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(okay, cracks knuckles, only like 1 or 2 replies each before we timeskip to reynardine and then get into the family rp, omg esh is finally having babies!!!!! !!!!)
There was never any question that Eshek was going to have her kits in the League. They would know DayClan as she did, but their blood was pure, as pure as could be found anywhere in the League. Wherever they went, this would always be their legacy; she just hoped they would carry the pride of it and not the hauntings. She and Bermondsey certainly had enough of the former, almost fanatically so. She hoped that would outweigh the latter that Ber so feared. Lying there with him now, days or hours away from her due date, she felt the flutter of apprehension learned from him, as if just seeing them moments after their birth would be enough to know whether they would turn out monsters or not, that warred with the all-consuming, anxious happiness. She was feeling so much of everything that she was unspeakably grateful to have him there to lean on, to ground herself to. As her due date had drawn nearer, Eshek had slipped away with a last word to Lucistic and, with Ber there to escort her like from the territory so close to NightClan's, had started upon the journey that, if her labour went ahead without any complications, would mean she'd be once again making the League her home for the next moon or so.
Now, lying back against Ber at the foot of the windowseat in her room because she could no longer jump or scramble up, with pale moonlight slanting through the window and casting the shadows of the panes across the floorboards and the rug, Eshek's eyes were half-lidded and her breathing laboured only by the effort of having to expand her lungs against her swollen stomach. It was now impossibly round and tender to the touch. But she didn't feel any of the terror that would likely grip her later, the terror that told her she'd been at this exact point before, all the way through her third trimester, and she'd lost them. Because of her. Right now, though, she just drifted in and out of consciousness, Ber's heart beating against her back, feeling safe enough to sleep. She didn't constantly check her stomach; she didn't fret and weep; she didn't snap at him out of fear - with him, and only with him, she could trust everything to someone else. Her fears at being a mother - at being a bad one, or at not being meant to be one at all - had been mostly soothed by her night with Ber on the beach. It was almost startling to believe, that someone who had been so consumed by terror and guilt and mania over the loss of her kits could be lying so tenderly now. But such was the effect, the hold, he had over her: if Bermondsey said it would be okay, it would be okay. She trusted him implicitly.
"You ever think how unfairly good-looking these kits are going to be?" Eshek suddenly purred, her voice husky, dragged momentarily out of her reverie by the thought that just had to be said. Her eyes opened but remained heavy and lidded, her pupils narrowed to slits. "Mostly from me, though," she teased. "Legs for days!" Her eyes widened excitedly before settling down again - but only momentarily. "Maybe they'll have your cute baby face. And maybe the blue and green eyes will make something super pretty, like-like an emerald-y sapphire." She was getting excited again, so giddy at the thought of finally having kits that she was desperately impatient to meet them. Her eyes were wild and playful and darting around, like a child in a candy shop; her claws dug excitedly into the frayed edges of the carpet. She tipped her head back to grin at Ber for a moment before lowering it again and resting her chin on her chest, still grinning to herself as her eyes darted about the floor. "We're having kits," she hissed quietly to herself, drawing the knitted blanket they were lying on to her muzzle so that it hid everything but her wide eyes, like the realisation had hit her all over again afresh and left her happier than before, if that were even possible. One of Ber's forepaws was stretched out beside her and she began to knead it unthinkingly with her little kitten claws too, softly, her claws just digging in harmlessly to his knuckles.
It was strange, how easily Eshek had moved from the proxy's den to his own. Of course, no one had questioned it, at least not out loud, just the same as most of the league had strangely accepted her entry, and how they had accepted their little tryst without so much as a word, gossiping on their own away from his sights. Of course, it didn't matter so much to him that the others spoke of their strange relationship; in fact, he barely cared about anything these days other than the multiple worries upon his head.
It seemed as if Eshek had taken the first spot in this line of priorities, because for once, it seemed like the warden was almost relaxed, lying in the faint moonlight as the she-cat slept next to him. His eyes were still closed as she spoke, though her teasing did elicit a snort from his nose. "I don't think long and gangly's a good look on everyone," he retorted, cracking an eye open to look at her disappear within the blanket, a slight smirk written on his face, amusement gleaming in his green eyes.
