It did not take long for the Stark children to test their limits outside the den, although they never got too far. Their stubby legs were still weak and uncoordinated, cutting the majority of their adventures short as they usually crumpled to the ground in defeat. Legolas had taken after Lavender and kept to the mouth of the den, his navy blue orbs observing the outside world with obvious disinterest. The other two, however, had embraced Kyrios and Lilliana’s spirit and embraced the world beyond the den. Which, of course, made the weary father grey with worry. Especially on a day where the sky opened up and pummelled the earth with an onslaught of rain drops. P-pa-papa. The small voice reached his ears as he marched back toward his mate’s den, causing a fearful expression to unfold across his pale features. His pace quickened as he scampered forward, his long legs closing the gap between himself and his daughter with ease. Without hesitation the ghost scooped up the tawny girl and padded toward the closest tree. He slumped against the ground and released her, nestling her close against his chest as he listened to the soft hummm of rain hitting the ground. You alright, Mak? He cooed as he pressed a soft lick to her forehead, his chartreuse gaze softening as he searched for signs of trauma.

What it? His daughter’s question was muted against the rain but did not slip past his pointed ears as he pressed another lick to her forehead. The rain, he explained softly as he laid his chin down on the ground beside his daughter’s tawny frame, his chartreuse gaze fixated on the falling liquid. It comes from the clouds in the sky. He paused, his brows tight as he returned his attention to little Makvala. He did not know how much she understood, or retain, but it didn’t matter. The sky must be angry. For now it was a good enough explanation for the little sparrow. He’d explain more about the weather when she was able to remember and understand.

It did not take long for the oldest of the litter to join his sister in the storm, his pale shape streaking through the rain drops as he flailed against the water bullets. An amused laugh tumbled off his tongue as he watched, even though the familiar shadow of worry hung off his shoulders. He made a mental note to grab some herbs from Emrys’ den to fight off any impending colds the little Stark’s might acquire from being out in the rain. As much as he wanted to coddle the pale Stark child, Lachesis let him play in the muck for now. When he decided that the boy had enough grime for one day the ghost would attempt at recalling his son.  

It was remarkable how different the three Starks were already.

Leith was bold and confident, flinging himself into action without a care in the world. Determined was a better word, or fearless.

Makvala was fierce like her older brother but more observant; careful. She was full of youthful curiosity and questions, always wanting to know why, why, why? She definitely took after her mother the most, and for that Lachesis was thankful. He was not sure where Leith had gotten his spunk—wherever Lilliana had gotten hers from, most likely. The rapping superstar would have been quite fond of her pale brother if she had been in the Surge. The father just hoped that the tawny Stark would make a return debut to the Surge to meet her younger siblings…

Legolas, unfortunately, had taken after him. He was nervous and cautious; frightened by his own shadow most days. Even Lavender had been less anxious than the ivory boy as a cub, but he knew (hoped) that little Legolas would grow into himself and, hopefully, out of the nerves that consumed him (just as Lachesis and Lavender had).

Not sure why the sky is angry, he hummed softly, his head tipping to the side, its mood changes all the time. But it’s not always bad. Sometimes the sky is sad, or happy. Rain can be good or bad. He paused, curious as to whether the little sparrow was absorbing his words or not. Rain gives life to all the green. Without rain nothing would grow.

A small laugh escaped him at the girl’s protest. No, Leith won’t make the sky angry, do not worry. His chartreuse gaze swept over to the pale boy as he bounced around the mud. He’s talking to it.