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Lari’s ears flicked at the sound of nearby footsteps, paired with what sounded like an unflattering squeak! and a brief scrabbling of boots on talus - swiftly dragging their attention from the carbonised scorches marring the usually pale Timber Hearth Limestone of their most recent field locality. They turned, raising a hand to shield dandelion eyes from the sun, as fellow geologist and trusted colleague - Mohs - crested the lip of Youngbark Crater.
“Lari!” They beamed, greeting their friend with an enthusiastic wave, carefully picking their way into the crater’s maw. Very carefully, actually. And with good reason, because strapped tightly to their back, curious eyes peeking over their parent’s shoulder, was a tiny, six-month-hatched little tadpole - Pip - their hatchling with spouse Dusty; and, with such precious cargo, Lari would be cautious too. After a couple of minutes, tentative steps, and a well received helping hand from their friend on the final few ledges, they made it safely to the crater floor.
“Phew! Sorry I’m a little late,” Mohs huffed, ears fanned and flushed from the exertion in the Summer heat, “I forgot how unforgiving the trek to Youngbark can be! Especially with an extra passenger to cart around,” They paused to gently smush their cheek against Pip, who babbled happily in response, tiny hands patting at their parent’s shoulder as flaxen eyes drunk in strange new surroundings.
Sunny blue skies yawned above them, a stark contrast to the dark shadows that raked at the crater walls and floors, broken only by the occasional dappled sunspot that pierced through the dense canopy of pines that had made their home here. A cool, welcome breeze tickled at the uppermost branches, adding a gentle rustle of pine needles to the symphony of cicada and cricket song on the air.
It was a far cry from the neat and cosy nest of clean sheets and soft pillows at Mohs’ mezzanine, where the chirps of insects were replaced with the soft hums and lullabies of their parent; or the rustic selection of blankets and straw back at the Feller Ranch, where Dusty had spent a week repurposing an old feed trough for a cot, scent of sweet hay and honeydew still lingering on the worn wood. No, Youngbark offered no such homely comforts. It was raw and wild and new; and little Pip was entranced, eyes wide and curious as they observed their surroundings, alongside the strange hearthian who was definitely not Mohs or Dusty who stood before them.
Lari chuckled, “I’m not surprised you took your time,” They reached out to rub a finger and thumb gently at the hatchling’s ear, receiving a happy chirp for their trouble, “Not with this little wriggler, huh?” They leant in closer to inspect the bundle swaddled at Mohs’ shoulders. Large, bright eyes stared up at them - framed by the beginnings of soft markings - already dotting at their edges to radiate upwards and outwards at their forehead and ears; whilst sensitive polly-whiskers twitched at their brows and cheeks, the bright oranges flashing pops of colour against dusky skin. All in all? They looked, happy, healthy and normal. All any parent could want.
“Awh, they look great, Mohs.” They grinned, caressing at Pip’s cheek with their thumb, “And so do you! Never thought those caretaker markings would suit you but somehow you pull them off,” They chuckled, shooting their colleague a knowing smirk.
Mohs huffed, ears flicking in mock irritation. It was no secret to Lari that Pip had perhaps been somewhat of an inevitable surprise - if such a thing existed - considering just how hard their fellow geologist had fallen for Dusty a few years’ prior during a survey at the ranch. They hadn’t needed to be an expert on hearthian courtship to see where that particular relationship was headed. And they had been right. Not that they teased Mohs about it. At all. Certainly not.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Mohs teased, poking their tongue out in jest, “Lari’s being cheeky, aren’t they, squish?”
Pip cooed in response, rubbing a cheek at Lari’s hand with a purr, before latching tiny digits around their finger, tugging at them with a remarkable amount of force for someone so small.
“Heh, and what do you think you’re doing with that, hm?”
Mohs snorted a laugh, “Careful, they-”
"Yeowch!"
Lari yelped as Pip chomped down on their finger, the beginnings of pointy teeth poking at sensitive skin. Luckily, the little nubs weren’t sharp enough to cause any serious damage, but tadpole jaws still had a surprising amount of bite behind them.
“- Yeah, they’re teething.” Mohs sighed, quickly removing their colleague’s hand from Pip’s gummy onslaught to replace it with a rather well-loved looking teething branch from their satchel in a well-practiced motion, “You won’t believe how many of these we’ve gone through - or how many times Dusty has found them with a Grub’s tail in their mouth.” They rolled their eyes in exasperation, “Luckily the babies are pretty docile, and I think the cows think Pip is just a weird-shaped Grub. Still,” They adjusted the branch in their hatchling’s hands, waiting for the tell-tale snap! of teeth on wood, “It feels like four eyes aren’t enough to keep track of them most of the time, heh.”
“Wait until they’re walking proper,” Lari teased, “Then you’ll be wishing you had those extra eyes.”
“I’m sure,” Mohs sighed, before offering their colleague a lopsided little smile. “In the meantime though,” They leant into their little one, who was currently making good time in absolutely going to town on the little stick, a purr rumbling in their chest, “They seem to be content enough destroying their branch - so!” They clapped their hands, directing their attention to the scarred walls of the crater, “Let’s hope I’ve shaken the tadpole brain off enough to get back to work - what are the rocks saying today?”