[mature] a wind full of infinite space; Longclaw

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

The bites she gives only serve to continuously shock him further into awareness. Longclaw feels … asleep. Or, somewhere between asleep and awake. He can’t put his finger on it.

He’s a father now, whether he likes it or not and (Gods love her) Femur is the only creature privy to his moments of weakness. For the second time she holds him together and for the second time, she reminds him of who he is. Longclaw, made of flame and built to eat flesh. The greatest tracker in his line. A hunter, a killer, son of two powerful animals that made a game of treading Beqanna soil and her inhabitants beneath their hooves. Twin to a sister who could pluck the strings of your mind like it was nothing.

Femur needs him now. Wildling needs him now, (as Femur has so aptly named him) and so when his lover’s pale fangs strike down once more only to draw blood, he snaps his head aside with viper-like speed to return the action forcefully. “Stop that.” He growls, blinking away the last bits of fog from his mind. Quickly, the flash of his bright tongue glides across the dark stain of his lips and then he collects himself before continuing.

“Wildling suits him. He suits us. You did well to bring him here and if you find any others,” He pauses, unaware that his little ghost is already one step ahead of him, “bring them too.” The stallion confirms. With the tilt of his body Longclaw slopes his crested neck to offer flared nostrils for his son to inspect. This boy, and any other Femur chooses to mark as her own, will never have to fear his wrath.

The guard of Tephra grows tired of pointless things and right now, everything aside from their budding family is pointless.

When the colt tires of inspection, Claw turns his attention back to the mother with only a single question in mind. “You didn’t want one of your own?”

He's happy to oblige, of course.

@[Femur] this is poopy but I wanted to throw something up and keep it moving!