Who's Baby Is That?!

Devera brushed her fingers over Irim's face, The egg smelled bad. Sometimes one bad egg masks the scent of the rest. And when one baby started to cry, so did the one next to its mother.

The dragoness murmured something in draconic, before she rose. That's a hunger cry. As was the one in the basket, they cried the same. I was to get... herbs. To better feed Irim. She stated, the list discarded atop her son, tucked at his feet.

She's dismissed the chorus of 'no'. The man in front of her was not fit to raise a dragonling. Especially when they were so young. But then, Devera was not suited for single motherhood, either. And it was showing in the dark bags under her eyes, the fact she's much thinner than when he last saw her.

A Wilder woman taught me how to care for him. Human babies are... not in my instincts to care for. She stated, looking past Ragnar, as Irim wailed louder. Basket in hand, she rubbed her wrist and rocked the child in the air, basket swaying back and forth.

She did not plead with the tiny being, nor did she seem to pay him mind. Her gaze was trained on Ragnar and his mewling bundle. Eventually, the baby in the basket soothed by the rocking hushed. And Devera moved even closer to Ragnar.

How have you kept yours alive? She reached out with one hand, abruptly, aiming to pat Ragnar's chest. No milk here. She seemed baffled; at least in their dragon form, both mother and father could care for a child.