A bedtime story for foxes
“We spoke a little,” you muse. “It told me about you. That waiting is never forever. And… and something else. I don’t remember.”
He looks at you funny. “The moon is that talkative? I never could’ve guessed. Then again, the moon controls the tides and the sea is never quiet.”
“You’ll need to teach me,” you bump your head against his shoulder. “I only understand their language when I’m sleeping.”
(In a dream, come your answers for the future.)
Basking in the sunlight, you sigh, content and warm all over, drinking in the summer like there’s no tomorrow. A pair of sparrows watch from up above, settled on an oak branch. Foxes quietly run past you, never straying close enough to disturb you. You feel strangely at peace, for the first time in a long time.
The meadow opens to a green, vast field, pink and red and yellow flowers jutting their petals out towards the warm glowy light. There’s a river up ahead. A she-wolf crosses it, carrying the last of her pups across. The rest of the pack pays you no mind.
At last, in the far distance, you hear footsteps approaching. No panic surges- you know who they belong to, very well.
When you open your eyes, he’s right beside you, crouching into a sitting position. His eyes are the colour of summer. You reach for him with your arms and he gently takes your head into his lap. You curl up at his legs, and he plays with your hair. For a long time, no words pass between you. They don’t have to. He starts to hum Seabird’s Lullaby.
You close your eyes. When they open, the sun is a little further down. Gwylan is smiling down at you. “Did you fall asleep?”
“Yes,” you sigh, resting your hands against the grass. “I dreamed of the moon.”
“Did you?” He coos, helping you sit. You wrap your arms around his neck. He happily indulges you. “What about the moon then?”
“We spoke a little,” you muse. “It told me about you. That waiting is never forever. And… and something else. I don’t remember.”
He looks at you funny. “The moon is that talkative? I never could’ve guessed. Then again, the moon controls the tides and the sea is never quiet.”
“You’ll need to teach me,” you bump your head against his shoulder. “I only understand their language when I’m sleeping.”
He chuckles. You two sit there and you tell him all about your dreams. Not the nightmares. Those can wait for another day. About the future, the wings you’ve never had, that could that carry you across the skies. About running across the forest and turning into a fox. About the chase and the fur and those that awaited you home.
Gwylan has always been a good listener. You wonder if it is something he picked up across his many lives, or something he had since the beginning.
Eventually the sun becomes almost unbearable to sit under, so you two stand. The wind blows at him and he rests his hand over the tip of his hat. You stare at the nestled flowers atop it. Something returns to you.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks, humorously. You grin. He cups your cheek, almost as if to pinch, but his nose twitches and he stops. “That’s strange. You smell different.”
“Do I?” You don’t even mind how warm your cheeks are turning. You reach up to his hat. Your hand returns with a pink rose. “Funny. The moon said the same thing.”
He stares at the rose and then at you. His face is blank. And then all of a sudden, recognition sparks in his irises and you don’t get a chance to open your mouth, before you’re toppled, your back to the grass, his arms grabbing at you, his mouth on yours.
The world stays as firm as ever, but you don’t care for it at all. You laugh and you kiss him, and you taste his tears as he pulls away to laugh as well. He holds you and doesn’t ever let go.
Your pregnancy is an easy affair, surprisingly. Then again, with Gwylan to pamper you at every turn and need, you doubt you’d be in much pain, even if you were still stuck living under Bailey in the orphanage. You visit the other orphans often, but your love for the place stays as minimal as it has ever.
A few weeks after the two of you know, you stumble into a homey little room, full of toys, blankets and a cradle by the window. It feels different from the rest of the shop, and along the frame, are runes carved into the wood. They feel oddly familiar, when you run your fingers along them. Your memory blanks, just as you seem to remember. When you step away, you see Gwylan rounding the corner and invite him in.
Robin is the first to find out, after your fox. Completely on accident too. You’re taking a walk along the beach, engrossed in some odd spiel about your classmates’ lives. You wonder about some of them every once in a while. Hardly long enough to bother meeting any of them.
You pass a stand with balloons, plushies and knick knacks. Your legs stop in place, as a particular one catches your eyes. It’s a fox plushie, a lot like the one you’ve got Gwylan, years ago. It’s still sitting, hand in hand with yours in some corner of the shop. You and Gwylan held a small wedding for them last spring.
This one is a little smaller and surrounded by a group of matching ones. You go for your money and step to the counter. “I’ll take-,” you hesitate and look down at your stomach in thought, before glancing back up. “I’ll take one of that.”
