Wheeling Gull Isle just you and the moon on my skin

She agrees with his deduction and the Witchdoctor watches as she gives each of the children a kiss upon the top of their tiny, fragile skulls. She names them, gesturing to each child as she does so and while he will be sure to remember the names it might be some time before he can differentiate between the two. He almost rolls his eyes and scoffs when she mentions that Droman is Gaelic — of course even in his death the gangster would have his influence over things — and there is a perk of his ears, a small twitch when Hemlock moves on to explain Reed — though the doctor needs no explaining on that one and Hemlock does not truly offer one. It was as she said: it went without saying. She speaks then of letting the gangter’s spawn give them middle names that Lotte would have given them. He does not speak but instead offers an acknowledging hum. He does not feel the keen and unrelenting pain that had led the gangster to him: to and over the brink of insanity essentially killing the gangster and letting the Witchdoctor be truly born.

Hemlock manages to surprise the Witchdoctor as she makes her inquiry with an almost hesitation. His ears swivel atop his skull and his fiery, twin sun gaze flickers from their children to her face; and cannot help but wonder if she’s attempting to appeal to that which is dead and long gone. Or if she speaks to the Witchdoctor. It doesn’t really matter, in the end: the witch is the only one that will answer her now. “Yes.” He’d guarded the den so possessively and aggressively when she’d labored the children into the world that to deny her this wish would be blasphemy to him. Besides, there’s no guarantee she would want him this close to her in the morning and the Witchdoctor will greedily take what he can get while it’s available to him.