Hideaway Strath Tell me your story, I'll remember it always

Lotte beamed at her youngest son. He was so very different from Roarke and Mallaidh, the lion and the spitfire; and although Lotte saw more of herself in her boisterous, rough-and-tumble progeny, Ceallach was dear to her because of his obvious differences. He was often a mediator, a peacemaker, fiercely protective of his siblings. He was a little thinker, and perhaps he’d be a schemer and a diplomat like his father one day. Only time would tell. On top of all of that, he could hold his own in contests of physical prowess. Lotte looked at her sons and firstborn daughter and saw nothing lacking in them. Eirlys, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity. She had yet to speak aloud, and she maintained her silence now.

Lotte didn’t try anymore to make her speak.

“Come here, wee bears,” she said, flopping unceremoniously down on the ground like a mother bear herself. If they wished it, she would draw them into an embrace — but if it was too hot in the summer heat, she would merely nestle close to them. “What kind of story does my little Ceallach want?” she cooed, hooking a paw around Eirlys’ shoulders to fussily bathe at the girl’s fur. Lotte could see the subtle changes in her coloring, and she kept quiet about them — it would be more fun to watch Arturo’s astonished reaction when the color really started coming in. “Sweet rabbit,” she crooned to Eirlys. “Do you want to listen, too?” She didn’t expect an answer, and it didn’t disappoint her when she didn’t receive one.