Hushed Willows [m] high on the hill where the foxhorns blow

Heavy steps stop in their tracks; his ears swivel forward.
He listens. A family history of struggles with pregnancy; Blossom, nearly killing her; and the implication that this Lestan fella had left her to deal with the aftermath of his dance with the devil alone.
His lips contort into a thin line, and all the while oakwood eyes remain tender. I would never, and now he reaches out for her, one strong arm reaching over to wrap around her shoulder. ever—
Should he tell her?
When I was a kid, maybe-- Blossom's age. I lost both'a my folks. I spent most a' my life alone, I raised myself, and I always-- I always said that if I ever had little rugrats of my own, I'd be the father I never had. Which is so goddamn corny, but, his expression lifts into a small, crooked grin; a feeble mood-lightener, even as his gut twists with a long-buried sorrow.
I'd-- Reverie, I'd never do that to you. Leave you to deal with the birth of our kids, alone. But, a breath; your safety comes before any... fetuses. I-if they hurt you, I'd never forgive myself.