Stavanger Bay little memories, marching on

@Isengrim, tagging for visibility. Sorry for the wait! ♥

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Bemused, Szymon watched as the little terror flipped and flopped, snarling and growling, impossibly flexible. “PAPA!” shrieked the boy, gathering his pudgy legs beneath him to launch headlong into Szymon’s forelegs with infantile ferocity. “Snow,” the father said simply, dipping his scarred muzzle and thrusting it forward in an attempt to bowl his boy over. Though he spoke freely of love when it came to Doe, he was less comfortable expressing affection to their children, and he settled for a simple: “good cub, Grim.” Recalling Qilaq’s game, the black-banded Cairn stepped away from his gunmetal child and shoved snow at the youth with a determined push of his paws. “Your sister taught me this game,” he explained, idly trying to bury the benthos while he talked. “Do you remember Qilaq, Grim? She is a good cub, like you.”

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