Croe gave him a look of mock horror. Then she smirked.
“Never,” she purred, in a way that suggested she might be convinced otherwise. She was up for practice, at the very least. It was a charming fantasy, that they might be like any other mated pair, reliably procreating every few seasons – if one could get past the terrible reality of childbirth, itself. Croe supposed women must get past it; many had multiple children, after all. How much easier it would have been if she were actually a bird.
But then, she doubted a hatchling could be half so pretty as this babe.
Mallos delivered his news matter-of-factly, wiping Croe’s smirk from her face. She gaped a moment, truly stunned, before seizing his chin with her free hand and kissing him, hard. It was momentary – she released him more softly, with a caress along his cheek and a smile that was as close to unadulterated happiness as she had ever come. A sound escaped her like half-strangled laughter. There were no words, no words for this. His attention shifted to their daughter at last, and Croe’s heart sang.
“Any word?”
Her heart stuttered, coughed. She shook her head minutely, her smile turning tight. It was difficult to hold his gaze. She did not want to detract from his victory – shining and triumphant as it was – with her own uncertainty. So she did what she’d always done in such uncomfortable situations; she changed the subject.
Fortunately, there was one murmuring against her breast.
Satiated, the baby looked up at them with her wide, dark eyes, seeing everything and nothing. Croe turned her gently, so that father and daughter might behold each other, face-to-face.
“It occurred to me, while you were away, that you’ve never gotten to name your children. It seems fitting that she will be the first.” Her smile was beatific…or maybe that was just the exhaustion, the relief. One danger had passed. One problem at a time. If they kept this up, maybe they would be alright after all.
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