Sawtooth Spire wrong side of the tracks

"I won't." He meant it. He'd honor it. He'd not go out of his way to try to trick her way so that he might lay his eyes upon his children. But his word did nothing to curb his desire to see them any less. His desire to know them. He could not help them in the same way that she, as a mother, could provide, but he wanted to be a part of their lives more than this constant on the outside, never looking in.

It frustrated him. He was known well for his patience, but in this his resolve was wearing thin. As soon as he'd built up the mentality to keep his respectful distance, that same resolve caved beneath the part of him that wished to speed this all along so he might have his chance at being the father he knew he could be.

A puff of air escaped him as he turned his eyes low, ears flat as he struggled internally. She spoke then. He listened to her describe their basic functions and called their children stupid. He looked to her then. Those children were not stupid. "They're infants," he interjected. Surely she was not any more intelligent than they were when she was of their age. "They will learn. Are learning." She confirmed as much. They were starting to identify basic needs and truthfully, his persistence was keeping her.

Iqniq lowered himself to the ground, fully laying in the spot where he stood. He did not wish to be misunderstood this time, he simply wished to find some mutual ground in which her instinct to mother could also appease his desire to have more of a presence in their early lives. He shifted on the ground, turning his back to her so he might survey the wilds beyond. "Go to them," he said, "I'll watch the woods."

His tail flipped, tapping thoughtfully against the ground before it fell flat. "Can you tell me about them?" he asked, speaking over his shoulder. "Which of our sons wails?" He knew their names. All she needed to do was speak one of them and he could begin to put a name to the sound. He grinned. "He sounds like a handful."