Ouroboros Spine song of the stars

"Anytime," she promised, rasping her tongue against their sunlit crown tenderly. It sent a thrum of pain tugging along her heartstrings to see her first litter growing up so very quickly but Lótë buried it, smiling instead as she straightened. The silver lining was that it was also beautiful to see. 

"Of course," she dipped her head in acquiescence, acknowledging her child's need for independence and desire to be treated as a growing teen. Even if her children might still need to be mothered on occasion. 

"I have washed my sickness from our bedding and the furs will need to be laid out to dry in the sun as such." The botanist gestured to where she had laid out the damp furs, leading Ink to the pile of sodden ones that remained -- like laundry to be hung out to dry.