Sypher grabbed the toddler by the arm, dragging him through the threshold.


Her voice echoed harshly against the adobe walls of their home. Tears welled up in the child’s eyes and his face contorted in fear. Sypher glanced down. She had forgotten how fragile children were. With a sigh, the warrior stooped down and lifted her son in as gentle a manner she could.

“…stop making me worry.”

Detecting the soft change in her voice, the boy looked up.

“Sah-e, mahda.”

He kissed her nose. The gesture was unexpected. After a moment, Sypher placed the toddler back on his feet and rubbed his arm.

“Enough of this. Your father will be home soon.”
“Fahda make stuu.”
“Did he now?”

The youngster nodded and eagerly tottered off to show her. Sypher smelled the ketewo simmering in the back room. With a prayer that Mahad would hurry home, she followed her son.

When in doubt about what to draw, resort to sketching Razer-babbu and his tiger-mom. [‘Cause I seriously cannot get enough of isaia’s Volkregian headcanons.]