YOUR EYES GET DARKER EVERY DAY
01-26-2014, 08:00 PM
She works on making a suitable den for herself and her children. Argent knows not if her older children will need such an arrangement (except for maybe Voltaire, whom she watches in glimpses. Her son, she notes, makes a habit of shaking his head, and he seems to refuse sleep), but her little ones definitely will. Regardless of their own will, she does not yet trust they will not come to harm. She will keep them close for now, until they are big and strong enough to defend themselves. For now, her children are so small, and she needs to curl around them at night. It is hard work on three usable limbs; her muscles contract painfully as she clears out the large denning area, going to and fro, gathering fresh and comfortable bedding. She even dares to find a shiny rock or two to entertain her babes, little presents she doesn?t doubt they will find in the middle of the night. Alas, when all is done she relaxes, panting and enjoying the cool Glaciem air upon her neck, even though the ash makes her lungs hack heavily. She ought to find cover, and yet she cannot afford a break. |