Lost Creek Hollow rockabye

It was a daring adventure his new little friend was leading him on. The bright butter yellow of the butterfly was what had dazzled him in the first place, and the tawny boy had lumbered toward it with great interest, his little nose trying to touch it in friendship. Yet it zipped away – drifting along the sprouting flowers, and Pippin had followed dutifully, his imagination soaring as he fully expected his new friend was leading him around.
 
“Kay..” He called out softly, ambling after the butterfly as it spun away from him as quickly as possible – of course, it was only impatient. He was trying to keep up as it showed him around – of course he was. Yet the yellow-winged creature continued twirling through the air, zipping away as his chubby puppy legs tried to pump faster to keep up. “OKAY I SAY,” he bellowed after it, and with one great leap, he opened his mouth to shout once more at his friend – and then felt a soft flutter in his throat as he accidentally swallowed it.
 
Stopping instantly, Pippin’s eyes pinched shut, his stomach rolling at the strange feeling.. and trying to undo what had been done, the boy arched his neck and began to cough wildly, trying to dislodge the creature from his throat.

He had been dozing lazily, content to bask in whatever streaming sunlight existed and let the children play openly. They did that for the most part and he thought rather well, though admittedly an odd number often made for some pettily-sided games from his memory. But such was life as far as they knew it, as far as he had been raised, and ultimately the cycle perpetuated itself endlessly. He had propped himself near the mouth of the den, which was a slight change in locale from the one he was more accustomed to. He had not questioned the move, but then again there were many things Mordecai had not questioned as of late, feeling it far easier to go with the flow than try and swim against a strengthening current.

His thoughts did occasionally drift in that direction, a wonder to how all was fairing but he felt he did not need to look in order to see. Much in the same way his solitary eye had half-lidded itself some time ago, content to waver off and on between what his children were doing. Even when Pippin had dared to venture a bit further than he was used to, he still kept a bead on him until the scenery dared to swallow him whole.

And it would have seemed when it did, misfortune followed.

The sputtering and coughing was enough to reel him back into reality firmly, putting down roots and responding long before he fully knew what he was planning to do. There was of course, the quick and cursory check of the other two as he moved off. He found Pippin just a few strides later, arched and hacking away. Coughing wasn't necessarily a bad sign in Mordecai's book, but it was still enough to warrant concern when it seemed he had just slipped out of view. Yelling, even!

With a nudge against the pup's flank, Mordecai whined.

Gagging and sputtering, Pippin only felt relief when his steadfast father swept forward, nudging at the boy’s flank and offering comfort. Of course, it did not stop the flutter of panic at his chest as his throat burned raw – and his own panic kept his airways limited.
 
His eyes glazed over for a second, and then with one obnoxious gag, the boy arched his neck and wretched out a crumpled and soaked yellow butterfly. Of course, it no longer moved, and Pippin, his eyes watering, looked to Moredcai with as much dramatics as possible. “Hurt,” he whimpered, before his stomach rolled, and he promptly vomited up his breakfast.

For a moment, panic threatened to creep into his actions when Pippin did not seem to improve. The boy gagged and wretched, only to quite literally spit up the root of his problems — the butterfly. Mordecai's panic seemed to fade swiftly on its own from there, though his face remained contorted with concern. He went to offer his son a reassuring lick to his head, only for the boy to twist and retch once again. This time, there was no butterfly, only whatever remained of his breakfast.

At that point, the easiest thing Mordecai could think to do was to gently pick him up by the scruff and return him closer to the den with the others. Only it wasn't to release him to play — Mordecai was content to pull Pippin close and comfort him in what ways he knew how. It was here that he offered a reassuring lick and soft words. "See? It's okay now."

*sneaks in quietly*

Larkspur liked her naps and she was quite good at them. The commotion just outside the den's door did not disturb her at first. But her brother's retching made her ears twitch. And then there was a shuffling just a few inches away and the floor vibrated slightly. The little girl unfurled like an autumn leaf, blue eyes peeling open and blinking loudly in the den's dusky interior. She found herself peering up at her father, his forelegs embracing Pippin. Her brother looked a little green around the gills and there was a sour smell on the air which made Spur wrinkle her nose.

