Neverwinter Forest darling dears o'mine

“Mama,” Cypress entreated in his serious way, echoing Rannoch’s ardent plea, “come wiff osside peas.” Was that correct? His little brow furrowed as he questioned thoughtfully, “How do ivvite?” Was invite the same as ask? Or was there a certain way one had to go about it? The raven prince turned a quick circle in excitement, his shadowy paws more deft now than they had been a mere week ago. Scimitar’s snort of amusement from just outside the den spurred Cypress’ enthusiasm to fever pitch — he inched toward the mouth of the den, unable to stop himself, although the effort was visible in the way his misty eyes darted between the outside world and Eshe’s face. “Mama,” he wheedled, trying to bribe her. “Papa osside.” If Scimitar was outside, wasn’t that exactly where Eshe wanted to be? Cypress hadn’t fully settled on a paternal term of endearment — Eshe described Scimitar as “papa”, “paw”, and “the best dang daddy there is” by turns — and the little raven had at first been confused between them. Now, though, he swapped between them just as readily.

Someday, perhaps Cypress would learn to embody the chivalrous mannerisms of a well-reared southern gentleman — but that day was not today. Rather than allowing his mother to exit the den first, dutifully trailing her, he inched toward the den mouth again — not quite disobeying, but shifting his gangly body as though fitting himself to a runner’s block as he made ready to bolt out into the sunshine.