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It was, so Mittere had railed at Tarafa, bad enough that the blue lioness had insisted on having children. It was worse that Nyesha had gotten pregnant in her state, and left those cubs - those grandkids - to them to raise. Then her mate had brought home a stray cheeton. Oh yes, the Bard had been full of so-called good reasons to keep him with them. How he'd been essentially mute for not understanding the spoken word and how as a Bard it was her job to fix that. How she'd been the first he'd seen, and thus the first he'd trusted. How they were already raising three boys, so what was one more?

And on and on until the pink lioness had thrown her paws up in disgust and stopped arguing. There were some debates that Tarafa simply wouldn't budge on and this was one of them. Mittere hated having to pick her battles, but it was a fact that the den was the blue lioness' domain and it was her will which reigned supreme there.

Which meant that this day found the pink lioness sitting just outside the den, in the fresh air and away from the four small children inside. Kua, she knew was sleeping. His brothers Ua and Maji were either pretending to sleep or managing to play quietly for once. The cheeton she had no idea about nor was she going to put forth the effort to care as long as he was in the den where he (apparently) belonged.

The lioness groaned inwardly as she recognized the noise behind her. The cheeton, Kestven, was attempting to stalk her tail. He wasn't the first, and at this rate it seemed he wouldn't be the last.

Mittere remembered Amani's pathetic attempt. The boy was an Apothecary now and she didn't know or care how good he was at his chosen duty, since he'd been a miserable failure at anything requiring skill of body. Nyesha...well...neither Mittere nor Tarafa had held high hopes for her for the girl had been sickly even as a cub. Jani though, had had potential. Hunting was an acceptable use of her time, as it was a rather necessary task, but the pink lioness did hate to see potential wasted.

She debated if she should move the tail out of the boy's way. Given that he'd been fairly old for a cub when Tarafa had brought him here, Mittere supposed it would be prudent to move it. Obviously he'd managed to survive on his own for an unknown period of time.

Suiting deed to thought, the pink tail flicked upwards to rest against the lioness' body, though she didn't indicate any other awareness of Kestven's presence.

The pink lioness' breath hissed inward, the only admission of pain she would make even now. To take pain noiselessly, regardless of what was going on around her, that was a legacy of long training and the harsh world she'd lived in.

Now it seemed she used the ability mostly to fail to give cubs satisfaction. How the mighty had fallen.

Still, silence did not mean there was no pain. Two forepaws and a large number of sharp little teeth could do damage. Albeit, not much by her standards.

She let him "worry" his prey for a few moments before speaking.

"I hope you're done now." Any of the other children had figured out long ago that when Mittere used that tone, they would only get one chance to obey. Whether Kestven had or hadn't remained to be seen.

A fighting spirit was something Mittere could respect. However, no soldier could become the best fighter possible without discipline, and clearly this cheeton needed to learn a bit.

Swiftly and smoothly, the pink lioness rose to her feet. The cheeton had bitten down closer to her tailtip and it was a simple matter for her to curl up while standing until the boy was within easy reach of her own teeth. Mittere grabbed Kestven by the ruff and hauled him off her tail before dropping him before her.

"You're done now," she informed him sternly, blue eyes narrowed.

...there were several very good reasons why Mittere did not seek out kitlings and spend time with them. They were stupid, foolish, insufferable, idiotic, stubborn and above all else adorable. Not that the pink lioness would ever give voice to that last item. Ever. She knew there was no such thing as true privacy, and that sounds carried long distances where you would least have them.

None of these facts changed the presence of a purring cheeton pushing his head against her foreleg.

"Get off," she groaned, using that selfsame leg to roll the boy away. And resigned herself to his continuing presence today.