could, and Akavir accepting it willingly—he blinked down in surprise, pulled from his thoughts. “Mae,” he returned, leaning his nose down to nudge at her tiny muzzle.

Success! Mae yipped happily and reared up on her hind legs just as Akavir leaned down, pitching forward with forepaws extended to grip his muzzle. A barrage of excited puppy kisses followed, aimed mostly at his nose, and it might have been cute if not for the fact that she ended it with a sharp nip disguised as a parting kiss. She just couldn't help herself.

Then she lost her balance and rolled to the side with paws flailing out. She ended up on her back, but didn't mind at all, seamlessly transitioning into reaching for him with little stretching kicks of her feet. If she did manage to reach him, all she did was kick him softly and nip at the air between them in a bid to snag his fur between her teeth.

Planted with kisses—and then a ninja nip, the girl then flopped over, giving the man time to swipe at his stinging nose with a paw before peering down at her—a turtle on her back and finding contentment in simply delivering some kicking blows toward him now.

“Okay, fangan biorach,” he smirked, lifting a paw to swipe her closer to his chest before his own jaws ascended to mouth at her—clearly she needed to tire herself out. And wrestling seemed to be the chosen activity.

Mae was so focused on biting her father, she didn't at all consider the possibility of being bitten herself! So it was entirely unexpected when Akavir's open mouth descended on her, entirely unplanned-for; she was mid-lunge in her own attempted attack, aiming for his nose again. The end result?

Skull, meet teeth. Nose, meet the overwhelming smell of dad's breath. Mae let out a little squeak of surprise, the sound of it muffled, and launched herself backward with fur on end. Immediately she started to paw at her face, disturbed by this turn of events. She hadn't even known her father's face could do that!

She startled—he desisted, holding back the chuff of a laugh at her surprise. Still, he would coax her to play—and any flash of puppy teeth was generally met with gentle nips of his own as he tried to discourage it—dissuade her from such rough play.

Taming a hurricane though was almost impossible.