Lost Creek Hollow rockabye

He had been dozing lazily, content to bask in whatever streaming sunlight existed and let the children play openly. They did that for the most part and he thought rather well, though admittedly an odd number often made for some pettily-sided games from his memory. But such was life as far as they knew it, as far as he had been raised, and ultimately the cycle perpetuated itself endlessly. He had propped himself near the mouth of the den, which was a slight change in locale from the one he was more accustomed to. He had not questioned the move, but then again there were many things Mordecai had not questioned as of late, feeling it far easier to go with the flow than try and swim against a strengthening current.

His thoughts did occasionally drift in that direction, a wonder to how all was fairing but he felt he did not need to look in order to see. Much in the same way his solitary eye had half-lidded itself some time ago, content to waver off and on between what his children were doing. Even when Pippin had dared to venture a bit further than he was used to, he still kept a bead on him until the scenery dared to swallow him whole.

And it would have seemed when it did, misfortune followed.

The sputtering and coughing was enough to reel him back into reality firmly, putting down roots and responding long before he fully knew what he was planning to do. There was of course, the quick and cursory check of the other two as he moved off. He found Pippin just a few strides later, arched and hacking away. Coughing wasn't necessarily a bad sign in Mordecai's book, but it was still enough to warrant concern when it seemed he had just slipped out of view. Yelling, even!

With a nudge against the pup's flank, Mordecai whined.