Galadriel is enamored with the kits, feeling a twisting in her chest that she's never quite felt before. She blinks rapidly down at the thin foxes, wondering if there's anything she can do to help them (and also wondering why she, of all beings, cares for their mewling so). They're terribly helpless, the little kits, and perhaps it reminds her of when she was so helpless and misunderstood.
Where is there mother? she thinks, turning her head left then right, moving just in time to catch the approach of Laurelin. The indigo of her eyes sparkles as she peers at him, considering his pretty face and glittering gold.
"That racket," she states pointedly, "is coming from these defenseless kits here." She doesn't offer her name or any pleasantries, just turns back to the slightly shifting babies. Rel sighs and droops her head down toward them, close enough to see if there is a fresh motherly scent. It's too close, though, and the babies start squealing in fear. "Mmm," she hums, pulling away, back to Laurelin.
He doesn't look like he'll be any help, she thinks, offering nothing but a blank stare. Eventually, Rel does sigh and concedes, "I'm Galadriel. You are? Do you think there's anything we can do to help them?"
@Laurelin