Neverwinter Forest darling dears o'mine

That was the thing about puppies. When you wanted them to sleep, they began yapping a mile a minute and whipping around the den like tiny, fluffy bumper cars. The sound of Eshe’s voice was an electric, exciting thing that roused Cypress immediately from slumber — it was the promise of adventure and food and cuddles and bathing, which he was rather fond of. It was echoed by an imperious demand from the dandelion fluff boy, and that only furthered Cypress’ desire to rise. There was no gradient from slumber into awareness for the pudgy little raven, whose eyes flew immediately open, blinking and squinting in the light — he bounded to his feet, but his paws tangled under him before he could get a good grip on his coordination and he fell into the plush comfort of his mother’s abdomen face first. Cypress’ first instinct was to nurse, for although he and Rannoch were regularly eating meat now, they would still draw sustenance from their mother’s milk for some weeks yet — and the familiarity of it gave him comfort.

A soft, kittenish, “brrrt!” of a purr tangled from his mouth like the scratch of a record when he remembered Rannoch’s request. “Outside” sounded like a fine idea indeed, and so Cypress withdrew from his mother’s flank with a bead of creamy fluid dotting his pert little chin. “I’m with him,” his actions stated clearly as he drew near to his brother and fixed his sainted mother with a mutinous expression. “Iss,” he said somberly, his brow furrowing in a manner that had become typical for him. “Osside, peas.” He was trying to be serious — negotiation of any kind seemed to require a serious face, as he knew from watching his father — but he couldn’t help the parting of his tapering jaws into a sunny smile as his tail eagerly lashed the air. A plaintive whine fluttered from his lips. “Mama,” he said, propping himself up beside Rannoch to place a kiss upon his mother’s nose, “Noch’n me osside peas?”