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The pumpkin sun had not yet risen when Malodore awoke - the first to rise, as it nearly always was. It was the only one among the four of them (Luce and Ombra being curled up together at the foot of Riley's bed, a pile of white fur and limbs) that didn't truly need sleep.

It shifted, just a little, scooting up to more of a sitting position without disturbing the others... or at least it hoped it wouldn't disturb them. They hadn't drawn the curtains entirely last night, and a sliver of moon presented itself for the plague doctor's contemplation. The light fell across Riley's face, silvering her features in a way that made Malodore yearn to touch, to sweep the pad of its thumb over her jawline. But that would definitely wake her.

No, not yet.

Instead, it sat back and listened to the sound of breathing - the wheezing and occasional dream-born whimper of the two cwn annwn, and the low, level sound of Riley's own breath. It could feel the echo of her heartbeat against it. Life had such a strange rhythm, something it felt it could never bear to be within... and yet, every time Riley pulled it into her mind and shared sensation with it, it found the thrum and beat of that same life to be utterly intoxicating. A fascinating contradiction.

It had been so afraid, when the monster had loomed over them all, had taken Kettil and Hel and then Jericho - afraid that it would lose her again, that she would dissipate and then re-form again into towering mist. The terror had been so paralyzing that it truly - just for an instant - understood how the fear of humanity could have birthed an entire world.

But nothing had happened. Nothing. And she was still here. Still whole.

Still its, and it, hers.

And the fear had, at last, broken.

Malodore chuckled, so low that it was less a sound and more a vibration in its chest. Is it? Don't you find the dawn to be refreshing, when it comes? it thought back to her; the cwn pups were still slumbering, and it wanted to preserve that state as long as it could. Everything made new again, at twilight and then again at dawn.

The promised claw found her jawline and traced gently along it.

Buon giorno, it replied, amused. This is terrible sentiment, but sometimes you appear so thoroughly charming to me that it is difficult for me to resist you. I believe Calder would be quite satisfied with this level of romantic attachment. It is celebrated in all the best literature. Sadly, the images of All The Best Literature included Calder's sappy teen scream magazines. Or maybe Malodore was just being coy. It was hard to tell.

"I shall not," it promised her, learning into her touch, its eyes closing halfway behind the lenses. And then she turned, and it followed her gaze, bemused at her sudden intensity.

"I am happy, si... should I be unhappy?" It sounded a little confused.

"Being more than the two of us?" It tilted its head to one side, while lifting one wing to curl around her. "Do you mean Jericho?"

"Procreation?" It was startled, but not... not unpleasantly so. An odd warmth suffused its emotions for a moment. "With me? You wish to... go to the pumpkin patch, mia cara?"

It had, unfortunately, spoken loud enough to wake Luce; she raised her head, her ears going back for a minute as she stared at the two of them. y so loud?

Her emotions were like being flung about the room, metaphorically speaking. It reached for her, gathered her in. Why do you feel this way, amore mio? it asked, without words. Not the desire, but the guilt? Its mental voice was suffused with concern - and affection.

Malodore made a startled noise in the back of its long throat. "He said that?" he said, aloud, sounding both bemused and a little irritated; that edge to its voice made Luce rise to her feet, shoving Ombra aside as she did so. "Ah- no, Luce tresorina, shh. Sedersi, sedersi." The cwn pup obeyed, but kept her gaze locked on them.

It sighed, then, and looked down at her with a wave of fondness. "I... it had not crossed my mind, to be honest... plague doctors raise their children very differently from some races, I believe. Definitely very differently from kelpies. Family is deeply valued by them, I know that, so perhaps it is natural that Calder views creating one as a natural extension of affection. For us..."

Its voice trailed off. "Our Casa was strained. Failing, though I did not recognize it as such at the time. Birth rates were strictly controlled; the plaguelings were raised communally. I do not know who my progenitors were, nor do I particularly care. It is not something we are raised to value. The entire Casa is your family. Was my family," it said, with a note of bitterness in its tone. "And yet..."

That affection returned to it as it looked at her. "It might not be a bad thing, to try. In a century, perhaps. But not now. Perhaps not ever, if you do not wish it. In this, I am more than willing to follow your desires, mia cara." Its hand cupped her cheek, cool metal against warm flesh.