One thing The Joxter didn't like.
Joxter contemplates on being a (good) father. Joxkin. Read at your own discretion.
He didn't like it one bit, the way his body responded. When watching his son sit there, by the river, fishing. Not a care in his youthful, little world; the way the younger Mumriks torso relaxed against the small hill by the lakeside.. That very distinct colour in his cheeks, and their shape from this particular angle. When he would inevitably turn his head to look at the Joxter, his face would sport a big, bright smile, causing small wrinkles to form underneath his deep brown, doe-like eyes. A stark contrast to the Joxters own piercing, ice-blue ones. If it weren't for the thick, wildly growing hair and distinctively pointy nose, he would have been the spitting image of his mother, The Mymble. No, he didn't like it one damned bit. How his Mumrik instincts came alive in response to his son being.. Himself. He absentmindedly uncrossed his legs, assuming a wider posture on the thick log he was sitting at, whilst pulsing lazily on his pipe. Through the smoke from the crackling fire at his feet, he observed Snufkin stretch his body out in the grass, like a delighted, little kitten. His shirt slid up just a tad, revealing pale, delicate skin. A heavy breath escaped Joxters nose. Yes.. A kit. His kit. The one, and possibly only, offspring he'd ever have.. In his care. His Mymble-Mumrik son. "Papa! I think I've got one!" Snufkin shouted from the riverbank, gripping his wobbling fishing rod tightly. "And I think it's a big one!" Joxter watched the sweat beading on his sons forehead. Listened to his panting and groaning. Observed his cheeks glowing red as he struggled. Joxter swallowed and blinked, once. Now, what would a good father do? Quite obvious. Come to his aid. Cheer him on. At the very least, prepare some space for the beast to be gutted once Snufkin had reeled it in.. Yes, that was definitely the right course of action. It was healthy, affectionate and supportive. Very easy to do.. Joxters sensitive ears caught the small gasps that would once in a while escape Snufkins throat as he worked the line. He rested one large paw loosely on his thigh, near his groin, and lightly touched his pipe with the other. His fingers moved instinctively to stroke the smooth length of it, keeping his eyes on Snufkin for a while. Once again, he exhaled deeply. A subtle groan escaped his throat, almost apologetically. Then, he rose and calmly approached the riverbank to come to his sons aid.
Notes: A little written sketch exploring morality and values. I might expand upon it at some point. But for now, this is it. Enjoy. <3 Also, have the soundscape for my creative endeavours here~