skill: midwife: 1/5 puppy party with dad?

Their den had never felt so full of life, and the sleep deprived father couldn't help but waste his precious sleeptime looking at his wife curled around their babies. Was it actually wasted, though, when he was able to spend his time committing every single curl of downy soft fur to his memory? He was amazed at each little coo and whimper, every sneeze and milk-drunk sigh, even the soft dulcet tones Fable used when she spoke to their babies. He'd heard her using the same sweet voices when she'd cuddled with the girls, or even when they'd spent peaceful afternoons under the shade of a broad oak with her fingers teasing through his hair. It sounded like home, and it was probably because it triggered some memory of being a pup himself tucked between his silver-bear Aiti and his fireflower Mama. It sounded safe and warm, and it filled the den until there was no space left for worry or doubt.

They both worried still, of course, and it was not an unfair assumption to say his gaze strayed to Faolán often with a more critical eye. He counted breaths, he noticed when he ate, it was enough that both Fox and Fable had talked in hushed tones without wanting to say it directly. For two healers it was particularly cruel to worry over the health of their own. He had an almost stubborn refusal to give any names to whatever was going on with their littlest. Next, a sneeze that he thought came from Lore or perhaps Cressida . He realized as he did another headcount to ensure all five puppies were present, ending with Little One and Aodhán Fable had caught him and was looking rather tickled.

Want to stretch your legs? He offered as he stood in preparation to take her place around the little sprouts. We can handle it, right mes petits chéris? (my little darlings) Let Máthair go get a drink and check for fireflies. His ears perked for the responding burp or sneeze of confirmation, so Fable knew they could handle it.