Arrow Lake The terror you feel in quiet moments is not misplaced, just mistimed

It seemed they’d reconcile, when his fussing had quieted — but only for a few heartbeats. Aure is certain she felt the lack of one or two ebbs in her breast, because . Put against his usual crawl  ( even though this was an elevated version ), Dragomir was dashing for the entrance of the thicket. With a clucking of “Ah-ta-ta-ta!” Aure waddled right on after her blackberry boy, halting whatever progress he’d made by swooping onto the earth upon her side, and cradling his wriggling self in a curved embrace.

“Patience, sweetling. Patience,” despite the hilarity of encouraging patience towards a wanderlusting bairn. Her children wouldn’t be allowed out from the thicket just yet... but Aurëwen wouldn’t smother them with too much protection, either. Tongue still clucking, she readjusted Dragomir so he was secured between long, long forelegs. He could wriggle and make complaints, but he wouldn’t be clambering from her anytime soon. 

She at least did him the service of letting him gaze blurrily out into the world, somewhat. Thankfully, in evening, color and light was muted and not as sharp as it would’ve been noon-day. Aure’s throat lingered at the crown of her son’s head; watchful, guardsome, but not stifling. Once he walked, and saw, he would run, and howl, and all those other events they would learn together that came with raising and growing up.