“Four and a half,” you place the money in the shopper’s hand. “Thank you for your purchase.”
Robin fishes out a ball from water and passes it to a group of teenagers, cheering. They shout their thanks’ and get back to playing. An almost wistful feeling overtakes you.“I thought you had a fox plushie at home,” he says, as you return, holding it to your chest.
“This one isn’t for me,” you shrug, as the two of you begin to walk again. You make a small wave to a passing gull.
“It’s not? Then who is it for?”
“It’s…” you trail off and come to a stop. Robin looks to you, waiting for you to continue. You stare at the waves, as they softly hug the heels of your feet. You realise you’ve settled your hand over your stomach, rubbing under your bellybutton.
The sunlight catches in Robin’s eyes. They grow wide. “You’re getting a puppy?”
“What? No, I’m having a kid.”
Though you suppose he wasn’t that far off the mark. He bombards you with questions and hugs and congratulations, until you’ll a little dizzy.
He’s not the only one- you cannot even hope to escape Sam’s scrutinising eye. Three months along, you walk in- she takes a good look at you and drags you to the kitchen. Half an hour later, after three crying episodes and a promise to make her their godmother, Sam leads you out to the balcony and treats you to an incredibly delicious cherry topped crepes.
“If they’re anything like their dad, they’ll appreciate it,” Sam jokes on the way out. You barely restrain a smile. You doubt they’d be able to feel anything, even yours or Gwylan’s occasional prodding, but it’s no bother.
Everyone else finds out in a rapid fashion. Word spreads quickly and soon enough, you’re stopped on Elk street by a passing Sirris, carrying boxes you assume are intended for his shop. He congratulates you vehemently. “Children are a source of joy, as much as they are energy drainers,” he laughs patting your head. “I’m sure you’ll be alright. You were always a rather patient student, all things considered.”
You say your goodbyes and nod towards Sydney, standing in the doorway, as he helps his father unload the boxes into the shelves. He smiles at you, as you walk past.
Some of your other teachers are more subtle in their approach. River, you visit yourself to inquire about some recipes. When you get home and start rummaging through them, you notice she slipped in an easy recipe for baby formula, between the stacks. Winter gives you a long winded history lesson on childbirth throughout history, “to show you how easy and safe it will be when the time comes.” You gesture towards your flat stomach and he sends you out with old photos of Gwylan’s father.
You put it up in the nursery, next to a photo of you and Gwylan, standing before the ocean and grinning at the lens. You rub the golden heart on your collar. It sends a jolt of warmth throughout your fingers.
Your body changes slowly, as the kid grows. You try to talk Gwylan into visiting a hospital, albeit begrudgingly yourself, to have an ultrasound done, but he assures you he “has his own methods”. These methods apparently include you lying down on the floor, while he draws a pentagram around you, and has you undress to your underwear. You glare at him the whole way through.
“One might think you’d be immune to my charms at this point, dear,” he says, as you cross your arms defiantly. The room is barely illuminated, bathed in more shadows than light. Shelves and piles of knick knacks surround you, aside from the catastrophic amount of mannequins and clothing racks.
You glare towards them, shielding yourself from the faceless looks. It does little to soften your lack of comfort.
“Aye, your charms I’ve grown more than accustomed to,” you gesture around the room, with one hand. “It’s the ‘someone-might-stumble-upon-us’ thing that I’m worried about.”
“The shop isn’t so cruel,” he tries, only to get a strange kind of creaking from above, that almost sounds like chuckling. Mocking chuckling. “I’m not so cruel. If anybody does barge in, we’ll say we’re trying out a seance.”
“All the better for communicating with aged old spirits,” he smirks, flashing canines. “They’ll be drawn to your intimidating curves-,”
You lift your leg to kick him and he wisely backs off. The rest of, whatever it is he’s doing, passes quickly enough and, luckily, no one stumbles upon your concerning display. Gwylan steps above you and draws a shape in the air. It glows, but you can’t seem to concentrate on it.
After a while, the shape changes and floats next to you. It’s a blue, inky kind of light, with a red dot of light emitting from the very middle. You think you make out a body around it. A small and alien like one. You watch as it circles, slowly- it almost looks like they’re trying to stretch for a yawn. Gwylan sits next to you on the floor, transfixed. His hand reaches into the light.
