My words are unerring tools of destruction; Femur/Any

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

For once, Longclaw hardly minds that Femur is gone.

He means this in the best way; Wildling was pressed against the curve of his furry back when he’d awoken (It was imperative that his son know both his forms, that he could see the beast and know it was still alright) and rounding a blinking face upon the youngling, Claw had felt the stake of purpose driven directly through that shriveled heart of his. Femur, beloved as she would always be, had known best and opened a door that had long been locked and shuttered.

She is the light of his world, continuing to illuminate all that is best and fearsome in him.

Naturally, then, he wakes his son by dragging a ferocious, wet tongue up the bridge of his ombre nose. This day is theirs, (his invisible girl is busy, as she always seems to be these days) so they waste no time in making the most of it. Claw finds that settling into his duties as Father are similar to those of a Guard: he trails in Wildling’s hoofsteps, leaving faint pawprints at the epicenter of his curved little marks, saying nothing unless asked and allowing the boy true freedom in the way of exploring.

There is no place on their home island that Wilding can wander where Longclaw will not be close by to keep an eye on him. Femur has entrusted him with this task and he will repeat the duty infinitely - however many foals she chooses to string along like ducklings - because there is exciting joy in watching the mannerisms of his offspring.“My daily rounds have never been so silly, or so interesting …” He thinks, watching the colt with an approving look as Wildling investigates the tide pools. And so the two bond.

A day is a day to them and it stretches thin, bringing along a tempered breeze and the smell of his mate returning home. In an instant he is horse; the wolf forgotten and left inside while he tapers himself to the natural feel of his fire-skin. Wilding, sensing the change in demeanor and understanding the notion of his father’s oddball bodies, draws close with curiosity. “Mother’s home.” The elder stallion relates, a quick smile pulling the bow of his lips taught.

Wildling’s reaction though … it gives Longclaw pause to consider if he’ll have to compete with Femur for his own son’s affection. Nothing can be done to contain the rattling excitement that sends their boy racing away, quick as a dart over the sands; nothing aside from kicking up his own blue heels to follow.

From a distance she materializes, a habit as much a part of herself as anything, and with surprise that is beginning to become less and less animated he sees she’s brought back another youngling with her. What can he do but shake his head? Already Wilding is upon her, the idea that he’ll have another sibling to keep him company much more interesting than a blue babysitter. Claw joins them expectantly and in the moment of their reunion, forgets for a minute that there is anyone but her before him. Femur has ascended to nearly goddess-like stature in his thoughts; everything about her, (from the dark tint of her heathen stare to the silver strands of her luscious tail) everything is perfect.

“Someone is bound to notice your habits, darling.” He teases, aware that she’d stolen one but the others, he only guesses. It doesn’t matter, of course. What she lays claim to is hers by right and if any come looking for them, they’ll find teeth at their throats and fire in their lungs. “Tell me what you’ve found.” He breathes against her, taking liberties to press himself into every wanton curve of her golden body.

Over the supple hills of her rump he glances sidelong, quick to catch sight of the grullo colt and for a moment, he simply stares. Then, the wide flash of his signature smile exposes fangs and Longclaw, the beast that roved the Tephran shore, winks conspiratorially at Gansey.