She crouches in the den which is alive with the promise of new life. It fills the compact air, floating and seemingly touching the hearts of all who crouch there with her. It is interesting, too, to see how the birth has softened Hannibal, and when the mismatched brute thanks her she closes her eyes and nods, smiling gently. "Of course," she whispers before falling back to the shadows, watching over the young ones like they are her own kin.
Eventually, sleep would overcome the beautiful new mother and Leera would choose to wait a while longer, keeping her attention on the writhing babies in case either whimpered or strayed too far from the warmth of their mother's teats. Banshee. Recluse. Mordecai. In that moment, she decides she will protect them like her own. Nephthys deserves it; they deserve it. Hours pass before Leera finally, unwillingly uncurls from the darkness of the den to seek out her own thicket, where she'd spend the rest of the night in the silent comfort.
-exit-
speech action
Leera is a mature character.
Force/violence is permitted within reason.
Plot with us here!
