Sawtooth Spire do you love me?

Astraeus had never submitted completely to Wylla -- the chatterbox boy easily slipped when the sweat-ridden forms of the litter. He did not need to tell a tale of his whereabouts, her focus was always on her own overgrown fetuses. The click of growing nails against the stone. Evading the queen's satin eye --

Oh? There was a petite woman, though is size couldn't rival hers, her belly plump with young. The boy had never seen a pregnant maiden such as she, so naturally he resorted to fat. At least it wasn't his milk, the one advantage of his living situation. The sun-born light painted his coat a different color, he blinked twice. Now that he thought about it, what was the lipped snowflake gazing into their den for? 

Awfully suspicious, Astraeus sniffed the air with a grumble. Pine and honey, grit and rock. But didn't everything here smell that way. Gazing defiantly into the lady's eyes now, he growled audibly. His emotions would be known.