You have to remind yourself this is his first child too. In the technical sense, at least. Gwylan has told you, how strongly he feels towards all those past memories, but how he has never felt them to be his own. It’s like they are right there in his head, but feel imbedded, carved in, not earned through experiences. Those children, they’re all still truthfully his memories to retain. But they’re not his own. His hands have never held his own child. His eyes have never gazed into those bestowed by his own blood.
It makes everything, just a little easier to bear. Knowing that you’re not alone in this. That for once, this is a first for him too.
You reach for the light. Your fingers brush against his and he intertwines them.
“It’s a girl,” he tells you, quietly. You muse and lean over, resting your head on his shoulder. You close your eyes and bring his hand to your stomach. There’s a small bump. Barely anything. She’s probably smaller than your fist. Gwylan’s touch is soft and comforting. You wonder if the baby can feel it too. She must, else you’re imagining all those fluttering twists in your womb. He kisses the top of your head as the glow fades.
The further into your pregnancy, the less you find your clothes comfortable. As the third trimester nears, the only ones that still fit you, are your pyjamas, a bathrobe and every tunic Gwylan has in his wardrobe. He seems rather smug seeing you sigh and put away your clothes only to slip into his. You compromise by helping him into your jeans, each time he prepares to go out.
You don’t mind his clothes, truthfully. They’re surprisingly comfortable, especially when you march out to the forest or walk around the shop, helping customers around. Gwylan seems more and more hesitant about you moving around as much, each day. He has the face of fighting the urge to lock you in the bedroom and confine you to the bed, each time you yip in surprise or nearly trip over something. You assure him you’re fine, but words can only do so much.
Most days, his excitement overrules his worry, which also helps quell yours. He talks to your belly every chance he gets, about the weather, the socks you’re wearing, the customers coming in, and even how bright the fire burns, when you’re huddled up in the evenings, trying to warm yourselves against the winter chill.
You sleep longer, warmer, but never feel as satiated, as you used to. Your daughter hardly makes an effort to inconvenience you, but your sleep comes as a price tag and your dreams are always strange. They’re of the sea and the deep red forest, of drowning and of two moons dancing in a black sky. You never quite remember them when you wake- they fade into the darkness of obscurity, hidden in the corners of your mind. Sometimes you wonder if the kid dreams them too. You can’t decide how that makes you feel.
“You’ll be braver than me,” you tell her under your breath, after waking from one such dreams. You watch the stars from your seat on the windowsill, tapping your fingers against the glass. “I’m too afraid to find what’s hidden in these woods. Those who drowned in that lake, their bodies still lay, waiting for someone to return them home. Perhaps you’ll have all the bravery I do, and none of the doubt.”
You have many hopes for your daughter. But the strongest is, by a margin, not to leave her. Never to leave her and never let her lose Gwylan, either. You will not repeat the same tattletale, simply because you refuse to let her go through what you’ve gone. Fear seizes you at night, when you think about you and Gwylan being gone, leaving her alone for the likes of Bailey to come scouting. No, she will be loved and cared for, and she’ll never have to lay awake at night like you do now, asking any gods above, to stay their hand at your fate and let you be there, every time she needs you.
There will be no talks of debts, or tolls, and she will never have to see Bailey’s face. There will be no lying about men, about the world. You may sweeten it some, but you’ll never speak false of what awaits behind home’s safe doors.
The floor creaks. Gwylan steps behind you and gently wraps his arms around you. You lean back against him and he sets his chin on the top of your head. The two of you stay quiet, watching the sky, an endless maze of stars, twine with blues and blacks creating something of a web weave behind.
The forest is so very dark at night. Animals become much more hasty and confident in the shadows, when they can slink through trees and disappear as easily as snapping their paws. It’s when the hunt truly begins, for the prey and predator alike. You think you hear wolves howl, far away in their cove. Your hands pull your body over the edge, back into the room. Gwylan helps you stand, steadying you in your step.
“There we go, dear. It’s a long journey, awaiting us.”
You chuckle and crawl back into bed. Your dreams are not any less strange.
At the very last day of February, your waters break.
You don’t actually realise, for half a moment. Gwylan is the one who calls out to you, as if the shop had shouted to warn him. He comes through a bookshelf and you suddenly feel all very faint. Your knees give out. You black out for just a few seconds, but when you open your eyes again, the mannequins are carrying you into the garden and Gwylan is holding your hand, digging through his satchel with the other.
