Sawtooth Spire i'm ephemera, see my 'use by' date

the most pestilent resurgence of them all—hiccups. her body jerked with each hic that came from suppressing her sob until it stuck in her throat and felt like a frog trying to leap out from her mouth. maybe that’s what hiccups were? a frog demanding ‘let me out! i demand you let me out right this instant!’ over and over until they just fell asleep. phaedra cropped at her belly with irritation, as if to say ‘you stop that, you frog!’, thinking again of the possibility of harboring one in her throat, when wylla swept her into a warm embrace and muffled the hiccups with her arm. a hidden, heartened smile pinched her cheeks. 
mama ushered them both out of the den and into the spring-warmed air. again, phaedra stole a glance over her mother’s shoulder towards that virid flight of steps, hoping beyond hope papa would emerge and explain how he’d just been held up on account of collecting the most perfect bouquet of flowers for mama. that would be a good excuse. an excusable excuse. 
alas, it was a hope that thawed and melted behind her eyes. ”papa didn't forget you,” her mother went on to explain, relaxing in the bentgrass and opening her arms to make good on the promise to cuddle. phaedra slunk into the slot reserved for her and pressed her face into her mama’s chest and crammed as close as bodily possible to the woman’s make-do bassinet. the lamb nuzzled her face into her thick ruff, silent tears sluicing down her face and nose, dripping onto wylla’s forelegs. if papa hadn't forgotten about her, then why wasn't he here? why wasn't he where he was supposed to be? 
the longer exposition only served to confuse her more and amaranthine questions left her mind spinning in howling dervishes. taking an unsteady breath, the first of many buoyed to phaedra’s lips. ”papas can—hic—be bad do? wad misdake did he made? disid bad, so papas in di—hic—me oudt? dat why he didn come p—hic—lay?“ she asked, rubbing her runny nose.