They seemed to sense my presence immediately, lifting their tiny noses and testing the air while squeaking as they staggered around. I couldn’t help but smile as one toppled over another.
The smallest of the three came closer so I reached out a hand for it to sniff me. The pup was interested; it licked my fingers before losing its balance and falling over. I stifled a laugh, not wanting to wake Emilija. The other babies wound their way towards me, until all three of them were trying to climb into my lap. I assumed they were cold and sought my body heat, but that didn’t bother me.
Having the fat, wriggling babies in my arms was enough to make me forget about all the bad things that have ever happened to me. It was as though they were instant anti-depressants.
I picked them up one by one and inspected them; there were two girls, and one boy, who was the largest of the three.
‘You’re going to be just like your daddy,’ I whispered, holding him close to my face. ‘You’re going to be a big boy and look after your sisters.’
I secretly named the three Vulmessian kits. I decided on a nature-theme, just like Hawthorne’s.
I called the smallest female Willow, because she had the skinniest legs, and the longest fur so far.
The second female I called Rue, after the flower, as her eyes had a lilac hue similar to the plant that grew in my mother's front garden.
And lastly, I called the male Shadow, in anticipation of the shadow he would cause when fully grown. I had a feeling he was going to be big.
‘Willow, Rue, and Shadow,’ I said out loud.
I looked up and saw that Emilija was watching me with narrowed eyes. I froze, worried that she would become protective over her young and attack. However, she simply groaned and curled up, placing her bushy tail over her face, continuing to sleep.
I let out the breath I’d been holding and smiled. Emilija, it seemed, trusted me with her babies.
~
I was beginning to feel like a sitting duck.
Two days passed, and we were still in the windmill because we couldn’t travel. I was able to walk on my leg again, with a slight limp, but I couldn’t take Hawthorne away from his mate and children. He brought her food when she couldn’t hunt, and the babies were not old enough to travel.
So we stayed in the windmill. I made myself productive by cleaning the space as much as I could, removing most of the owl droppings and broken items that littered the floor. The kits had doubled in size over the last forty-eight hours; their sparse fur was becoming thicker and whiter with each passing hour. Their eyes were now completely open, and each had a different colour.
Willow’s eyes were hawk-like, and yellow just like her mother’s, whilst Rue’s eyes had become a brilliant purple, and Shadow took after his father, with shocking blue eyes.
I was glad that Emilija did not mind me interacting with her young. I played with the three Vulmessian pups while the parents slept, ate, or went hunting. Hawthorne was teaching Emilija to find her own food, which she brought back for her babies, who were already beginning to eat meat.
The Vulmessian pups preoccupied me, meaning there was hardly any time left in the day to worry about myself.
Willow, Rue, and Shadow played rough and tumble with one another while their parents watched. I could see in Hawthorne’s eyes that he wanted to join the fun, but he was far too strong to play so roughly. Instead, he let the trio climb all over him, nipping and tugging on his fur, their bushy tails wagging excitedly.
On the fifth day at the windmill, I sat at the top of the hill, just outside the windmill’s door, and watched Emilija, Hawthorne, and the triplets tumbling down the grassy slope. The pups bounded back to the top, before allowing themselves to roll all the way back down to their parents again. It was quite a sight watching the playful family, but it made me miss my own family even more.
Willow, Rue, and Shadow were now completely covered in thick, white fur. They looked no older than the day I’d found Hawthorne. Had he really been only a few days old when I’d taken him? Did this mean the triplets were now old enough to be taken away from their mother? I couldn’t imagine separating them from Emilija, but then I remembered that Hawthorne didn’t have a mother; he’d been created by a Mage.
As I watched the three balls of fur wrestling in the grass at the bottom of the hill, I daydreamed about Jack, missing him more each second. It was getting to the point where the thought of him was physically painful; it was like a tight grip wrapped around my heart, squeezing every time Jack entered my mind. It had dawned on me how much I really needed him, and I wondered why I’d taken his company for granted. I’d always been really hard on Jack, holding him at an arm's length, and now I wanted nothing more than to hold him and never let go.