Nova Peak And I know you're worried at night

small. so small. he shifts beside her, a tiny weight against her belly, and elowen cannot help but watch him, awed and aching in equal measure. her son. her kaldros. 

he blinks at the world for the first time, eyes wide, unguarded, drinking in the shapes and shadows. his face scrunches in the soft, searching way of newborns, and she breathes a quiet laugh, pressing her nose gently to his tiny brow. 

"hello, my love," she murmurs, featherlight. her warmth wraps around him, the steady thrum of her heartbeat anchoring them both. she noses at him tenderly, watching the way his paws knead at the earth, how his ears twitch at the shift of her breath.

his siblings did not stir when they came. they never would, so she cupped her body with her tail to emulate some sense of it. family. she tries not to let grief steal this moment. she has him. she will love him enough for all of them.

a throat clears outside, and elowen blinks, turning her head toward the entrance. skorpa. she does not know him well, but he is here, bearing gifts. her ears tip forward, gratitude threading through her exhaustion.

"come in," she calls softly, careful not to startle kaldros. she has spent the past two weeks speaking only in murmurs, only to her son. "thank you—you and your wife." her gaze lingers on the bundle in his grasp, the chamomile, the fish, the careful thought behind them. elowen blinks, slow, but she does not rise. kaldros is nestled close, a little thing made of warmth and breath, and she cannot bear to move from him.

"you are kind," she says as skorpa enters, her gaze flickering to the bundle he carries. chamomile, fish, caribou pelt—thoughtful things, each one. she shifts, curling herself just a little more protectively around her son. "he opened his eyes today. would you like to meet him?"