Luneshale Pass I deserve it, don't I?

If only for a short moment, Leto emerged from her den. It was a rare sight with her recently born litter needing her kept close.

Her throat was dry, she needed to drink something. Taking the short trip only a few feet to the stream that ran through the pass she leaned down to lap at the water, freshly thawed in the transition to spring. Leto was beginning to thin down once more, the change clear after months of swelling up.

Lifting her head to take a breath, she felt hesitant to return. Her legs were beginning to cramp up from laying with her children for so long, ears ringing from their whines. Sometimes she questioned whether or not raising them alone was the right decision.

But, it would get easier. She needed to be patient. Looking back towards the den that now belonged to a her family rather than her alone, she felt her expression soften.

these days soto ranges the borders obsessively. leto's young compel him to do this; it is as if he is waiting for the other axe to fall.

it doesn't come, though -- and as the days soften and the sun's rays grow longer, he reins back his compulsive patrolling, turning inward to drink from the thin stream that houses verapaz's main source of water.

he sees leto from across the bank. motherhood suits her, though he notes her sides have become slab-sided with the demands of her children.

three of them, in fact. what was that she had said about her siblings? big and beautiful. soto expects the same of her young.

leto. he calls from the bank's shore, leaping across it to flank her. como te sientes? he recalls -- with some reluctance -- the distance in marciela's eyes those short days after whelping.

if only he knew then what he knows now.

Breaking through her pondering, Soto joins her. They have not spoken since before the birth, she is glad to see a friendly face that is not still suckling.

Estoy bien, un poco cansada tal vez. She responds to his question with a new gentle tone, one formed by a necessity in caring for her little one's. They could not hear very well in their early days, but she had learned quickly that her usual sudden rise in volume unsettled them. It had become habit to mind her tone.

She is admittedly excited to show off the children to Soto, but then again she's excited to show them off to just about anyone. To her they are much more than just an accomplishment, but it can certainly feel good to say 'Hey! Look at what I made!' ¿Ya los has visto? She inquires, nodding back towards her den. Eyes were open and little legs were learning to stand, it was an exciting time that she hoped to share.

an unusual hush accompanies leto’s words. soto wonders if this is for the children. he only ever had two children, and one (bushtit) he was hardly involved in his early days. he tries to remember, how soon after birth did their ears open?

knowing some mothers prefer to rear their children in solitude, soto’s ears turn towards the soft noises in the den. leto’s reception encourages him, but he doesn’t move. no, the segundo answers in an equally quiet tone, canting his long muzzle towards them in silent question. 

would he be allowed?

She confirms her suspicions; he is yet to meet Verapaz's first borns. Vamos. She gestures for him to follow, stepping back towards her den with a tail waving high, filled with pride.

Sticking in her head first and then slipping the rest of her body through the entrance, she lays inside where three squealing pups wait. Two are quick to race to her teats, eager to suckle, but she has to nudge the third pale child for them to realize she has returned.

The trio pushes and shoves before settling into place, a common occurence which she finds rather amusing.

no woman besides marciela has ever invited him within her den. soto follows the rightfully proud courtesan, ducking low into the entrance. 

he feels as if he’s violated some sacred taboo; invading a place not meant for trespass. as his eyes adjust to the dimness, he looks at each. 

beautiful. and plenty. just as promised. quien es quien? he asks in the same quiet tone as before, waiting for introduction.

She points to each with her muzzle, a quiet pride in her voice. Apollo, Delos, and Artymis. She gestures to the largest son first, the pale boy next, and finally her single daughter. She feels a love for them which she once thought impossible. She understands now that her mother's army of children was created out of more than just practicality.

Looking back up to Soto, a grin crosses her face. Nunca los había visto tan coloridos. She says, a single thump of her tail on the ground. Each of her siblings were born pale and white, suited to their snow-covered environment. She had never seen a pup born with a coat of differing shades from their siblings, let alone three.

she'd kept the names, after all.

soto glances as each is introduced. first, a boy built like an ox. then a boy pale like his mother, and finally, a daughter fiery and full of life.

each healthy, and each imbued in a different tapestry of colors. he supposes she has the defected castel to thank for that.

buen trabajo, he compliments, moving from their space so she may slink back and keep them warm. tienes hambre? his brow quirks; state what you want, and i'll get it.

Leto smiles, shaking her head. Vuelve mañana, she decides, y tráeme un pescado.

It isn't very often that she eats fish, but Leto feels that she deserves a treat. Her children are healthy, Verapaz is in bloom, and most importantly - eating fish makes your fur shinier.

un pescado? soto masks the falling of his face -- where will he get a fish in the flipping desert?

por supuesto. and he means it - though the logistics of extracting an aquatic animal from stone has yet to become a skill of his. no matter; it's been long enough that his leg is healed, and he needs the exercise.

soto trawls the nanks of their thinning river that night. the fish here are scarce and small, too agile for his lurking teeth.

by midmorning, he ranges out towards the cenotes and returns with not one but two fat arapaimas.