Arrow Lake in the wind that remakes all that time has worn away

she has gained an afinity for her own paws, though she has come to learn that they do not offer the same comfort as her mother's teats. they have texture, one side soft and smooth and one fuzzy. at the very end her paw divides into multiple, smaller paws, and it is one of these that she worries with her gums now, seeking to unattach it from the rest. her attempts have no affect, obviously, but it's comforting both in the action and the simple goal she can work toward for however long she wishes. she's lodged herself as best the can in one of @Aure's armits, and occasionally she'll become aware of that other part of her mother who seems to be more active than the rest of her. But at the moment, @Dragonmir isn't crawling over her or otherwise disturbing her simple game, and she's content and silent.

Today's imaginary scene was a dusty, desolate crater in a vast desert. Dragomir, the obvious protagonist of the story happening inside his head, was attempting to find a long lost city buried in the sand. His companion had gone off in search of water while he sifted through the sands with strange appendages, frowning as sweat dripped down his brow—

And then, with a hiccup, Dragomir's imagination stuttered to a halt and he was brought back to reality. The real reality. Those other realities in his head were real in their own way for as long as he would remember them. Which wasn't long. In less than a month he wouldn't be able to dream such things anymore. With a grunt, the neonate stretched his four skinny legs up into the air, spreading his toes and curling his tongue in a soft little yawn that ended with a clap of gums on gums. And then he went searching with ineffectual sweeps of his limbs.

In this reality he was a tiny wolf cub with hardly any senses besides taste and smell. He recognized already the distinct scents of his mother, his midwife, his father, and the other someone who was around his size and made for an excellent pillow. That was who he searched for, with occasional distress calls as he weaved and bobbed his head on his limp neck, nose working furiously, but unable to pinpoint Isilmë. He went quite the opposite direction his sister was in, paddling furiously along the den floor toward Aure's thigh.

The mother in question had spent the days following her delivery in a manner not unlike those of her children: napping as she’d liked, eating when she could, and pampering for what would seem like forever. There were two things that made her restless, though.

One — as much as she welcomed all this bedrest, she was impatient to wander this new claim. Aure longed to shed the sugary heft from mothering that she’d lumbered with for the past two months; longed to show Diaspora that she remained as limber and virile as ever.

Two — Aure fidgeted for the fortnight to pass, when copiii iubirii ei would open their dewy-blue eyes. What colors would they meld into in the months following that moment? Argent flushed with sapphire, like the gaze of her dearly beloved? Or mere silver, like her own? Those that now opened at the worrying of someone doing their best to gnaw her lip off?

Lashes drew up and up, lustrous eyes alighting on a stretching, sleepy Dragomir reaching for the spring arches of their thicket. Before she could greet him, though, Aure’s attention was commanded by Isilmë; the instigator who’d awoken her and was now squirming her determined way under a lean bicep to head for her throat. With a soft almost-purr of ”Belea,” the new mother crescented Isi into the crook of her jaw, bringing her close and laving her tongue about the creamy babe as if to begin a bath.

Eyes flickering up to Drago... but could not find him in his previous location. Curving her wriggling daughter at her wispy breast — daughter, heart humming at the sleepy realization — Aure wobbled into a heady sit, sighted him, and was reaching for Dragomir with a cinch of thin shoulders. ”Come back to me,” she breathed, dimpling at the pudgy mauve of her son, now wrangling with her pale thigh.

her game was interrupted not by the smaller, but by the big warmth that seemed all-controlling over their lives. her paw slipped out of her maw as her mother moved her nearer to where she ought to be, and she wailed her displeasure with a cry and began to flail wildly all her limbs. she sought again the forepaw that brought her so much comfort, but did not realize that her flailing anger was counterproductive to that goal, and only increased the velocity of her limbs as her mother reached toward her brother, maw searching for the paw it could not find.

Dragomir's pioneering career was short-lived. He was swept up by a greater power and turned around not long into his adventure, and found himself ultimately in a better position than before. The muted scent of the other him was stronger now, as was Aure's, but he remained determined to complete his mission. He struck forth with a single-minded persistence, eventually finding his way to the flailing Isilmë at last.

It didn't matter that she was helicoptering all of her limbs. In that moment he was just glad to find her. Not because they had any bond at this point, but because she was comfortable. He yawned again, curling the shock of pink that was his tongue, and nestled his pugged nose as close to her belly as he could. No doubt she clubbed him a few times, but he didn't seem to notice as he huffed out a content breath and mentally returned to the crater in the sand, and the lost city somewhere far below...

short lil thing. wanna close this up?

Her retrieving finished, Aure was careful to situate herself back down and around her brood; eyes softer than feathers as she gazed at Dragomir nestling into his squalling sister. Taking care not to disturb him, she knelt and nosed Isi's tiny paw back towards the she-pup's huffy snout — who seemed to have some bauble-like fascination with it.

The aftermath that ensued was Aure, tenatively returning to slumber alongside her newborn children for the remainder of the day. As long as her babies believed the other was a pillow, all was right in the world... until someone squalled first.