Hideaway Strath we'll cut them a smile each

Roarke is sleeping when Ceannasach’s chuff echoes around the birthing den. He stirs awake, momentarily startled as his eyes shoot open and he groggily lifts his head to look around for the source of the noise. Lips smack a few times and he lets out a wide yawn, teeth snapping together slightly as the yawn finishes. He stretches languidly, blinking the remaining vestiges of slumber from his eyes though the young winter’s bane is still groggy. Sleepily, he rises from his place nestled between his siblings and stumbles over someone’s tail, clumsy from being awoken before he was ready to rise. He meanders his way to the mouth of the birthing den, peeking his head out of it, pupils narrowing in their pools of milky star bursting into sharp glacial blue before his gaze comes to rest upon his father. The svelte coywolf stands peering down at him expectantly. “Why’m I awake?” Roarke complains, boyish voice still laced with stubborn traces of sleep, raw from hours of disuse. His mouth is dry and he really is tempted to bumble his way back into the den to catch a few more hours of shut eye but the idea is ceased the moment he catches Arturo’s fierce and fiery gaze upon him. He swaggers his way to his father, rubbing himself against the coy wolf’s legs where he ungracefully plops upon the ground at the man’s paws and waits with a fidgety impatience.