Little Goat Mountain I never trust a narcissist

His ears flicked forward as one of the kids spoke out, loudly. He wasn't sure if she'd coughed, or if she was trying to get attention, and he tilted his head to the side. Regardless- it probably wasn't his problem and Mira didn't seem too concerned. In the darkness, he could see her move to cradle the girl, but having been given the request of bringing in meat in pieces, he turned and left her to deal with the crawling, mewling children and began to tear through the ram's coat, and into the meat beneath it. 

For Mira, he pulled muscle from the bone, fatty tissue and all, so she could eat without thought. Always careful with his footing, so as to be mindful of the squirming children, he brought in chunks of meat, gingerly placing them close enough for her to grab, nosing it forward so she might not find him edging too close to her children. 

He couldn't help but look with stolen glances at the two who squirmed and played. Well, really only one of them moved very much- the other had flopped over onto her side, perhaps in a dismissive move. He chuckled, and fell back to the entrance of the den, where he lay down, allowing Mira some time to eat what he'd brought. He wanted to watch the kids play, but felt slightly unwelcome; he would lay at the entrance with an ear flicked in their direction, smiling faintly to himself at every hint of sound they made.