Sawtooth Spire you just wanna know those peanut butter vibes

poor phaedra. precocious already. mahler shifted closer, lavender eyes observing his little peapod closely. her mouth was still swollen, as he expected, though there was precious little that could be given a child this age. and so he adminstered himself as curative, laving his tongue carefully over her miniscule features and swelled lip.
"it is not so bad. i suspect he is dead now," mahler murmured, thinking dizzied fatherly thoughts of hunting down the wasp and grinding it to dust beneath his paw. he nudged phaedra gently. "it will pass." had this ever happened before? her first pain then; it worried and cut the softer parts of mahler, though above all his logcal self remained figurehead.
"ah vell, at least the moss is pretty to look at."