My babies were already losing the battle with their heavy eyelids.
Raiden's little white-and-black ears were drooping, and Phina was content to chew on the edge of her new sleeve. Lyra—the ever-watchful silver doll—was finally going limp in that deep, post-feed satisfaction.
"Three days," Fenric murmured, sitting cross-legged beside me. He reached out and gently uncurled Raiden's tiny, chubby fist from my shirt, his red eyes fixed on the boy's face. "No stone-cutting. No blueprints. No arguments with the council. Just… this."
"Just us," I whispered, closing my eyes for a second. "And a lot of learning. We're going to need to figure out the new version of everything with them, Fenric. They aren't just going to tumble around the grass anymore."
They might start walking on their two feet soon. They don't have teeth yet, but they'll start teething too as well.
Gosh, there are just so many things to take note of.
