Ravensblood Forest you've cat to be kitten me right meow

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Oh, her son was so defiant! A laugh tinkled from Olive’s lips as the small boy pushed against her lips with his little paws. They were so small and as sweet as candy and each of his four feet fit so nicely upon her narrow maw. Her laughter tickled his chest but still her rosy tongue wouldn’t stop kissing and licking him — only the recipient of such torture changed! The mother’s tongue wrapped around each of his , counting his toes with her tastebuds. How was it that he tasted so good?! Olive had not developed a spontaneous craving for meat [which thankfully subsided after she birthed her babies], but her children tasted so good in same way that babies smelled good — it was a scent perfectly attuned for her and her biological makeup; the most divine of perfumes. This babe that sat cradled against her willowy forearms was hers, hers, hers.

and she would never not be amazed with that fact!

Olive returned from her reverie to a shocking nip on the nose — Sirius’s milkteeth were small and only days old, but her nose was sensitive and the mother had to physically restrain herself from wresting her muzzle away from her child! As immediately as the pain had been brought did it disappear, for everything melted when she could feel Sirius’s jellybean tongue against her nose as if attempting to suckle. “No, no, my stardust” she cooed at the child that fastest upon her nose. Holding his downy grey body between her milky paws, she slowly freed herself from her son’s onslaught with nothing more than several microscopic scrapes to show for it.  “Are you hungry?” she questioned, certain he was just wishing to play despite his insurmountable rooting reflex. Olive was new to motherhood and sometimes felt as if she had not fully grasped it — were they hungry? Were they cold? Did she need to bathe them? Were the eating enough to grow big and strong? “Here,” she offered, nudging him to her breast. Better safe than sorry.

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