Chapter Text
Uthvir looks at the baby.
The baby looks at Uthvir.
Their first week of parenthood, Uthvir had essentially done very little. The hunters who had been taking care of the infant prior to their ‘victory’ had been content to carry on doing so. She was really more like a sort of communal, when it came to it, no matter whose name was on her guardianship papers.
Andruil had apparently determined that this scenario was too comfortable and easy for Uthvir, however. They had been commanded to take ‘responsibility’.
At least the baby seems to find this scenario as dubious as they do.
“Food,” Uthvir decides.
The baby nods, clumsily, as if to agree that this in order. Well; it has finished sleeping. Uthvir at least knows enough to know that baby things usually spend the majority of their time either eating, sleeping, or shitting, and since it is not doing two of those things, then the third remains.
They retrieve one of the bottles of formula which they have been provided with, and after a moment’s consideration, hand it to the baby.
The baby, to its credit, does its best to get the nipple into its mouth. But its coordination is not much to speak of. Uthvir is a bit aghast. Baby deer can feed themselves, but apparently for baby elves that is a bridge too far. They reach over and help, lifting the bottle so that the infant can drink more easily.
“There,” they drawl, unimpressed.
They blink when they realize the baby is crying.
Not wailing sobs, such as those it had made in the first few days after Andruil brought it back from her hunt. It continues to the drink from the bottle. Just, large, fat tears track down its cheeks as it does. It blinks, tiny hands reaching up to help hold the bottle, and very quietly, it cries.
Uthvir checks it for injuries. After a moment, they glance at themselves; holding the bottle out at a distance, dressed in their typical attire. They… are not providing a very comforting image, they suppose.
Carefully, they reach over, and brush one of the infant’s cheeks.
“It is not so bad,” they say. “You will get bigger. And I will look after you, until you do. It is only temporary, little one.”
The baby blinks at them, and the tears do seem to slow a bit.
“Besides, I may not be the best for… some things, but I am a very accomplished hunter. When you are big enough to handle yourself, I will show you how to kill things. It is much harder to feel distressed when you can kill most everyone in a room,” they promise. “And there is much to recommend hunting. If you think this bottle business is miserable, I am certain you will feel much better after spit-roasting your first elk.”
The baby blinks again; of course, it probably does not understand a word they are saying.
Still.
Talking seems to distract from tears, at least.
Uthvir supposes there is no harm in it.