"Let's hope none of them inherits your grating personality," he mused.
Eshek grinned, ducking out from under the blanket to snipe something back at him in this comfortable, instinctive back-and-forth they had that was its own form of intimacy — when a sharp pain in her stomach made her breath falter. “Ber,” she gasped, because it was the first thing she could think to say, turning her head to fix him with wide, panicked eyes. They swam with all the fear that his presence had so far kept under wraps like a night light warding off ghosts; now, the fragile illusion snapped and she was left with all of it crashing down on her. It occurred to her, stupidly, childishly, that she’d spent so much time terrified of losing her kits before she got to this point, and dreamily optimistic about what her life would be like when they were born, that she’d never considered the very real danger of having to give birth, the pain of contractions and labour, the—the—
“Bermondsey,” she whimpered again, dumbly, her voice strangled and heavy with panic and her eyes unblinking and huge with terror. Her claws were digging into his foreleg; she didn’t know when she’d reached out for him, when she’d half twisted around to face him. “I think it’s happening. I don’t know— I don’t know what it feels like, I don’t—“ She suddenly seemed very young. So sheltered and inexperienced. Another wave of dull, aching pain rolled through her, making her spine ripple; she cried out through gritted teeth and doubled over, her nose pressed to her chest and her forepaws drawing together to hide her face like she could block it out. “I think you need to get Reynardine,” she said in a small voice from between her paws, eyes squeezed shut and tail quivering against her stomach.
He was quickly drifting off to sleep, his eyes closing tiredly when Eshek's gasp made him look up, a frown on his face. What did she want? His eyes met her panicked ones and suddenly he knew exactly what was going on. Oh gods. A shiver ran down his spine as his blood turned cold.
He was going to be a father.
Bermondsey thought he was prepared for this. He thought he was ready to confront his fears, to truly give it all up to be a father and the last few days had been so idyllic he had truly believed that he was happy to have the kits, to be a father, to parent them with Eshek, and now, all of those dreams fled out the window, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of trepidation and anxiety that loomed over him like a cloud. Oh gods, he was going to be a father.
The tom tried to rein it back, giving Eshek a lick on her forehead to comfort her. "Breathe," he murmured, "just breathe, it'l be fine. I'll go get Reynardine, are you going to be okay without me?" He wished that there was someone else, even Elizabeth or something to make sure Eshek was fine, but he gave her one more glance, before disappearing through the door in search of the mage or the shaman.
He entered the tower, his wide green eyes scanning the space for the familiar white pelt. "Reynardine!" he called out, "I need your help. Eshek's going into labour."
She nodded fearfully, raising her head with her brows drawn together and her eyes desperate like she didn’t want Ber to leave her side. When he did, she let out a quiet whimper and tucked her muzzle back between her paws, closing her eyes against the fear of another wave of pain.
sunlight just need you for 1 or 2 replies! (and forever) <3 aud, ber can be in the room or play that 50s dilf and anxiously pace & down 7 black coffees in the hospital waiting room, whatever you want c; <3
Eshek lay still beside Reynardine as the mage mixed herbs in the bright silver moonlight.
The contractions had eased for now but it hadn’t tamed her fears and she was doing herself no favours; so terrified of doing one thing wrong, she had practically stopped breathing, only gasping in tiny, shallow breaths, and was refusing even the most innocent treatments like poppy seeds to soothe her pain, for fear they’d be the thing the universe would use to harm her kits. Her lungs ached from hardly breathing and, so rigid and light-headed from stress and lack of air, she let out a strangled little sob.
