Bearclaw Valley raspberry cigars

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So his children had changed him, given him a goal. He was one of those. Natural parents, those who doted on their children, whose lives were enriched by having had young ones to carry their name on. 

Æsilfír did well to hide the memories she had of her younger siblings. Children were annoying. Loud, smelly, pesky, full of questions- usurpers. But of course, those were not her own children- siblings were a challenge, a threat- whereas offspring were more like insurance. 

She felt he was asking for a distraction, as though the topic of his deceased mate had tired him too much, and now he desired to hear something to brighten his spirits. He'd called on the right wolf to ramble. He slid to the ground, to get comfortable. The muscles along her shoulders tightened.

"I wos an heiress," She stated, almost ruefully now. "My folks had claimed and defended our home for years long before I was born. I've cousins two years h'older'n I, simply 'coz my parents...My Mam had a tendency to miscarry." She said. "She would'nee lesten to my fadder. For tree springs in a row the Westfalds challenged fer our land, an' fer tree springs they fought 'em off- and ye could'n set my Mam out of a fight." She gritted. "So when I came along durin' a battle on the t'ird year, it wos a bit uv a surprise I survived at all. Mam practically squat me out, stashed me inna thicket o' thistles, an proceeded beat the bloody Westfalds back to a ridge not unlike that'un," She said, gesturing up to the cliff's edge high above them, "An' she made 'em fly."