"Pip, 's wrong?" the honey-and-cream Pi queried in a soft voice, furrowing her little brow and looking first at Pippin, then up at their father, blue eyes blown wide with quizzical concern.

It was possible that the running joke against poor Pippin as he grew older would be that a butterfly had undoubtedly kicked his ass – for now, the boy could not fathom anything but his want for warmth and shelter, and so when Mordecai picked him up, the tawny boy hung loosely, yielding to his father completely.
 
Once deposited, the warmth of his father’s tongue smoothed over him, quieting the soft whimpers that had begun to escape the boy, who was quick to press the crown of his head to the chin and neck of his father, pressing himself as close as possible before giving a gentle hiccup, his cries disappearing fully now.
 
He was about to question his father about the beast that had hurt him, but Larkspur’s gentle query caused the boy to whip his head in her direction, and as if reliving the horrendous events of choking on a fluttering butterfly once more, the boy’s lip began to quiver, following swiftly by a drawn out sniffle.

In a matter of just a few moments, he felt confident that he had soothed his son. All of that went sideways at the appearance of Larkspur, at least for Pippin. Where he had hoped that she would further comfort him, it seemed that her question only threw salt in the wound and rubbed it vigorously, and the wobbling lip set that in concrete. For a moment, the best Mordecai could muster was looking between the two and mentally flailing at how to make the situation better.

"Pip doesn't feel good," he said, though that much was surely obvious. "Why don't you come here and curl up with us, Lark?" Maybe that would work, it seemed simple enough to stick a band-aid over what had been an uncomfortable experience; it had worked for him once upon a time, anyway. He wasn't about to spill the beans on what had happened.

Little Larkspur's heart broke a little when Pippin's lip trembled. She moved forward, lissome and gentle, to rub her cream muzzle alongside his in a gesture of comfort. Her tiny pink tongue poked out to softly bathe his face while affectionate little sounds of reassurance slipped from her maw. This went on for a minute or two before she stepped back.

Her blue eyes lifted again to Mordecai when he invited her to join their cuddle puddle. Although she had just woken from a nap, Spur was more than happy to oblige, especially if it would make Pippin feel better. She nodded, slowly at first, then more vigorously as she pressed nearer and curled her pale, fuzzy body as close as physically possible.

The tremble in his lip continued to quake – his watery eyes peeking over at his sister before a quick intake of breath offered a muffled sob. He expelled his breath slowly, one ear flickering at the sound of his father’s voice, but his eyes were upon his sister alone.

Larkspur crept forward, and once the warmth of her body pressed to his in a soothing manner, the boy quieted instantly again, his last sob a hiccup before he nestled his nose in to the downy softness of her fur. Surrounded by family and love, his breathing soon evened, his chest rising and falling in a more peaceful pattern. Sleep did not come to him yet though, and peering up, Pippin glanced at his father seriously. “Dad, a monstah hurted my throat.”

Since @Mordecai has gone inactive, I thought I'd nudge this toward a conclusion... :o

Although Pippin was talking to their father, Spur immediately arched toward him to nuzzle her brother's throat. Unaware that it would have no effect—other than general comfort—she swiped her tongue against the side of his neck a few times, leaving the fur there a little damp and tacky. She then drew back a little bit to look him in the eye.

"Bett'r?" she asked quietly, smiling. She then pressed even closer, wrapping around Pippin like a warm scarf and closing her eyes again.

His words rumbled out from a sore throat, and it was Larkspur who reached forward to kiss it better. Mordecai likely sat back to watch the two as Pippin was lulled in to a sense of security once more. Keenly, the boy leaned in to his sisters touch, and at her question, he only ushered a gentle nod of agreement before resting his muzzle against his sister. Wrapped up in his family, Pippin found himself soon sleeping, hoping soon to forget the terrible butterfly that had effectively throat punched him with its wing.