Laying her head down to rest her cheek upon the blanket, she looked up at Reynardine with miserable, begging eyes, though she didn’t know what she was pleading for. Just something. Hope. Reassurances. Promises she could cling to and hold against her heart, no matter how empty. “I’m so scared,” she whispered, her voice tight and broken from the lack of air, afraid to raise her voice in case she brought the wrath, the injustice, the hate of fate down upon her. “What if I lose them again? What if they hate me? What if I’m the cursed one? What if I don’t know how to be a mother? What if…” She trailed off, too frightened to even speak, to get the words out past her throat that suddenly felt so small. She let out a long, shaking breath through her slightly open mouth, trying to calm herself.
Reynardine had been asleep when Bermondsey had arrived, but she woke quickly and soundlessly, gathering her herbs after nodding in his direction. She followed him through the halls to where Eshek was laying, and laying out the materials alongside the space she'd be working. Carefully, she selected the herbs she'd need, whiskers twitching as she mulled it all over. Her first solo birth- she was determined to get it right, since Charlotte would be judging her work afterwards.
Suddenly, though, Eshek was talking to her. Reynardine turned in her direction, blinking twice. Oh, right. This was an actual soul she was working with, not a problem to be solved logistically. Herbs would do no good when it came to her fears.
"First things first, you need to take a deep breath," Rey said softly, placing a gentle paw on her shoulder. Both parents were borderline frantic right now, so it was important for the mage, at least, to exude reassurance and confidence. "Good. Now another. Keep doing that for at least a minute, and then I'll answer your questions."
She turned back to her herbs as Eshek did the breathing exercise, finishing separating her herbs out. Chervil and ragwort for pain, raspberry leaves for any bleeding, water-soaked moss, poppy seeds if Eshek ever got over herself...
"You're going to be fine," Reynardine said, turning to Eshek again. Her voice was calm, even, and she smiled softly at the worried mother-to-be. "You are not cursed, you're strong and healthy and young. You and I are going to work together and get these kits out, and it'll be over before you know it. You will be fine, and your kits will be fine. You can worry about motherhood after this is over- though I'm probably not the one to ask about that. Right now, I need your focus on breathing and getting ready to push. Can you do that?"
Bermondsey was like a fretful husband, and as much as he often held that facade of being cool and confident, without a single worry ever present other than his little control freak tendencies, it was clear in the way he was tearing the ground beneath him that the stonehearted tom actually had feelings. He knew he shouldn't be distracting Reynardine at all, but how could he not?
He cleared his throat, glancing worriedly at Eshek before turning to Reynardine. "Is there uh....anything I can do?" he asked awkwardly, "to uh...help?"
First things first, you need to take a deep breath. Eshek was still and terrified for a few moments longer, her lips slightly blue and her wide eyes locked with Reynardine's - before she finally let out the breath she'd been holding and felt her strained ribcage shakily loosen and contract. Her eyes didn't leave the mage's as she slowly drew in another breath and let it out through her mouth, like Reynardine was a snake holding her steady in her gaze; and slowly, she felt the colour returning to her face and the terror easing. She continued to consciously breathe as the mage went back to work. Every so often a high little sound escaped with the breaths like a whimper, but she kept going. It was the most in control of herself she'd ever felt.
When Reynardine finally spoke, she said all the right things. Everything Eshek had ever needed to hear. You and I are going to work together and get these kits out, and it'll be over before you know it. She let out a grateful little sob. She hadn't realised how afraid she was of the pain of it; it made no sense - she never thought twice about pain at any other time - but the vulnerability of this had terrified her. But now, with Reynardine speaking to her with such calm confidence, that fear eased as well, shifting into a frail sort of confidence inspired by the mage. Eshek nodded, eyes wide and brows drawn together.
Then another aching wave of pain rolled over her, seizing up her body, and she let out a wailing cry, grabbing for Bermondsey's paw and squeezing her eyes shut against it.
