Cicadabuzz steps into the nursery with the unhurried, steady tread of one who belongs to quiet places. The den is warmer than the rest of camp, its air rich with milk and moss, the faint breath of tiny bodies shifting in their nests. Their eyes adjust quickly to the softer light, the dappling of sun through the walls and feathers pressed into bedding. It is not Jadethorn they seek first; instead, their gaze slips past the queen and lands on the bundle of six small pelts, all twitching paws and drowsy sounds. They move closer, crouching low, and their tail brushes the ground in a slow rhythm, leaves woven into its fur rustling faintly. Cicadabuzz noses at the first kit, brushing their muzzle along the tiny body to check warmth and breathing. A faint rumble leaves them, not quite purr, not quite sigh, as they listen. Healthy. Strong.
The second kit is stretched out on its back, tiny ribs rising and falling with a rhythm Cicadabuzz counts against their own heartbeat. They press a paw gently against the kit's flank, feeling the soft give of a full belly. No hollow cries, no wheeze. They move on. The third squirms as they approach, letting out a squeak of protest as if aware of the scrutiny. Cicadabuzz leans close, ears twitching forward, as they listen to the strong breaths that allow the clear squeak. They do not smile, but the quiet approval is there, woven into the flat tone.
Fourth and fifth are curled together, pelts mingling. Cicadabuzz bends to part them, careful not to wake more than necessary. They check paws, ears, the thin skin around eyes not yet fully open. They trace lightly along each spine, noting alignment, strength, the thrum of life beneath. They eventually reach the smallest. Cicadabuzz lingers longest here. Their paw is careful as it presses firmly to the kit, listening for any flutter that might betray weakness. When the sound of the heart proves steady, they nod to themself, withdrawing their paw. Only then do their eyes flick toward Jadethorn. They straighten, their voice low and even. "The kits are healthy." They don't comment on the fact that she withdrew from camp to have them, seeing no reason to give voice to her avoidance of them.
@Jadethorn
The second kit is stretched out on its back, tiny ribs rising and falling with a rhythm Cicadabuzz counts against their own heartbeat. They press a paw gently against the kit's flank, feeling the soft give of a full belly. No hollow cries, no wheeze. They move on. The third squirms as they approach, letting out a squeak of protest as if aware of the scrutiny. Cicadabuzz leans close, ears twitching forward, as they listen to the strong breaths that allow the clear squeak. They do not smile, but the quiet approval is there, woven into the flat tone.
Fourth and fifth are curled together, pelts mingling. Cicadabuzz bends to part them, careful not to wake more than necessary. They check paws, ears, the thin skin around eyes not yet fully open. They trace lightly along each spine, noting alignment, strength, the thrum of life beneath. They eventually reach the smallest. Cicadabuzz lingers longest here. Their paw is careful as it presses firmly to the kit, listening for any flutter that might betray weakness. When the sound of the heart proves steady, they nod to themself, withdrawing their paw. Only then do their eyes flick toward Jadethorn. They straighten, their voice low and even. "The kits are healthy." They don't comment on the fact that she withdrew from camp to have them, seeing no reason to give voice to her avoidance of them.
@Jadethorn