“Here you are. Don’t worry my dear, you will be alright,” he says as you’re laid down, into some soft cushions. Above you, the red sky blooms like blood trickling from a wound. You blink at him, all in slow succession. He pats your head. “I’ll make sure this is as painless as possible for you, alright?”
“Gwylan I appreciate the enthusiasm,” you start and have to choke, as a wave of pain rattles through you. “But- maybe we should really go to the hospital. I don’t- ugh- I don’t want you to have to-…”
He hands you a rag to bite on. You take it into your mouth, as your body clamps up and seizes you in its terrible grasp. Eventually Gwylan pulls it away and offers you some leaves, to put over your tongue.
“It’s not my first time helping someone in delivery,” he tells you kindly, massaging the top of your head, as your eyes swim with tears. “So don’t panic.”
“I wasn’t going to, before you put it in my head,” you spit back, hissing, as pain surges through you. Your skin feels like it’s writhing, begging to burst and rip itself off you. You heave and barely restrain yourself from screaming.
Gwylan takes something from his bag and brushes it over your lips. “Now, everything will be alright. Just concentrate on pushing- I’ll relieve all of your pain besides it.” As he draws his hand back, you feel your senses fading, clouding, until everything is swimming and you’re suddenly very light. You’re only conscious enough to feel his lips press against your forehead and hear him whisper sweet encouragements, as you labour.
Your eyes feel so very heavy, and the world, so very unpleasant. You let your eyelids shut and everything distances. You still feel the sting every now again- but most of it is far away, like it’s not happening to you, but someone else, far away to not even hear.
You keep pushing. It feels like something rolls from under your feet. You suddenly become very strangely weightless and- alone. As if someone has stripped you of something very dear, very quickly. Your body deflates.
You only snap back to reality when you hear the crying.
You’re laid up against a handful of pillows you don’t remember being present beforehand. The sky is still red, but the moon down, gliding through the horizon. The pain comes all of a sudden, like you’re stabbed from all sides, but you care little and less. Your eyes search the room and you see Gwylan then, at your side, scooting over. He is smiling, his eyes crinkled and a little tired. You doubt you look any better. In his hands, a bundle is cradled.
You stare at it. His smile widens and shovels his arms to you. Your hands are clammy, but so very strong all of a sudden. You nearly rip it from his hands.
Your daughter has a crinkly, red and freckled face, a full head of mousy brown hair and two big eyes that are full of tears. Her fox ears stick out, small and twitchy. You bring her to your chest and help her latch onto your breast. She takes to it eagerly. You’re so take aback by her, you feel like you can’t breathe. She stops crying soon enough and as you bring her back to look her over, you think she even gives you a toothless smile.
The pain seems to be completely snuffed out from you, as you hold her. You kiss her face, smiling like a fool, but caring not at all.
“Hi there, Aderyn,” you say softly, brushing your fingers over her peachy face. Her eyes are not quite of any colour- just grey and unseeing, but quite fitting. You kiss her nose. “My little girl. My sweet, sweet girl.”
You hold her, as dawn breaks over the treeline, far away, blazing the red sky gold. The first day of spring, is the first your daughter is laid to your arms. The first breaths she takes, the first touch she feels. Gwylan sits next to you. You lean your head on his shoulder and he hugs your waist as the two of you marvel over your baby.
“She’s so small,” you say, after a while. Gwylan bumps her nose. “She could hide in a mushroom patch and we’d never know.”
“She could be a little mushroom herself and we would stay none the wiser,” he muses, tracing your daughter’s features. You pass her over, after some time and Gwylan holds her close against his collarbone. His fingers start to tremble and his green eyes seem to stay off focus. You pull him close, as the first sob rips through his body.
You have never known loving someone so much could be possible, until Aderyn was born. You take her to your bed all day as you recover, watch her sleep and breathe, and never take your eyes off her. She does quite nothing, except sniffle, eat and sleep, and you have never seen something so endearing in your life.
She could be a child of an Auriga vessel, a daughter of a hunter, left by the door, alone and abandoned, and you’d still love her the same. She could cry day and night, hit you with her small iron fists, or even hate you, and you’d still love her no less. She could be a daughter of someone else entirely. You wouldn’t care. Not at all, not even a little bit.
You cradle her to your chest, when you start walking again. No one had warned you how much blood there would be after the birth. You have to wear a new cloth between your legs every few hours at best. Gwylan assures you it’s quite normal, that all that blood that you had accumulated throughout those nine months, simply needed to exit now. If the bleeding doesn’t stop in some weeks, though, that would raise concern. But for now, you carry your daughter around, as Gwylan holds your hand and helps you around.