(one last little segment before we time skip to the family rp! C'; my GIRL)
Eshek lay curled around her kits, purring louder than she'd ever thought possible. She hadn't taken her eyes off them since they were born; every time Reynardine lay a new one at her belly, so wet and small and frail, Eshek's gaze hadn't left it, her expression disbelieving and so exhausted and filled with all the love it was possible to feel in this world. The wonder in her eyes - like each kit laid before her was crafted of pure magic - was as soft as anything. All the mania she wore had been shrugged off by tiredness and pure love, leaving all the scars on her face and body so utterly at odds with the tender, love-struck she-cat who now looked down at her kits. She couldn't believe they were finally here. Couldn't believe she was a mother. Couldn't believe all this beauty, all this perfect gentleness, could be hers. The grief she'd thought she'd feel, like she was betraying her first litter who'd never been born, who'd died with her, like she was betraying Funk, whose kits these should have been, didn't come; there was only deep, airy, breathless love padding out her heart and stretching into infinity. She felt like she was on a cloud, like any little mis-step would shatter the illusion and send her crashing through it. But it wouldn't. This was real. These kits were hers.
Tipping her head back, she looked upside down at Bermondsey for the first time, her smile simultaneously slightly delirious and utterly grounded, like she was feeling a happiness that no one else in the world had ever felt before. "We did it," she laughed disbelievingly, letting out a choking little breath. Her smile was dazzling; her eyes had never been bluer. She brushed her cheek against his. "We did it, Ber. Our kits are here and they're beautiful. They're so beautiful." She looked back down at them like even the time it had taken to speak to Ber had been too much time away from them. Eshek drew them gently closer with one paw, her smile close to tears.
Once the kits were cleaned, inspected, and tucked in by their mother, Reynardine retreated, collecting her herbs in silence as the family basked in the newness of it all. She'd told Bermondsey to lay behind Eshek to provide comfort and support during the contractions, and he remained there now, the two of them a little picturesque couple.
When she had everything, she returned to Eshek's side. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, smiling at them. "But I'm going to catch up on my sleep, and I suggest you do the same. They look perfect, Eshek. Healthy and strong, like you. Your milk production looks good, too. I'll be back tomorrow to give them a formal check-up. You know, make sure they all have their teeth and toes."
She turned to go, before realizing she'd once again reverted back to solely the medical side of things. Rey turned back, cleared her throat, and smiled again. "You both have my congratulations. I'm sure you'll be great parents." With that, she took her leave, letting them rest in the stillness of suckling, squirming kits and exhaustion.
dm me if you want to listen to me ramble about the interstellar soundtrack
2,314 posts
Post by achromatic on Nov 8, 2021 16:44:18 GMT -5
Bermondsey hadn't known how to react, standing there like an idiot, practically listening to every word Reynardine had said, and here he was, grooming the mother of his kits as he stared at the four squirming little things, hairless and mewling, wondering whether he had looked like that when he was freshly born, like a wrinkly little mole. He gave the mage a nod as she left, as grateful as he'd ever really show, before turning back to Eshek.
"Should we give them names now?" he asked quietly, nudging one of them towards their mother as it kneaded Eshek's belly, seeking food.
"Thank you, Reynardine," Eshek gushed, twisting around to look at the mage before she left the room. "Anything you need, ever, for as long as we live, just name it. Thank you. I'm so grateful. I'll send a dozen trainees to bring you food every day and do anything you want."
Once she was gone, taking all of the proxy's gratitude with her, she turned back to her kits with that same gentle, smitten smile on her face. She hardly felt Ber grooming her, almost forgot this solid, comforting warmth against her was a cat at all; her head just moved slightly to the side with every stroke of his tongue, her eyes never leaving their kits. Only when he reached his paw around to guide one of them closer did she turn her head to look at him, that same glazed look of love in her eyes. "I guess we should," she agreed with a purr, all the warmth in the world in her voice. "I've been too scared to ask you before, but - I want them to have a Clan name, too."
