Stavanger Bay Little Angels wrapped in fur

@Ragna @Floki @Jorunn @Kaylan mommy/baby thread?

Thistle woke with a start and looked about her. Her eyes falling upon the little bundles, that held fast to her belly. Such sweet babies, three boys and one girl. She was pleased with her brood, she was also pleased with her older children both blood and adopted. Thistle enjoyed being a mother, she enjoyed bringing life into the world, and watching them as they grew. It was nothing short of amazing and awe inspiring.

She took a deep breath, and decided she wanted to play herself, she gently prodded at them. Seeing who would wake at her gentle ministrations and who would stay asleep. She smiled to herself as she licked their heads and gently ran her muzzle along their backs.

:D

Sleep came as easily to Ragna as anything else, and she found that she needed quite a bit of it. Her body was growing rapidly, and she had been alive for nearly a week now, but she still was not adjusted to everything that life entailed. She found that, quite often, she needed to rest to recover from the excitement of each new thing she discovered (and, usually, promptly forgot.)

Her mother was a familiar presence to her now. Though she had no name for the creature, she felt an inexplicable and powerful bond towards it. Even still, when it began to prod and lick at her, she woke with a small jolt, squealing her displeasure at being woken even as she forgot it.

Jorunn had been delighting in fantastical dreams of warmth and sweet mother's milk — for he did not have much of anything else to dream of having most of his critical senses either dulled or not developed yet at all. His life was easy: eat, sleep, poop and being general cute. There was nothing overly hard about any of those things, all of them coming rather naturally to the legend. It was simplistic, his current way of life. Occasionally there was something dramatic, when Flóki would kick him, or if Jorunn himself would tumble unintentionally over one of his siblings...or worse yet when they would tumble over him. Aside from these things it was rather stale. Where was the adventure he was promised? What kind of adventures was he supposed to have when he was still blind as a bat and as deaf as a ...church mouse? Even his sense of smell was dull, though this was not precisely what anyone might consider a bad thing garnering the fact that sometimes defecation could be mighty rancid business especially for newborns.

The legendary Berserker infant let out a small coo when he felt something stroke along the length of his spine, the feel of soft fur brushing against his own plush coat, the tickle of whiskers against his skin causing him to squirm impatiently, bringing him to as much consciousness as he was capable of being currently. He was awake and poked at the nearest plump thing beside him — decidedly one of his siblings — to see if they, too, were awake.

Floki's daily schedule for now was yell, sleep and eat, sometimes he would crawl around the den or clamber over one of his siblings. And when he tired, he would sleep and the cycle repeated over and over again. He loved sleeping, dreams came to him, but more often than not he did not understand the content. It did not matter though, because most of the time it was more interesting than present life. There was no adventure for the young Berserker, not when he was blind and deaf and couldn't even walk on four paws. Adventure right now was crawling blindly around his current home, and he tired extremely quickly.

A warm lick on his head awoke the trickster and he let out a small whine when something poked him from beside, his twin Jorunn. Twisting his head towards the direction of the pup who had poked him, he stretched himself forward and attempted the return the poke.

Thistle knew very well, that the little ones could not see her, or hear her. She knew though that they could feel the vibrations, and smell her. That was enough for her, she gently brushed their faces, and had to smile as Jorunn and Floki already began to battle with each other. She was beyond happy, a much bigger difference than her first pregnancy. Though, there had been many different circumstances there.

She nudged them gently again, licking their heads, the three that woke up. kaylan was still asleep, but that was alright with her. Þú munt vaxa stór og sterkur smælingja. Svo segðu mér, hvað skal þér vera. Ragna verður þú að vera a lítill prinsessa? Eða skjöld mær? Og Flóki verður þú að vera a trickster? eða logn drengur? Og Jórunn, sterkur maður eða munt þú og bræður þínir berjast vera konungar?

She spoke to them in the language of their father. These little ones they would be brave, and strong vikings. She would make sure of it. It was their birthright, their heritage. She hummed softly, laughing as she gently brushed a paw across them. She gently moved them about, making sure not to startle them. Playing only a bit, as they were so little yet. Even as petite as she was, she feared breaking them.

While her brother's scuffled, Ragna took a more pragmatic route. Bravely, she began to struggle forward, buffeted though she was by her mother's tongue. Still, she made her way gamely towards the greatest heat source. Warmth rolled from their mother in waves, and she cried out in glee when her nose bumped into her mother after her inches-long journey.

A great, amorphous form brushed over her, jostling her and eliciting meaningless squeals. She nosed, determined, at her mother, still crying out in hopes of receiving aid in her quest. One day she would be a great wolf and a strong one, but that day still waited far in the future. For now, she would need this help.

Whatever sibling he'd managed to poke in the pudgy side — it was only typical that it was Flóki that the little legend shoved his nose into, thoroughly invading any and all personal space. It made sense, in a deep psychological way that went vastly over Jorunn's head, that it was his twin he gravitated towards; but he didn't know whose flank he'd shoved his nose into so it was just a sibling. A sibling that apparently had not enjoyed being poked and had returned the sentiment caused a small grunt and fart to simultaneously erupt from both ends of Jorunn. The vibrations — what would later become words to Jorunn — were all that he had coming from the big wall of warmth and fur that also happened to be his easy ticket to a meal whenever he so pleased, lest she stepped out to relieve herself or stretch her legs. The meaning, the question and perhaps Seer like hint at their destinies — him a future King? — of her words was currently lost upon the deaf legend as he nuzzled closer to her, aiming to claim her attention, though it was not as if he knew if he had it or not at this point. Perhaps he sought only to feel her vibrations again, drawing mother-child comfort from the gentle hum and lull of her voice even if he could not yet hear it.

Thistle smiled at Ragna's determination, even if it were a simple journey of inches. She attacked it bravely and fought her way forward. She was jostled on all sides  by her brothers, but she was making it. With a small chuckle, she pushed her the rest of the way forward gently, her nose at her bum.

Thistle laughed at the dual wind that Jorunn was sporting and she couldn't help but shake her head at him. She gently nosed his head and then his side. Ticling his sides gently, blowing some air along the side of his belly. She didn't want to blow in his face, since he was blind and deaf at the moment. She feared she might startle him worse, than if she just did it this way.

Jostled but undeterred, Ragna fought past her brothers towards the amorphous mass of her mother. She made deaf noises of complaint, high-pitched squeals to express her displeasure as she fought on. And soon she reached the promised land, helped along by a nose at hear rear. She struggled across those last few inches until her nose bumped into her mother's stomach. From there, she began to nose around the fur, seeking out a meal.

Last post for Jorunn and me! We should have an updated mama/babies thread soon, I think! :D

Jorunn let out a soft coo — much more soft and lulled than the noises he typically made which tended to be on the louder side. The young legend was not a quiet boy by any stretch of the imagination, giving the impression of a miniature, stereotypical boisterous viking. Not a trait that came from his soft toned father, at any rate. The feel of Thistle blowing lightly on his side caused a small shiver of delight to surge along the length of his still delicate spine before he nuzzled closer to her, shifting closer to his twin subconsciously. Finding what he was searching for, he latched onto a teat and began to suckle until he dozed off once more.