Mumma please

Confusion and anger blurred his thoughts, and Ignita was barely responsive. He held her in his arms, close enough for her to still reach out to Bal and hold their child close. But a look at Bal did not enlighten him. The golden boy looked whole and unharmed. Surely not the source of his Wife’s distress?

It was up to Bal to tell the story, and he was clearly mad instead of hurt with what he had to tell. Citadel had trespassed, Ignita had attempted to make him a slave… his Citadel. His Oldest child, and one of the ones that burned the brightest with his strength and determination. He knew he hadn’t punished the boy enough for his transgressions, but a part of him had been pleased with his spirit. Trespassing was too far. Was this his fault? And Ignita, what had possessed her to attempt to turn him into a slave? His own blood!

His mouth pressed into a thin line, and he glanced at Balrog, who had more to say. The boy's loyalty was clear, and he reached out a paw and ruffled Bal’s fur; he didn’t have the words to tell him in any other way. “I think your mother and I need to talk, son. Thank you for keeping her safe for me.”

"speech" & "speech"