The birth had given her courage she'd never had before - not her usual brand of recklessness, just a deep, glowing bravery; though she thought it had softened Ber a little as well, made him a little more agreeable, she still would have asked if he'd been as cold and furious as ever. But she was still deferring to him; it had become a part of their relationship she'd settled into comfortably, this violent, unhinged torturer asking gentle permission from this tom that wasn't her mate. She'd railed against it at first, him putting any restrictions on her, but that was only because he'd done it without her inviting him; now that it was her choice, it was all she'd ever really wanted. To have someone to take the strain from her, the burden. "I think it would give them so many options," she continued gently, not rushing to explain herself or justify it; she sounded calm, patient. "You know DayClan means something to me. They would still be yours in every way, but they'd have this part of me, too. This part that I care about. And isn't it always good to have a back-up plan for them in case the League becomes unviable?" She brushed her muzzle against his, her eyes slipping shut as her voice softened and quietened, trying to pre-emptively soothe any lashing out.
Post by achromatic on Nov 29, 2021 17:34:08 GMT -5
He gave Reynardine a departing nod, before turning to the kits once more. They were just so...tiny. He didn't think he looked that small when he was born, but here he was, staring at the squirming, hairless little things, their eyes closed and mouths open, looking for their mother. A flash of amusement crossed his eyes as he nudged one towards their mother, watching them with softened eyes as Eshek spoke.
His gaze had sharpened under that, his green eyes flashing once as he turned to Eshek. Of course, these were her kits and all, but a clan name? Disgust crossed his wrinkled nose at that. "I'm fine with you taking them to whatever clan you want when they're grown, but I'm not coming up with those stupid nature names for them," he scowled, "not to mention clan names are stupid, even yours, sorry not sorry."
Bermondsey wasn't going to stop her if she chose to knight them with their stupid forest names like snowkit or birchkit or whatever, but he certainly wasn't going to call them by that. Still, he wasn't exactly pleased with that anyway. "They could keep their names even as rogues," he grumbled, not that he ever thought they'd join the clans anyway. Not cats of their breed. A sigh left his mouth as she brushed her muzzle against his in the way she did when she wanted something from him.
"They can choose which name they want when they're older," he replied dryly, "but I'm never going to call them by those names. You can do that outside of the league I don't care, but don't expect me to call them by a stupid snowkit or dustkit or ratkit or whatever."
Eshek rolled her eyes, slumping into herself and letting out an audible breath as she hunkered down for the duration of Bermondsey’s same-old, same-old rant. She would never stop being annoyed by his conservative narrow-mindedness — the way he’d been taught as a kit was the right way, the only way, and getting him to deviate from it even slightly was like pulling teeth — but any hurt that might have twinged at having her ideas shot down so immediately was overruled by her affection for him, and by how used she was to this by now. She supposed she might have been a bit more like him in the past, before joining DayClan and being forcibly exposed to them, but even so the degree to which he went out of his way to avoid any connection to the Clans was bizarre. Like, if he and a Clanner showed up wearing the same outfit he’d go change. But Ber was Ber, stubborn and infuriating, and she loved him.
She played with her kits to amuse herself, softly batting at them with her paws and smiling down at them. When finally he stopped talking, she looked up. “You done? Good. We can talk more about it when you’ve had a nap and aren’t so cranky.” She knew that, whenever she eventually decided on their Clan names, the second she mentioned it to Ber he’d suddenly go ’wait, wait, wait, hold on, that’s an awful name, no child of mine is being called that’ and then irritably compile a list of better ones like he’d never been opposed to it in the first place — because if she insisted on having Clan names then they’d better be good ones. So it was pointless to push the issue now; she’d get it one way or another. “As for League names — can we talk about those? Sir?” With a mocking snort, a treacherous little grin hooked at the edge of the mouth and she looked down at one of the she-kits. “For this little rat,” she said with utter, teasing love in her voice, stroking her paw over her ears, “something like my mother’s name and mine — Nour.” With a smile, to punctuate the name and introduce her properly to her father, Eshek lifted Nour by the scruff and placed her between Bermondsey’s forepaws, leaning down to touch her nose reassuringly to the tiny kit’s when she squealed confusedly.
