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Skitter. Pause. Scritch-scritch-THUMP.
Vesemir sighed. His ears twitched in annoyance as he heard muffled giggles and the light scratching sounds of little claws on stone. With a low rumble he pulled himself up from his bed, allowing himself a long stretch as his sensitive ears pinpointed the location of his naughty cubs. Moonlight cast bright beams through the high windows of the keep as he padded on soft paws down its cold and empty corridors.
Annoyed as he was at being woken this late at night there was something deeply satisfying about a hunt.
Skitter. Whispers exchanged between two cubs as they tried and failed to sneak their way to...ah, the noises were coming from the kitchens.
Vesemir frowned. They had better not be getting into the honey biscuits again. He had just made a new batch and they wouldn't have another shipment of honey up to the keep for at least a month.
He stalked, silent as a shadow, slipping through the open kitchen door unnoticed by the rule breaking little scoundrels. Both cubs continued their illicit pantry raid, unaware of their impending doom.
He pounced. Twin squeals of shock greeted him as he deftly scuffed his wayward charges by the necks of their loose sleeping shirts, ignoring their shocked spitting and hissing as he pulled them up and out of the pantry. Gweld and Geralt, litter twins and trouble makers the both of them. He wasn’t surprised in the least, and it was with the long habit experience that he efficiently bundled up both whining cubs and took them back to their room.
“To bed with you rascals,” he ordered, depositing them back into the pile of their slumbering litter mates, who were luckily very much dead to the world, little paws occasionally twitching with dreams of the hunt. “I don’t want to hear a peep from you again tonight or I’ll stick you back with the lil chirpers where you can get all the attention you clearly desire.” He threatened, and both cubs lay down quietly with big, pleading eyes. He chuckled internally. They clearly took his threat of sticking them back with the newborns seriously, although he knew he would never give up his cubs to another caregiver. Not that Roulf would want more cubs to watch. The newest caregiver was quite obviously frazzled and overrun by his own litter and would likely try to bite his head off if he even joked about adding more cubs to his care.
He gave each boy an affectionate rub, dragging his cheeks and chin down both cub’s soft little heads, mindful of their new-growing horns. With a final pat he left off scenting them, only pausing to check that they really settled into the sleeping pile and closed their eyes before he left.
He paused just in the doorway.
"Hmm," he eyed the pile of sleeping cubs. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5....
"RAAAAWR!" Something landed on his back and he ducked forward, flipping the errant cub over his head and into his arms. The cub squeaked with horror as he tumbled tail over ears until he dangled by his ankles. Vesemir held him up with an unimpressed look.
"Lambert," he sighed, holding the now wriggling and hissing cub out of scratching distance. "Why am I not surprised? It's far past your bedtime cub."
Lambert ignored him, his hind legs kicking at the older Witcher's arm as he tried to chew through what part of his sleeve he could reach. Frowning, he tucked the cub up to his chest, careful to pin those sharp little paws down with one hand as Lambert growled his displeasure at the man-handling, the cub's stumpy little tail lashing as he tried unsuccessfully to wiggle his way to freedom. Carefully, he stuck one finger in the cub's mouth, chuckling at the displeased yowls this garnered as he ran his finger carefully along the cub's gum line. Sure enough, there was the sharp prick of killer fangs just starting to emerge from the left side of the cub's jaw.
"Ahh, I see. Teething is it? Poor cub. No wonder you're being such a brat." He purred indulgently as the cub tried to gnaw on his finger. Lambert had been the only cub born a few years back, no littermates to speak of. It happened, but very rarely, and the elders had opted to place him with the next oldest litter so he wouldn’t pine away for companions. He was too young to be talking yet, but living with the older cubs had made him quite the spitfire, and Vesemir was not embarrassed to admit the cub had a special place in his soft heart. "Your mouth must be sore, little one. Let's go see what the potion room has for you."
“Vsssmir?” The sleepy whine of a cub called, and little paws were wrapped around one of his legs. He raised a brow, looking down at the little barnicle, a bleary looking Eskel yawned as he rubbed his face against the soft cloth of the older Witcher’s sleep pants.
He sighed, resigning himself to a long night of cub wrangling. “Go back to sleep, cub. There’s nothing of interest going on tonight.”
“But where are you going?” Eskel pouted, little fingers kneading at his leg. “I’m come too!”
“Alright then, but quietly cub,” Vesemir admonished, knowing to cut his losses before he had the whole litter of them awake and trailing him like sleepy ducklings. “Let’s go get this little monster an apple to chew while I find the teething formula.”
Eskel purred in agreement, and Vesemir smiled fondly. He was a good cub, really. Lambert gnawed his shoulder, leaving several holes in his shirt and a growing patch of drool.
He sighed, but he was quite content with his lot. He did love these cubs something fierce, even if he was doomed to many sleepless nights.