Swiftcurrent Creek Blinded by the light

Forward dated to March 27. Eyes and ears opening causing grouchy child.
@Rosalie ( @Alessia + Zephyr, @Kavik & @Polaris if they'd like to pop in, too ❤ )

For the first few weeks of his life, it's touch and go. He is stronger than some of his siblings, yet Helios is sick all the same. He keeps close, wiggling in discomfort whenever one littermate crawls over top of him ( @Celia, likely, because milk is life and she's a hungry baby ). Morning light softly fills the mountainside den, and it is today that the eldest son finds himself squeaking as the rays hurt. Eyelids flutter shut in a rush to hide from the pain; and Helios ends up startled by the sound of his own voice, which just makes the babe cry more. The world is a very strange place, filled with colors and sounds. Helios is not sure he likes it very much.

She's exhausted, honestly. There should be some sort of overwhelming love and joy blooming within her, she's certain, but these first weeks have been a numb blur to her. She has, at least, found no shortage of protective instinct; sleep has been scarce, discarded in favor of tending and watching her sickly children every moment she can keep her eyes open. She talks to them often, too, though she knows they won't respond for some time. They seem to be growing stronger, if slowly, though the smallest of her daughters still worries her. Most mornings, she half-expects to wake to find the pale child cold and still. It feels like such a cruel thought.
This morning, though, none of those thoughts have time to plague her before Helios's squeaking cuts through her thoughts in her first waking moments. She sucks in a breath, willing herself not to flinch or move too quickly, and turns to inspect the pup. She's just in time to watch his eyes flutter shut, and it happens so quickly that for a moment she's certain she'd imagined it. But he's still making noise — so perhaps not. She leans forward to nose him gently, licking his scruff a few times in an attempt to comfort him. I know it's terribly inconvenient sometimes, but you can't hate your namesake, She murmurs a little teasingly, latching desperately to the thread of warmth she feels for her firstborn. It's the first thing she's felt in weeks. And I won't raise you in a cave, so you'll just have to get used to it.

Although she still held an awkwardness about her position in this dysfunctional family, Rosalie couldn’t bring herself to abandon Alessia or the beautiful children she had brought into the world. They were so weak and vulnerable, pulling at her own maternal instincts.

Trusting that Alessia had been honest about wanting Lie to help her raise these youngsters, Lie had lingered around the den. Leaving only to gather food for the new mother. Rosalie often plopped herself opposite to Alessia, which is where she was at the disturbing cry of the eldest boy. Having been dozing, and on the verge of catching a few moments of elusive slumber, Lie was rudely startled. Her head shot up, turning toward the entrance of the den. Panic flashing in her green eyes. Seeing nothing amiss, she turned her attention to Alessia.

Gentle words helped Lie understand what had happened, and she smiled softly, listening on the quite conversation. “Only a few weeks old, and you’re telling them what they can and cannot do. That didn’t take long.” Rosalie smirked at the snark of her own voice, trying to remain serious despite the giggle trying to surface. “Don’t forget to always listen to your mother, Helio's. She’s the boss.”

Rising from her spot she re-positioned, getting a better view of the babes nestled against their mother.

x
His cries echo within the den—unsurprisingly, the sounds likely stirred the entire pack, let alone the family nestled within the confined walls. Seeing is a skeptical that the young Helios has never witnessed before, and such harsh lighting—imagine when it’s noon!—makes the babe struggle on weak limbs to the nearest body he can stuff his face in. Fortunately, he barely moves. His mother leans to comfort him, and he hears her voice for the first time. He twitches, surprised by the unknown and the sensitivity of his ears. It’s enough that his head starts to ache and the boy finds himself whimpering softly in complaint. (‘No mum, you don’t understand. Pls turn lights off.’) No longer the harsh cries that have come to exhaust him. He is fortunate that his other mother, too, is near to watch over the babes. Funny enough, he’ll likely be the first to take Rosalie’s excellent advice into account.