Northstar Vale …when it's not your turn

The boys were perfect. 

Their tiny forms were always close to each other, almost one. Arsenio watched them, tired and warmed by their presence. Each time Sylianos or Saleem sniffed at him with their eyes closed tight, he was smitten. 

The redstone man scooted closer, head low. His nose stretched to sniff at one of the boy’s heads. A smile found his features. The father hummed softly, a song from his own childhood.