Ouroboros Spine Behind every tree is a cutting machine

It had occurred to him that he might not choose to lay with Kukutux, even when her time came, though he battled with the thought that someone else might- especially when there were not many other options for her to choose from that he knew. But something did ease the lines of worry that furrowed his brow like lines in fertile earth, when he heard her speak of their sons being brothers. It would be best, he thought, if the youth of the pack grew up as family; as sisters together, learning traditions from their mothers, and the sons learning to hunt from their fathers. "If our children are not the children we have together, I would like very much for them to grow up this way." He said, with a slight nod. 

She seemed to interpret what he wasn't saying, about the choice of the father...And who would be the one to sire her children, if he choose not to. If he did not bring her one which satisfied her, then she would go without. It satisfied him now, and he nodded- but he would need to think about how selfish it might be if he brought her none that she would choose- or if he brought her none at all. It would mean denying her the right and pleasure of having children- and he would have to reckon with that thought over time. 

"May I ask...You had a vision, of Lótë and I together?" He asked. "Have you mentioned this to her, as well?" He asked. His eyes strayed to the lynx pelt. He was not sure the painter would have him if he asked for her- simply because he was not sure they knew each other well enough yet. But perhaps Kukutux had already spoken to her, and had learned that she might favour him. The lynx would likely make a wonderful bride-price- when he was ready to choose who it went to. For now, at least, Kukutux had told him to bring her pelts to him so that she could process them, turn them from animal into fur.