“And for this one,” she picked the only tom-kit up by the scruff and laid him gently beside his sister with Ber, tilting her head to look down at him fondly, “I was thinking Laertes.” There was a smile in her voice as she said the name. It might have seemed strange that Eshek would honour her father in that way, with a name along the same track as his own, but to her it was simple; however much she had hated him, however much she had murdered him, he was still family, and she still felt guilty, and this was an odd, tender, indecipherable little nod to that. It was quite the change, to go from her disgust at Lorah to looking down at a son with such love. But she’d grown since she was a child. “He looks like you,” she purred to Ber, looking up with squinted, glittering eyes. “Just not so ugly.”
His ear twitched in annoyance at her dismissive tone. Of course this was already going to be irritating, he thought dryly, dealing with her the moment the kits came out. He had expected that almost, and this was no surprise to him at all. "I can take a hundred naps and my opinion still won't change," he snorted, swiping a paw across her ear as if calling her a dumbass. He had always thought those stupid clan names were terrible, and the fact that he had a nephew and niece in the clans didn't change his mind at all. He'd never call them by those names anyway, so why did that matter?
"The rat looks like you," he snorted, glancing down to the kit he had brought over to his paws, who seemed more annoyed than anything that she was being moved around while trying to sleep. His whiskers twitched in amusement. "They seem spoiled already," he scoffed, nudging the hairless little creature, before glancing to the one tom of the litter. Laertes. He had no problem with the names so far. He turned to the other two.
"Matilde," he gestured to the smallest of them all, a fluffy bundle of white fur. He had no one to name the kits after, really. He wasn't going to name any of them after his father lest they inherited his curse through name, but his mother...he was almost glad none of them looked like her. His parents had always had this fixation on regal names of some sort, and that hadn't changed with Bermondsey. He always did have a thing for names that differed from those plain ones around them, after all. He wasn't Bermondsey if he wasn't pretentious.
"This one could be Cordelia," he shrugged, looking at the oldest, "all of them are better looking than you, even if they look like those mole rats from the tunnels nearby."
“Oh, bla-bla-bla,” Eshek shot back at Bermondsey in an ugly, mocking voice to hide the wave of mushy, sentimental love that flooded through her at the names, squeezing one eye shut to avoid his paw when he swatted her tattered ear, but the smile on her face betrayed her. All their kits had names. Their kits. She was going to cry again; instead, she tipped her head back slightly, sniffing not-really-that-subtly and blinking back tears, thinking she was hiding it very well. “Well, they’re not horrible,” she told Ber with her head still tipped back, voice unimpressed. But when she lowered her head back to normal, the sidewards look she gave him, one with a slight smile that said shut up, was everything she really meant. She leaned in to bump her forehead against Ber’s with a brutal clack of their skulls and then looked down at their kits again, that small, soft smile returning to her face as she brushed her paw gently over their heads.
Like that, with heavy golden light filtering in through the curtains and pooling on the floorboards, with dawn birds singing beyond the windows and with dust motes floating in the silence of Bermondsey’s bedroom, the tired new parents spent the rest of the morning.
Eshek and Ber stood at the top of the wide stairs that led down to the entry hall. She was fretting and anxious, perfect little claws frayed by how much she’d been chewing them in recent days. It was their kits’ first time leaving the Mansion, and though they’d become so restless in their room that they’d gotten very accomplished at scaling the curtains and climbing up the bookshelves, she was still terrified about them getting down the stairs by themselves. Her first instinct was to help them, to do everything for them, but Ber, as secretly enamoured as she believed he was with them, especially his daughters, was coldly stubborn about a hands-off approach — these were the Warden’s kits, the children of the prince in line to the League’s throne, and they had to have the pride to look after themselves. She agreed, but it didn’t make it any easier to stand back and watch. What if they fell? What if they bumped their heads? What if they needed her?
She twitched and squirmed at Ber’s side, working the long, narrow oriental rug at the top of the stairs with her ruined claws. She was back to her usual thin, lanky self, all ribs and legs; the only sign that she’d been recently pregnant was the slowness of her waist to return to its normal size. It made her look a little softer.
