Little Goat Mountain I never trust a narcissist

athalia seems to writhe uncomfortably in her mother’s grasp, lip curling as she was bathed. she was like her mother in this way, mira thought- the larger shadow despised the feeling of being wet, and wondered if this trait was being reflected in her daughter. 

the son was attention-seeking, moving towards the daughter once he’d lost his mother’s gaze. ashkova pushed against athalia with the beginnings of a tiny tussle, and mira leaned back to watch them, quitting her attempt at washing her daughter, and lips curling faintly into a smile as their fearsome side was shown. someday, they would be separated from battling, but for now her eyes gleamed at the chance to see who would be a born victor. as long as they always understood that they were family, regardless of blood spilled in practice.

but the ostrega-mother frowned slightly when athalia rolls over. she submits without so much as a fight, legs stuck out stiffly in front of her. was this all her daughter had to offer? as ksura comes closer, dropping off chunks of meat, mira gives him an appreciative nod before turning back to her children. she nudges at athalia’s side gently with her snout. get up. 

she leaned back, taking a chunk to chew it into soft food to ease her children into their meat-eating diets, though it would be saved for after their tussle. though mira tended to be selfish, with children at her side she would save her own meal for last. she placed the softened pieces beside her elbow, and glanced up at ksura. briefly, she considered telling him to be sure that he eats too- she needed him strong, after all- but she decides not to. she was not his mother; he would eat if he was hungry. her eyes flickered back to the kids.