Sawtooth Spire there's lots of middle ground between the kings and centipedes

phaedra’s half-mast eyes beheld the approaching umbrage of her da and a gurgled coo of glee dimpled her cheeks and smiled in her eyes. phaedra didn’t know a stranger and would have given her merry countenance to the occasion of making a new giant friend even if she didn’t know this one’s scent just as well as she knew how to find milk-dew in a scarfskin. (those had gone to decay, anyway, and had been replaced with clean peltries decidedly not stinking of turned milk and birth dross.)
the cygnet allowed his canoodling and meanwhile wrestled with his large muzzle, batting it with her feet as he settled above her and rolled like thunder in words she couldn’t yet hear. still, she was in transports of rapture whenever he did this anyway—held one-sided conversations with his daughter in rumbling murmurs. the warmth of his breath and the tickle of his whiskers always made her coo and chuckle deep within her belly. 
when he loomed closer, her eyes widened and her lips encircled a drawn-out croon. she placed her warm toes on the bridge of his snout and plot a course across the blurry sea of her vision, searchingly peering at the galaxy of colors she couldn’t bring into focus. 
movement was easier to follow, she decided, and her squinny eyes tracked the more dramatic movements of his head. rolling her own head back, she also eyed motion in the sky as a bird flew from on high and alit on a branch. another flutter of giggles danced in her stomach and she kicked her rear-feet against mahler’s cairn-like chest before turning her gaze back to his attention. ”oooo,” she babbled conversationally.