Firefly Ravine paeta

Eirlys was Eirlys, always had been, always would be. She was steady even in her attempts to weave worlds and personas the way that their mother had. Ceallach's gaze grew fond, his expression relaxed a bit (although the pounding in his head still sounded like stomping) and he let her flop to the ground and chose to tend to her wounds. "And at least four more wolves each time. Although you'll get all the glory, won't you?" He asked with a laugh, at least there was that. The littles would savor the story all the same, and in Eirlys there would be that spark of Lotte growing slowly stronger. Ceallach didn't think he favored either parent, he was his own being and in a way the black sheep of the quartet. He looked nothing like his mother and most days it made him sad.


"Im not mad at you." Ceallach promised. It wasn't her fault. He had moved to her flank to begin cleaning the wound on her leg, her blood on his tongue a strange mixture of revolting and exhilarating. Ceallach turned his eyes to find Eirlys' and breathed out slowly. He'd focus only on her, almost not hearing (or more appropriately choosing to ignore the sounds of Chusi and her paramour) until Eirlys tried to shift up. Ceallach blocked her physically, stepping over her and pressing her back with a shake of his head. He was quiet for a moment after hissing for her to hush and tried to put his big ears to good use. He'd never quite shook that childish notion that his larger than-average-ears should also hear better. 

He couldn't hear them chasing anyone out, he didn't hear the scuffle and scramble of a fight. He had to trust that it was fine and he had to pretend that he even cared but he wasn't like Lotte. He didn't have a thespian bone in his body. "If they did she brought it on herself." He muttered grimly as he focused his gaze back on Eirlys.