He talks to her probably even more than you do. It’s about everything- the colours of the sky, the fabrics of the shop’s clothes, the paper clips lying on the counter. When he’s not telling stories, he sings to her, some kind of variation for the Seabird’s Lullaby you hadn’t heard before. You hum along sometimes. Aderyn always looks perplexed at the singing. Then again, she looks perplexed with much of everything.
It’s all new to her. Every little thing you’ve grown used to, she’s living through for the first time. The sunlight streaming through the window, the wind breezing past her cheeks. Sometimes, she even seems surprised with the noises she herself makes. The world is a complete mystery to her. It’s impossible for you not to love her. She’s the only innocent person in your life.
For a baby, she’s rather quiet, save the ever occasional burping and gurgling when she’s laid up in her cot. At five months, she only ever seems to attempt at talk with you or Gwylan, and even then, it’s just huffing and mumbling, incoherent to all ears that listen. It's not so surprising, she is still a very young child. When any other people visit, she buries her face in your neck or Gwylan’s arm and starts sputtering into tears. Even good natured Robin seems to have trouble getting into her good graces.
Sam takes to it like a natural. Aderyn seems to be wary of her at the start, but quickly changes her mind, after Sam gifts her a pink, glittery dress. She marvels at it, completely struck, before demanding with her plump hands to be picked up and carried around. Sam laughs and obliges, as you breathe a long sigh of relief as Gwylan chuckles.
"I have a whelp of my own," she explains, handling your daughter, like she would a ship or plane. "Getting his masters in nursing overseas now. Little rascal refuses to come home."
You can't imagine. The thought of being apart from your daughter makes you ache, even if you know, that time would not be any soon. "Seems you miss him."
"His mayhems I certainty don't," Sam smirks, swaying Aderyn, who looks so wholly in her element, it makes you smile. "Quite a lively one, is she?"
You hum as Gwylan stands. "She rolled over, barely a month old," he takes Aderyn into his arms, who looks a little dizzy from all that spinning. "We think she's starting to walk already."
"She'll make for a good athlete one day," Sam pats her head one last time.
At seven months, Aderyn's hair flares up red out of nowhere.
Neither of you notice it. After spending every waking moment with her, it's hard to pick up on any changes, good or bad. Gwylan has her checked for any illnesses every few weeks, letting her taste and touch all kinds of strange concoctions, and that's when you take a good look at her, shift your gaze to Gwylan and realise her hair has gone aflame.
The both of you spend some time looking it over. It’s not quite crimson red, more ginger and brown. You think it’s rather pretty. Your daughter grows impatient and looks on the verge to throw a tantrum, so you stop with your prodding and leave her be.
"It must be the Winter genes springing up," Gwylan says, after you've put her to bed. She always sleeps with the little fox plush tucked under her arm, the one you've got her at the beach. Her snores are almost indistinct, as she shifts under the blanket.
"It fits her," you lean over the crib, watching her chest rise and fall. "She looks even more like a fox."
"A wickedly quiet one, at that," Gwylan agrees. He brushes a reddish lock from her face. Aderyn scrunches up her nose, but doesn't wake. You fall into a harmonious silence, only ever disturbed by the rare bird, flying past or resting on the windowsill. After a long while, Gwylan looks to you and cups your face. You glance over at him, a little surprised. "You should go rest some. I’ll make dinner for us, don’t worry.”
You grimace. “I’d rather you stepped not a foot in my kitchen.” Even though you hardly care about that at all. Your hand tightens on the cradle.
Gwylan notices. His look changes a bit. “Listen. She won't disappear into thin air, just because you're not here. I'll take care of it.
Quiet follows. Your lips purse. You hesitate, mulling it over your head. Your every instinct screams to turn away and refuse. Your other instincts tell you to trust to Gwylan. "Alright," you say finally, pressing your forehead to his. He seems to see through you, almost as if waiting for something. “What?”
“You…” he thinks for a moment, as if deciding on how he should broach it. “You keep dreaming of her, aren’t you? Of something bad happening to her. You wake up crying, saying her name.”
“I…” A dullness overtakes your body. You close your eyes. If you dig deep enough, you may still see them. "Sometimes. I- dream that I'm running from someone through the woods. They’re always much faster than me, much stronger than me. They catch me and she's ripped from my arms, sobbing, and I can't do anything to get her back. And my dreams, they-,”
"Often mislead you or try to trick you into doing really foolish thing," Gwylan says, very seriously. His fingers hold your jaw softly and the sharpness in his eyes fade. "You know I'll always do anything in my power to protect her. Even if the price should be my own life. You and our daughter are the most important people in my life, my dear. I'm not willing to lose either of you."