“Careful,” she called to her kits anxiously, ripping more at the rug. There was now a completely frayed patch in it. God, she wanted to run to them. “Tilly — careful.” She slightly crouched down in fear like she’d been hit when one of them wobbled at the edge of one of the steps, her bony shoulders hunched up. “Ber, this is torture,” she whined pitifully, not looking up at him.
I HAVENT ADDED HIM TO THE JOINING THREAD BUT ITS OK ITS OK <33
Laertes was never the lively type. He was the one who sat behind, crouched into himself and watched, albeit curious, as his sisters climbed the walls and the furniture and the curtains to get a peek outside the mansion, something he didn't seem to be as interested in. His fascination was quiet, showed off with a straight, face and a furrowed brow. He preferred staying close to his mother, adored how she fussed over him, her warmth and worry, liked feeling so important to her. Now, his apprehensiveness didn't completely get in the way; with a lumbering step, his steps still new and clumsy, he would knock over books, 'accidentally' push over one of his sisters and cry as if they had done it to him, just because he could, chew up pages and tear up portions of rugs. Just because he was a little bit of a coward didn't mean his parents still didn't have any troubles with him, but he always made sure to act like the mature one, the eldest brother, the example, the golden child, even if Tilly took the spot anyway. He had his own cuteness to him, the way his face was almost permanently in a little frown, his eyes wide and confused, how his fur, although thin, tended to stick up at weird angles. His ears were far too big for his head, his paws just the same, and he always seemed to be tripping over them.
They were going outside now, and he couldn't say he wasn't nervous. Something about it felt a little wrong, leaving the only room he had ever known, and while it wasn't unusual to find him lagging behind, he stuck at the top of the stairs for a little too long.
"Mother, Father, are you sure?" He looked up at them, seeing the very obvious stress from his mother and matching it with his own, because if she was stressed about it, how could it ever turn out alright? He was very similar to his father in both looks and attitude, but where Bermondsey stood aloof and unbothered, Laertes shuffled and sniffled and babbled out his fears. But he looked up to him, loved how they were almost identical, wanted to mirror him in more than just looks, because he was strong and reasonable and the Warden.
He was still drawn to follow his sisters, run ahead and lead them out himself, and the furthest he got was a tentative step down. "What if something eats me?" His frown deepened. "The trees seem so big, what if one of them falls on me and I get crushed and I die?" Despite his worries, he took another step down, making sure to be very careful as to where he put his paws, keeping them far apart from each other so he was awkwardly spread-legged, because he absolutely didn't want to trip over them.
yes he specifically talks like that always. i like to imagine he didn't talk for a bit after everyone else and when he did it was something like "mother, the morning is quite wonderful, is it not?"
Bermondsey sat at the top of the stairs, his own tail brushing against Eshek's shoulder as he watched without emotion as his kits looked upon the abyss–or well, the stairs. They had to learn to get down on their own eventually. He was grateful really, that the entire league's dens were far from the ground floor–that way, they didn't worry as much about predators claiming the kits, or floods and natural disasters making their way to their dens, but at the same time, guarding them and making sure they didn't hurt themselves was a different story. His mother had never babied them; his parents had a very hands-off approach. From birth, they knew what was expected of them, what was necessary for their survival here.
He was torn between being glad that his own kits would never need this sort of lifestyle, and the disdainful voice in his head that sounded too much like his own father, scoffing about how kits these days were getting soft, how they were in their little bubble until they saw the real world, that they'd never survive the same way the older generations would. He tried to shake off that voice as much as possible, but still, he was but his father's son, keeping his own hands-off approach with the kits.
"You'll be fine," the tom spoke with a shrug, "we've all survived the steps haven't we? I doubt a fox would dare challenge us here," amusement flickered across his eyes, "your mother and father are the scariest creatures in this forest anyway. Pretty sure that she could scream at a tree and they'd apologize," he gestured to their mother with a smirk, "they wouldn't dare mess with you, Laertes."
