Redhawk Caldera swanlight

he remained close, at chickadee's insistence even though tradition told him differently. watching her in pain sets him on edge, teeth gritting and full of a restlessness that he doesn't know what to do with.

so, he paces; wearing a path into the earth.

the sounds and smells inside the den concern him and his ears remain alert; his muscles tensed as if ready for a fight. but what was he to fight?

his ears perk as the cries die down: chickadee's and smaller whimpers of their children.

their children.

a thought that it was surreal washes over kivaluk even as he moves dutifully to chickadee's side like an ever loyal malinois, taking in the three small newborns tucked against her side. a swirl of colors: of his mother, of his brother and them. a small measure of relief washes over kivaluk that none of them look like kigipigak.

a selfish thing to think when faced with the beauty of his newborn children and his wife who just birthed them.

they're beautiful, he murmurs, hunkering low; protective and loving as he places a kiss on each of their small heads and then to her cheek. you're beautiful. and amazing and — words had begun to fail him and so he rests in his own silence; soaking up the terror and the unbridled joy at being a first time father.