Fly Me to the Moon

It was still new and strange and terrifying. Mortis was an uncle. He had been too scared to hold them when they were tiny little things. Scared that his clumsy big paws would squish or hurt those innocent creatures. When he had first looked at Satira and Ark, he had cried. Cried, because they were so beautiful and innocent, and he knew he would do anything to shield them from the world.

The young heir was thinking about those little lives when he happened upon Satira, sitting on a small hill, head craned towards the sky. He settled in beside her, but not too close. Still hyper aware of how tiny and fragile she was beside him. “Hey Tira, whatcha looking at?”

"Mortis Fatalis"