As much as Laertes was cautious, Nour was the absolute opposite. The girl didn't have a single cautious bone in her body. She had already launched herself down the steps, a yelp of surprise as she tumbled down the first two steps before catching a grip onto the carpet, turning back with a wry grin and a brightness in her eyes that seemed too big for her head. "Come on, scaredy-cat," she teased her brother with a wicked glint in her eyes. "Mama, make him hurry up! The grass is going to finish growing and dying by the time he's ready to go," she complained. As always, the mousy kit was as competitive as her parents, or perhaps even more so; she was the type who challenged everything as long as it was there to be challenged. She'd wear doc martens and talk about how edgy and different she was, the art-school kid if it was possible.
"All of you are slowpokes," she screeched as she launched herself off the steps again, this time landing on her paws with delight, as she repeated, leaping down two steps, doing another tumble down the rest, landing properly once more as she reached the bottom, "I'm going to be a hunter by the time you guys get down here!"
Ber’s dry joke helped to dispel some of her fear and she was reminded for the hundredth time that day why she was so grateful to have him. Your mother and father are the scariest creatures in this forest anyway. She smiled at him, genuine and tired-eyed and flattered. “You’ll be fine, baby,” she told Laertes in a gentle murmur, hoping she sounded more sure than she felt. She gave him an encouraging little nudge towards the stairs with her nose, sitting back up with a strained smile and feeling a small swell of pride when he approached them.
But then Nour brought it all thundering back.
“Oh my God,” Eshek sobbed as Nour launched herself down the stairs, covering her eyes with her paws and hiding her face against Ber’s shoulder. “Tell me when she’s dead or alive,” she cried, giving up. These kits weren’t going to make it past midday. Was this what she was like? Was this why Ber had insisted she stop throwing herself into death-defying stunts? She was going to become a nun. This was the most awful thing in the world. Maybe when her daughters got older, she’d love going on terrifying adventures with them. For now, though, she was glad beyond reason that her son was a coward. Ber might be frustrated by how much time Laertes spent hanging around her paws and tripping her up when she forgot he was there, but she liked it, liked always knowing where her boy was and that he needed her. Imagine that, Eshek enjoying having a son. “He’ll get down when he gets down,” she called to Nour, too much of a mother who worshipped her kits to be stern, despite her terror. “Don’t rush him. But— but well done,” she added with a frayed smile as Nour preened proudly at the foot of the stairs, a genuine glow of pride squirming its way through the cloud of nerves — both at her fearless strength and at her irreverent, arrogant humour. She was so proud that her kit would one day make people, hopefully men, cry.
Then, the second her kits were preoccupied with the descent again, she turned back to Ber again and collapsed against him, sobbing melodramatically from the sheer stress of this. “Beeerrrrrrrrrrrr,” she wailed into his fur, bumping her forehead again and again against his shoulder. She hooked her forepaws around him, rocking him back and forth.
Cordelia was traipsing down the steps almost too easily, only stumbling over the first one. It almost seemed to thrill her, seeing how quickly her already lanky legs could extend and contract, and she was already three quarters down, throwing glances over her shoulders at her slower siblings. "Stop worrying, mama!" She called with a laugh, springing forward again. "We're fine."
(short but i shall get a feel for her as she grows <3)
He focused on the stairs, face scrunching in concentration as he made the next few steps. "But what if a fox decides today it wants to eat us? What would you do then, father?" He stopped to watch Nour, features donning a scowl as she teased him, silently stuck out his tongue or made a rude face whenever she wasn't looking.
The grass is going to finish growing and dying by the time he's ready to go, although he was unhappy with her words, it made him quicken his pace, because while he wasn't reckless, stupid, or nearly as loud, the slight competitiveness seemed to grace him too. A strong gene, one could say, or maybe influence. It was mixed with the spoiled attitude of a young prince, the assumption that he was his parents' favourite because he was the only sensible one, the mature one, and he stuck out, being their only son.
"It will not!" He yelled after, claws digging into the carpet as he continued, "Mother, tell her to stop making fun of me!"
