Wheeling Gull Isle devil a pray

One of the twins wriggled forward as if to welcome him home, bringing tired tears to the young father’s eyes. He bent his head to nuzzle at the top of his son’s head, making no effort to guess if he was Judah or Malakai. It didn’t matter. His nudge soon turned into a kiss, his tongue brushing the soft furs between the babe’s sealed eyes, up and over the crown of his head.

After that little display of affection, Caracal gently mouthed the boy and lifted him, carrying him the remaining two or three steps into the den. He gently lowered his own body first, careful not to jar the infant. Once he settled near Heda’s hind feet, he lowered the grayish pup to the ground between his outstretched forelegs. He continued grooming him.

I’m sorry I was gone all afternoon, he murmured, aware the boy could neither hear nor understand, though the words were for his wife as much as the children. Being your papa is so much more demanding than I expected. I think I’ll get used to it. I know I will. I just need to hang in there and pray to God for strength.

For a few moments, he said nothing, though his fond ministrations did not cease. He bathed Judah from head to toe twice over, then thought about placing him back at Heda’s flank to nurse. Instead, he rolled his tiny son onto his back and just stared at him for a long beat, resisting the urge to tickle that pale, pudgy belly.

My dad wasn’t great, he murmured, but don’t worry, I’m not like him. I’ll never lash out at you, never raise my voice, never let my frustration get the best of me. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a goose beak in my eye. I’m going to be a good papa to you, Caracal declared softly, looking up to include the rest of his family, to all of you.