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The fish he had eaten earlier, still laid pleasantly heavy in his belly. Joxter stretched languidly, relishing the way his spine popped, body sleep warm as he napped in the shadow of an old oak tree on a warm summer’s day. With a massive yawn, rows of sharp fangs glinting in the sparse sunbeams breaking through the overhead leaves, he flopped onto his side ungracefully, folding his arms underneath his head in a makeshift pillow. His red hat had long since been kidnapped by his darling son, no doubt darting from bush to bush and scaring the poor little forest creatures with his itty-bitty teeth and squeaky half-roars. Despite his sleepy haze, Joxter’s sharp ears picked up the rustle of leaves and a startled squeak of a squirrel. There he is.
Exhaling contentedly, deeply, he began dozing off again – this was the life after all. Nothing but sleeping a warm afternoon away, surrounded by soft green grass and the sweet smell of wildflowers, all the while the sun was shining and the birds were singing and the nearby creek was running with fresh water.
“Rwah!” A small weight landed on him.
…and of course, mingling with all the freedom around, his rowdy wildling of a tiny son. Joxter couldn’t hold back his small sigh of having his nap interrupted, but didn’t do anything to scold his offspring. The little boy delighted himself in using his Papa as his personal jungle gym, balancing on the shoulder he perched on, most likely trekking dirt over the evergreen coat with his naked paws. Small claws bit into the Joxter’s skin as Snufkin climbed around on him, slipping onto his neck to tug at the unruly birds nest of black hair and leaning over to nip at the exposed ear with tiny fangs. It’s only when a small, padded foot planted itself on Joxter’s cheek as his son decided he would try to eat a mouthful of his hair that he decided to finally move; with quiet, fluid grace, he managed to grab the scruff of the boy’s neck, feeling how the young one immediately went limp with a whine.
Joxter chuckled, tugging the tiny figure over his head and shuffling him into his arms under his head, squeezing until Snufkin squeaked in outrage. Small paws struggled against the hold, fidgeting and fighting and Joxter let out a short laugh at his son’s attempts to gain freedom. He opened his arms, letting the boy tumble out onto the soft grass as he himself turned onto his side, propping his head up with a hand to watch his youngling. Snufkin wiggled himself onto his all fours, big hazel eyes zeroed in onto the elder as he spat hisses, little tail all spiky and straight. Joxter watched with avid interest how his son’s hair started to get all poofy, trying to make himself bigger in an attempt of intimidation with raised hackles. The boy growled as deep as he could with his small voice, traipsing around in agitation with blue eyes following his every movement. Joxter felt his mouth twitch.
Wasn’t his son such a darling?
Snufkin lowered himself, bottom wiggling before he launched himself at his Papa with a tiny roar. The Joxter laughed, a muffled sound considering the face-full of tiny wildling son he just received. He easily pushed the boy from his face with one hand, pressing the child’s back against the grass as a precious little giggle danced through the air. Paws, oh so much smaller than his own, batted at his fingers playfully. Joxter quirked an eyebrow and let his hand hover just over his son, who already had all four paws ready like a bear trap. But instead of descending for tummy-tickles, the elder wiggled his fingers quickly, snickering as he watched how Snufkin’s head tried to keep up with the fast movement and eyes growing big and round in fascination.
“Goodness,” Joxter murmured softly, finger darting down faster than his son could react, so he could tickle him under his chin. The child squealed in delight. “Aren’t you full of energy today, hm?”
There was a small purr, before tiny fangs snapped at his finger; “Rah!” He missed, but laughed when the finger came back to boop him on the nose.
“Naughty little thing,” Joxter scolded his son with a small chuckle, rubbing one cherub cheek with the knuckle of his finger. “Such a small beast, you are. Do you wear a bow in your tail?”
Snufkin’s nose scrunched up in confusion, tilting his head to the side, his whole body following in an awkward arch – he nearly looked up at his Papa upside down. Then, his Papa started humming, his finger tapping the ground in a rhythm, it made Snufkin sit up in attention.
“All small beasts should have bows in their tails,” Joxter began to sing, voice deep and rich, words so playful one could nearly see them dancing on his tongue. “Or they’ll find themselves locked in Hemulen jails.”
Behind Snufkin, his tail flicked around in time with the rhythm, ears twitching in curiosity.
“If you make a mistake get ready to pay –You can’t blame another and then run away.” With his fingers, Joxter mimicked the movement of running legs, eliciting a delighted laugh from his young one. “All small thoughts should be kept in a jar – And coloured red and blue so we see from far.”
He wagged his finger; “Which thoughts taste good, and which taste bad – But the greens just taste ‘cause it makes them glad.” At that, Joxter reached over to poke his son as he wore a light green coat, secretly delighting himself as the boy dissolved in titters again. He chuckled, gently brushing back the unruly strands of sandy brown hair. “Now, my silly little wildling; do you have a bow in your tail?”
Big hazel eyes blinked and Snufkin proceeded to stand up, turning to catch a glimpse of his tail, sadly, without a bow. He gave his Papa a sad stare. Joxter snickered slightly, reaching into one of his pockets on his coat, pulling out a yellow ribbon. It looked old and worn, most likely lost and being at the mercy of Mother Nature herself. But despite its fading colour and tattered ends, Snufkin brightened at the mere sight of it. He immediately made grabby hands for it, Joxter had to wrangle him a little to get him to stand still long enough so he could tie the flimsy thing on his happily wiggling tail.
“There you go,” The Joxter said after a while of nearly getting his fingers tangled with a ribbon and an overeager tail, that still flicked to and fro. Snufkin looked back with a bright smile as he watched the bow-tied ribbon fluttering with the movement.
“Beast!” He proclaimed, crouching once more with his tail high up in the air, eyes still glued onto the floppy bow. Joxter let go of an amused huff, leaning back onto his propped up hand.
“Oh my, yes, look at you! Such a small, wild beast you are.” He waved Snufkin closer. “Now, you wanna practice that new song with your Papa?”
The cheery little chirrup he got was answer enough for him. He hummed anew as Snufkin settled close to him, little head rubbing under his chin in a short show of affection. Joxter smiled his small smile, before starting the song once more, this time, a tiny voice joining him;
“All small beasts should have bows in their tails,”
***
The harmonica sung the few playful notes, so familiar, and Snufkin could almost see them dancing in the air. He heard the Little Mymble snort in front of him, that ever suspicious grin on her face.
“All small beasts should have bows in their tails,” she proclaimed with a flourish, seemingly pleased as Snufkin half-startled into a halt.
“You– You know it?” He asked, her words sounding like an echo in his head – but the voice was wrong. Little My hopped onto a rock and turned, hands on her hips and her grin turning confident, her small fangs showing. “Try me!”
And he did. However, never completely understanding why he felt the ghost weight of fabric wrapped around his tail.