Hushed Willows superlove
All Welcome  May 17, 2019, 05:47 PM
Olive
Elysium
Shakti
@Sundance @Reif @Atwood
and maybe someone she hasn’t seen in a while — @Silas, @Tzila, @Aeliana?

Olive was not a mother to quell her children’s innate desire to explore. Even when they were younger than they are now, merely a few weeks old, she would not stop them to crawling towards the mouth of the den and a few feet beyond it. They were safe amongst the willows, surrounded by seraphim, and Olive was fairly certain that nothing would happen to them. Of course, it was the same mode of thinking that had allowed Oaxaca’s attack and subsequent death to happen, but she let her babies explore. This was a different time. A different litter. A different pack.

Now her three sons were nearly a week shy of a month old, and they were no longer completely helpless beings. Before, once they had breeched the den’s threshold, they usually became frightened and called for one of their three mothers to come retrieve them. They did this no longer — now, they explored. If she turned her head for a single moment, it would be certain that one boy (likely Sundance, followed by Reif) would be running off. She trusted the safety of Elysium but she did not not like any of her boys to be out of eyeshot, so eventually they said goodbye to the crowded birthing den and moved above ground almost permanently.

The druid liked this better anyways, rather than being confined by 4 earthen walls and low light. Sometimes they even slept up here, between the draping willows and underneath the stars.

Ariel and Seabreeze were off doing something, probably making out and romancing somewhere, which left Olive with the children for the day. It felt like a day made for fun, so the misted druid turned to face her young trio and suggested an adventure.  
“Come,” the mother bade them, knowing they could not, in good consciousness, refuse. It was not in the way little boys operated, and she loved to give them something to be excited about. Silvery Sunday, caramel-colored Reif and Sweet Atwood, the color of chocolate. She loved them all dearly. Gazing at them fondly, she smiled and turned on her heels to head in the direction away from the den.  “Let’s go see Mommy’s garden.” She started a short, sloppy run, hoping to incite a race.

and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams