Sleepy Fox Hollow and hoping made you hurt more

under normal circumstances, mahler might have chuckled at wylla's crass descriptor and looked over to see that it was quite accurate, that their sons were robust. after a moment's hesitation, he chose again to brave his wife's postpartum strike and drew the little girl gently closer to him with a controlled sweep of his large paw.
as he had done with phaedra, mahler checked each inch of her tiny round figure and waving limbs. he sniffed at her miniscule mouth for any signs of disease, and tested the greenish coloration with a lick.
she breathed. she squalled. her only difference was a tendency toward being somewhat smaller, appropriate for the size of her mother. mahler looked up toward his silent, tense wife. "there is nothing vrong vith her," he rumbled gently.
the child was whole in all ways. "perhaps it vas something you ate during pregnancy. perhaps it vas our journey here," he surmised, "but i do not think the inside of her body is affected. only her fur."
mahler was quiet then, awaiting wylla's reaction.