Hideaway Strath nothing in comparison to that one minute

slight pp, let me know if you'd like me to change it kj! <3

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Content that his aspiring guardians run the borders as he finishes up his patrol Ceannasach moves towards the birth den with the intention of reveling in the marvel of being a new father. New is not necessarily a correct term — these children are his third litter (if considering Chusi whom though is adopted is just as much his daughter as the ones born of his flesh and bone; in fact he sometimes forget she’s even adopted at all) — but the excitement and all the comes with it feels renewed. He has forgets between litters how territorial, how cruel he is until he is placed between a threat and his children. Domestic or foreign. He knows he yet needs to branch off the Golden Glade and strike a deal of if not an alliance then at least neutrality between their packs. He knows and yet the thought of leaving Teaghlaigh, of leaving his nine day old babes and Lotte is an unwelcome one. Yet, he reasons to himself that now is the best time when the babes still don’t need him. They are still blind, deaf and unable to do much but eat, sleep urinate and poo on themselves. It was when they were older, speeding to and fro that he would need to focus his duties heavily upon his Strath and his third journey into fatherhood. The show was yet Lotte’s. Not alone, but for the most part.

He decides he will broach the topic with her later as he shrugs into the birthing den, lowering his body to the ground so that he does not accidentally step upon his wee children if one managed to wiggle out of their place from Lotte’s flank. One managed it — one of the two that reminded him much of his mother, Boadicea and one of his elder girls, Devin. The pale snow drop had managed to wrangle herself from the congregation of her siblings. He carefully plucks the frail snow drop up by her scruff and hesitates for a moment before he draws her in between his paws as he rests sphinx like upon the ground. “@Eirlys,” The deep, smoky accented timbre of his voice a low murmur though he suspects she cannot yet hear him. He draws his tongue against her baby soft pelage, nudging her closer to his chest so she might absorb his warmth. He casts a glimpse at the other Lotturos nestled against his queen’s side with a tenderness that bespoke his unconditional love. A tenderness that, perhaps, to a third party observer is almost blindsiding given the gangster’s cruelty and merciless nature.

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