Moonspear snake pit poetry

Two pups, six weeks old. Penn smiled a bit wistfully as she debated their actual age. He didn't know how old any of his kids would be by then. Two perhaps? How old even was he? Fuck if he knew. He pushed those thoughts away anyway. It was no longer his right to even think of them as his kids. He had never been there for them. He had never been their dad. He didn't reserve the right to think of himself as such even in his own head.

His ears perked as she began to talk about looking for toys for them, every feature lighting up at the idea. "Well here," Penn said with a smile, pushing the raccoon towards her, "A meal for mom and, if you rip the tail off, a nice toy for two young warriors to play tug of war with. And you know what else..."

Penn spun around to look behind him, scanning around the terrain as he tried to mentally re-trace his steps. "I just went by this big ass tree on my way back that was dropping seeds," he explained, still squinting down the path he'd come up, "They were like the size of my toes and all spikey. Not, shred-your-tongue to bits spikey, but clean-between-your-teeth spikey. I bet that would be fun for them to chew on or chase after or whatnot..."