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Frost-Flame pulled his head out from between the fronds of a surprisingly large fern. Nope. Nothing. His jaw set in a not-quite-a-frown, he turned to the right and inspected the soft mud by a pool for hoof prints. Or anything prints, really. He would swear on his soul that he'd seen a crane-that-was-not-a-crane before the last clutch he'd fathered had been laid. Now he needed to find something else like it.
"Have you decided on a place to lay the sacs?" he asked Ashblessing, conversationally, "In this weather, we needn't worry about caiman, at least. Just an old friend." The last sentence was muttered under his breath, and spoken only half ironically. Frost was synonymous with death, so far as he was concerned. And what the Swamp was getting now was a little more than the typical winter freezes.

"Moss," Frost-Flame tilted to the side, "I should have thought of that-" His ears went nearly straight up, and he swung his head around so fast, there was a popping sound. "Raise?" the look on his face made it clear that such a thought had never even crossed his mind, "You're thinking of raising them? That's-" Unnatural, he was going to say, but in a rare moment of forethought, decided he didn't want to stuff his hoof in his mouth. "-not how I grew up."

Frost-Flame adjusted his neck again, this time more gently. "Sacs are laid, you hope for the best, and a few seasons later..." he shrugged, "You see how things have turned out. That's the way things have been done forever. Kimeti aren't supposed to hover over their young; it's why we're born ready to fend for ourselves. You have to let the foals come to you, if they so choose, not the other way 'round.

"Sure," he went on, "if one or two or six showed up at my den, of course I'd take care of them. I'd take care of them even if they weren't mine." He screwed up his face in a way that showed he was struggling to find the right words to convey what he meant to Ashblessing. "You have to let them find their own path. Let them decide if they even need a parent. And if they do, if they want you to fill that role." He swished his tail, and repeated "That's the way things are done."

A thought occurred to him, and he cocked his head, "Were you raised?"

Fish Bones was lurking in the brush, watching the pair, when the conversation took an unusual turn. Before thinking about it, or even that he's currently a foxbun, Fish Bones steps out and speaks to the buck. Some Kimeti raise their children. It is rare, I think, but it seems to be getting more common then it once was. Only after sending his thoughts does he remember he's not in Kimeti form. No matter, Fish Bones thinks privately. After all, he'd have blessed then in this form anyway, so they'd have heard him mind-speak. More so Fish Bones is concerned about not knowing what form he was in, maybe he should spend a few days as a stag and get reaquanted with that body. Unless Stags and Mares are supposed to become that used to their other forms, he wonders.

Ashblessing's eyes fly open at the mental words of the foxbun and she stares at the little creature unblinkingly. She has never met a legendary before and is, she fears to admit to herself, somewhat unimpressed. He is decidedly un-majestic, siting there on his haunches like one of a hundred other foxbuns Ashes has encountered in her life. The little creature seems kind and wise, though, and this assuages her initial fears.

The affect of his words on Frost-Flame erase all of Ashes' doubts. She smiles at the buck -- a rare thing for her -- and nods. "Yes, that will suffice quite nicely," she replies to him before turning her level gaze to the little foxbun. "Thank you for your words, chosen one. It is much appreciated. This is to be my first clutch, and I would like to be..." she hesitates, searching for the most appropriate word. "...prepared."

After watching the foxbun depart, Frost-Flame says, somewhat thoughtfully, "You know, I've never seen a stag or mare in their true forms." A deeper thinker than he would have stopped to consider the implications of such an observation (or ponder the meaning of the creature's blessing), but Frost-Flame is more practical.

"So," he smiles at Ashes, "would you like to show me a few of the places you've considered four our clutch? If they're anywhere near my usual walking paths, I might have some insight as to the benefits and drawbacks of their locations."