February 03, 2017, 06:34 AM
(This post was last modified: February 19, 2017, 08:10 PM by Szymon.)
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Oh, right.
Szymon had grown so accustomed to not seeing Qilaq around the younger cubs that it’s a shock to him when she tumbles out of the East Cliff Den’s mouth. “There you are,” he says anyway, grinning eagerly at the sight of her. It’s a rare expression for the young father, who tends to be a rather stoic creature even around his children — and then he sees how cold she is and remembers that he probably shouldn’t be inviting her out into the frigid winter weather. He wants to talk to her alone, though — he wants to recapture how he felt the day he’d taught her to swim. It pleases him to be needed, and the responsibilities of fatherhood ground him when Doe’s flightiness loosens his own grip on what’s real and what isn’t.
“Qilaq,” he says gently, his tongue roughly pushing her fur along the grain and smoothing the fur between her ears. He nibbles warmly at the ruff of her cheek and then gestures with a quirk of his muzzle. “I’m sorry. I’ll take you somewhere warm.” He picks up the fish in his mouth and leads her toward the insulated nook where the sheepdog usually sleeps. Fortunately she’s absent, and he lays the fish before his eldest daughter. “You should try to eat a little bit,” he encourages. “I can find you something else if you don’t want this.” She has lost too much weight — and so has Doe — and between the two of them, Szymon sometimes wishes he could force the food down them to ensure their survival.
They spent the evening together, Szymon singing and sometimes talking, before Qilaq inevitably nodded off due to Dad’s Boring Anecdotes Time — then he woke her up again like a giant jerk, and brought her back to bed in the Stone Den.
[/td][/tr][/table]Szymon had grown so accustomed to not seeing Qilaq around the younger cubs that it’s a shock to him when she tumbles out of the East Cliff Den’s mouth. “There you are,” he says anyway, grinning eagerly at the sight of her. It’s a rare expression for the young father, who tends to be a rather stoic creature even around his children — and then he sees how cold she is and remembers that he probably shouldn’t be inviting her out into the frigid winter weather. He wants to talk to her alone, though — he wants to recapture how he felt the day he’d taught her to swim. It pleases him to be needed, and the responsibilities of fatherhood ground him when Doe’s flightiness loosens his own grip on what’s real and what isn’t.
“Qilaq,” he says gently, his tongue roughly pushing her fur along the grain and smoothing the fur between her ears. He nibbles warmly at the ruff of her cheek and then gestures with a quirk of his muzzle. “I’m sorry. I’ll take you somewhere warm.” He picks up the fish in his mouth and leads her toward the insulated nook where the sheepdog usually sleeps. Fortunately she’s absent, and he lays the fish before his eldest daughter. “You should try to eat a little bit,” he encourages. “I can find you something else if you don’t want this.” She has lost too much weight — and so has Doe — and between the two of them, Szymon sometimes wishes he could force the food down them to ensure their survival.
They spent the evening together, Szymon singing and sometimes talking, before Qilaq inevitably nodded off due to Dad’s Boring Anecdotes Time — then he woke her up again like a giant jerk, and brought her back to bed in the Stone Den.
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Messages In This Thread
i’ll be your candle on the water - by Szymon - January 24, 2017, 03:35 AM
RE: i’ll be your candle on the water - by Qilaq - January 24, 2017, 02:44 PM
RE: i’ll be your candle on the water - by Szymon - February 03, 2017, 06:34 AM