Lark and the kids had spent the whole day on and off playing outside. The weather was enchanting, and Lark was tired of hearing the noise bounce off the walls; there was a diffusing quality to the outdoors and the trees that made everything more manageable.
Duck made orange lemonade(from the frozen tubes, mixed together) and insisted on serving everyone and topping off their cups, until Goose finally engaged him in a thrilling round of capture the flag. A very improvised, incorrect-rules capture the flag, with only three players, one of whom had cerebellar hypoplasia- Raven was unfortunately at a disadvantage.
Lark let it go this time. He couldn't catch Raven's eye to see if he was bothered by it, which probably meant Raven was AVOIDING his gaze, so- it was fine. The grass was soft, the trees were few enough. His siblings were rowdy, but kind. Lark sat with his orange lemonade until Goose demanded he join in a round of catmode tag.
They napped in the sun. They waited for the fireflies to come out, and chased them with gentle paws. Mostly. Oh, Goose.
Lark scooped up exhausted kittens from the grass after dark, and imagined this scene with just one more. Nervously, possessively, while they were too sleepy to care, he brought the kids into his room in the sunken couch bed, which had enough space for the four of them, and he knew it would fit the fifth, the one he'd built it for.
Sooner she got here, sooner she'd be big enough to play with her siblings, and have lemonade, and chase fireflies.
He clenched his teeth, and shapeshifted down to catmode again, licking Duck's head, and Goose...leaving Raven alone, that boy huffed every time he tried.
Down here, below the edge of the upholstery, small as they were, he imagined a dome above, an invisible barrier. It almost felt real.
Raven laid his chin on Lark's arm, and Lark's heart melted. Cats can't cry.