"Fate is nothing you can fight against."
"Fate brought you to me," he leans in and kisses you. You briefly still, before returning it, and putting your hands on his shoulders. You part, slightly flushed, as he grins over at you. "I'd say a fight is worth a shot."
"You're impossible," you kiss him again. "I love you."
He whispers it back, as you two stumble out of the nursery, kissing and giggling, like two teenagers high off their minds, with no responsibilities to share and no more burdens to carry.
Your daughter grows quickly and healthy. She crawls at six months and walks at nine. It seems you'll look away and she'll be running already. Her steps are still rather uncertain for a while, but she has an able mind and a very serious face to save her, in such a scenario. Seeing her all bundled up in coats and fur, trying to stagger through mountains of snow, becomes one of your favourite pastimes with Gwylan, when the two of you are not busy. The shop watches over her when you can't, so she doesn't fall over and catch her death in the snow. For a child approaching one, she acts like a child approaching two.
Aderyn is absolutely enamoured with the snow. She spends the whole of December watching snowflakes and trying to eat one, while you do your best to prevent it from happening. You find her held up by one of the mannequins at midday, in late January, suckling on her thumb, as another shows her black and white photos of tundra, from some old album you've never seen before. "Ryn, c'mere darling, time to nap," you say, lifting her from the mannequins arms. She huffs and kicks you a bit, but not too hard. You look over the photos. "Quite pretty, isn't it?"
"Alright, fine, let me get you to bed."
She huffs and grabs your sleeve in annoyance, before opening her mouth and very clearly pronouncing, "Fox." You stop dead in your tracks. You stare at her, as she wiggles in your arms, hands patting your left arm and repeating, "Fox."
"Fox?" you ask her in bewilderment, the nap forgotten.
She smiles and nods vigorously. "Fox!" she giggles, in perfect agreement.
You call out for Gwylan, and look back to see the mannequins all covering their mask mouths with their hands. Only now do you notice the small dot of a fox shape, in the middle of the photo, running across a snow field.
After your daughter says her first word, she doesn't seem to want to stop speaking more. By the time her first birthday rolls around, Gwylan gets her to say 'yes' and 'no', although they sound more like 'es' and 'na'. A couple months later, she also starts saying 'buf' when she needs a bath and 'ut' when she wants to go out. Soon after that, she learns to run and then, it's just racing and jumping and shrieking for her. By the time her second birthday arrives, she speaks some sentences and starts to learn to climb, all with your and Gwylan's supervision, that is. Her hair stays a reddish brown and her eyes, a shade of green just darker than Gwylan's.
She loves stories, loves listening to her dad sing, loves running around the shop and accompanying you across the forest. Gwylan makes her a little bracelet, silk woven and matching her eyes. Matching your own collar. Gwylan seems to regret the design every now and again, offering to style it into a necklace or some kind of leg bracer, but you don't quite mind it. It has long since fit you and even if you've grown resentful of it now, it's still symbolical to you- of your past, of your youth. And you think you'd miss it, somewhat.
One night, you awaken to two glowing green eyes watching you sleep. Normally, this would and should instil a panic into someone, but you're quite used to it. Gwylan is missing from bed, finishing up with the ritual vials for tomorrow down in the garden. Your daughter is four and not allowed to sleep in your bed any longer, but it seems she has snuck past the guarding plush foxes and limbered into your room.
Her green eyes eventually stop glowing. She's nearly touching your forehead with hers.
"Hi," you whisper back, craning your head. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I had a nightmare," she tells you, fox ears twitching. "That the moon fell and shattered into bunch of pieces."
You nod, used to these kind of nightly visits by now. You wait for her to continue.
"Can I sleep with you tonight, mummy?"
You sigh. You fix her with a hard stare. "You know the rules, Aderyn," you shift the blankets and make some space. She grins happily and clambers in beside you, burying her face into your chest. You rub the top of her head, until her breathing slows and her grip loosens.
When Gwylan returns, you yourself are half asleep. You think you see him smile, as he dresses into his nightclothes and kisses Aderyn’s hair. He rounds the bed and snuggles in behind you, your tails entangled.
By night's end, the gull's nest is not so empty after all.
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