Golden Glade morbid stuff

welcome to fam or anyone visiting the den!

at slightly over a month old, orr is still mostly a lump, dimly charcoal (were it not for his ember-licked shoulders, he'd be entirely unremarkable), not particularly nosy or interested in experimenting with sounds. sure, he'd given whining a go, when he's displeased by a lack of warmth or a particularly annoying sibling, had even offered a couple of choice babyish barks. but words? didn't suit him. whether it was because he was lagging developmentally or just quiet by nature isn't exactly clear. especially for him, being a child, and all. not exactly able to parse out these sorts of things.

nevertheless, orr is growing, and if he lacks in noise-making, he more than makes it up in waddling about. he's not so much interested in making a break from the den -- what's the point, when his mom (and consequently, his food) and his siblings and the general protective warmth of the den are all right here? who cares what the outside world has to offer? so instead he spends most of his time paddling around the den, clumsily climbing his siblings (/parents, when they're in the vicinity), amusing himself with the up-and-down of walking. and, occasionally, not realizing how close he is to the edge of the den and bonking into the wall. like, as in, right now, and an indignant shriek escapes him at the -- well, at the indigninty of it.

Quixote enjoyed watching the pups.  Their older siblings would hardly be required to pupsit at this rate because Qui was ever eager to hang out with the little guys.  Let's be real, it was much easier to keep watch over the three little fuzzballs at this stage, they could save the heavy artillery for later on.

He'd gone for a bit of a walk earlier in the day, adventuring up to the plateau more to just see if anyone had been by than for any real reason and had returned home with a large wing feather from what was probably a goose.  It was in pretty good shape for something left around the edges of a lake for an indeterminate amount of time, so he retrieved it to see what the kids thought of it.  He still remembered what Owen had thought of the antler, so if he managed to dredge up another of those, that was gonna get saved until they were significantly larger.  A feather, though, should be pretty safe.  It was reasonably soft, light, and as long as they didn't go out of their way to jab themselves with the quill, it'd probably be fine for them to explore.  Only thing left was to see what they thought, so he'd stashed it up against a wall of the den and waited to see if anyone would 

Orr was roaming around right now while his siblings seemed to be napping, and he'd been watching his son with a bemused but curious expression.  Kids were... Interesting.  He still wasn't sure how much was just them still trying to find where their personality was and how their senses functioned and how much was going to be an ongoing thing.  Interesting was seriously the best word he could think of.  At least until Orr booped in the wall, and Qui half sat up at the yelp, You okay over there?  His ears were pricked forward alertly.  The answer was almost certainly yes, but the noise certainly tugged at him.

a voice distracts him from his consternation -- the adult dad, the one who doesn't feed him but is warm enough that orr enjoys his presence. he doesn't understand the words his dad says, of course, but he understands the concern in his tone and turns toward him, expression still pulled into a pout. he shuffles away from the offending wall until he is nearly on top of dad's paws.

characteristically he doesn't make any real sounds, aside from a couple of grunts as he manuevers himself across the floor of the den and into place against his father. once settled, though, he opens his mouth. "o-ay," orr says, mimicing the sounds he'd heard, mostly out of curiousity - they'd been addressed to him, after all.

Just a little bit of babbling. Time had a habit of flying so he half expected them to suddenly start explaining the meaning of the world at any instant -- he wouldn't be surprised.  But Orr wasn't gonna suddenly dictate the complete works of Shakespeare right now, but at that little pout, he couldn't help himself. Aw.  It'll grow back.

But then his son plopped on down next to him.  Yeah, all good, he replied to the bit of almost-parroting.  Quixote did his best owl impression at Orr, tipping his head as far around as he could without moving too much.  One ear squished awkwardly into the ground and it gave him a rather goofy, squished expression without much effort on his part.  So whatcha gonna do?  He and his sisters were still too small for him to feel comfortable trying to do anything resembling roughhousing, but he'd settle for trying to dredge up a smile or a bit of gnawing on a paw or nose -- totally a tolerable part of being a father.

the moment of hurt and suffering is quickly forgotten, as is the way for small children. more interesting is his father's face: orr squints at his wide-eyed expression for a long moment, trying to decipher the mix of visual cues his young eyes can process. the question - whatcha gonna do? does not mean anything to him, other than it is directed at him, and there is some expectation of - something in return.

"do," orr echoes, and latches his small mouth around one of his father's large toes, gnawing lazily.

They were such innocent little things at this point.  Battles and drama didn't matter to them.  If only everyone could be so carefree!  That'd make things very nice.

Taking the babble as a question (because why the heck not, of course), Oh yes.  We'll go do all kinds of things.  Once you're out and about we can go adventuring!  Go chase birds at the lake, or hunt along the rivers.  All kinds of things out there, yes, lots to do.  As Orr started gnawing on his toe, Qui wiggled his toes a tiny bit, then tried to reach forward to nuzzle his son's head lightly.  Things will be great. 

Archiveable or continuable, whichever!