For Julie, who couldn't get enough of this little family.
The sequoia soared high above Firefly's head, far higher than her clumsy attempts at climbing could take her. Unfortunately there was something about twenty-five feet off the ground she really needed to reach.
She wouldn't yell. She wouldn't yell.
Her hand exploded in the sign of her daughter's name, knowing the sly face peeking down was watching for a reaction.
Thistle! You know not to go up trees by yourself. Sometimes it was a mercy she had another form of communication to fall back on when her temper flared. You don't want to get stuck, do you?
"I climb," Thistle retorted decisively, mouth forming a stubborn moue. She reached for a spindly branch and Firefly's breath caught – but the slim limb yielded instead of snapping, bowing but holding fast as the one-and-a-half year old perched on it. She was more advanced than a human of the same age, and while Firefly didn't know enough about kids to pin down an exact equivalent, the phrase "terrible twos" came to mind.
She laced her hands behind her head, exhaling in exasperation as she watched her daughter test the springiness of the branch. Thistle had managed to flee her bath halfway through and stray droplets rained down as she bounced.
"I can't come get you if you get stuck," Firefly said in warning. Thistle knew that, of course. Hence her escape to the forest.
The branch started to bend a bit too steeply and Thistle retreated to the safety of the trunk. As she examined the forest floor her forehead creased in a way that was sharply reminiscent of her father.
"Wanna come down."
Firefly stuffed her hands in her back pocket, resisting the urge to say I told you so. "I'm sorry, baby, you have to do it yourself."
"Daddy get me," she proclaimed self-assuredly.
"I don't know where he is."
Thistle peered off into the distance, trying to spot another ape to rescue her. The mischief in her face started to be supplanted by worry, and Firefly softened, unable to resist.
"Come down the way you came up," she coaxed. "Feet first – "
There was a rustle of leaves behind her and before she could turn a big dark blur blew past her, scaling the tree with ease. Thistle shrieked with glee as Caesar scooped her up one-handed, depositing her on his back where she clung like a contented barnacle, her honey-brown fuzz contrasting with his near-black of his fur.
"Well now you're just giving her exactly what she wants," Firefly muttered without any real annoyance, shading her eyes against the late morning light beaming through the canopy of branches.
Caesar slid back down the tree's broad trunk, hitting the dirt on all fours.
"You," he said over his shoulder, "Should listen to your mother."
Thistle didn't reply, just rested her little chin on his neck and watched her mother kneel with bright, curious eyes – blue, like her brother.
Bath or groom? Firefly signed to her. You choose.
The child blinked, pretending she hadn't understood. At eye level with each other, the parents' gazes met in commiseration. A curl of moss stuck to Caesar's bicep and Firefly brushed it off.
"Another one," she said with amusement, indicating a gray hair with her nail. A few silver strands had been appearing in his fur – just a scattered handful around his jaw and shoulders, only noticeable to one who knew him well. He'd always looked distinguished but now, in Firefly's private opinion, his good looks were only enhanced.
Luca groom, Thistle signed – a bit disjointed, her hands flashing on either side of Caesar's head like strange ears.
"Don't you think maybe he's busy?" Despite the hulking gorilla's gruff demeanor, he had a poorly concealed soft spot for the child. It was always clear when Thistle had seen him because she'd come home clutching an unusual river stone or a flower, crumpled from childish handling, but still treasured.
"We can go see what he's doing," Firefly conceded. "But if he's at the gate we're not going to bother him, okay?"
"O-kay," Thistle repeated emphatically, yanking on her father's neck fur with such enthusiasm that he winced, compressing his lips. Firefly smothered her laugh.
Caesar rose and extended his hand to her. As soon as she was upright he didn't release it, tucking her close to his side as they returned to the path back to the village. Thistle bounced on his back, anchored by big fistfuls of fur.
"She is... strong for her size," he commented stiffly, with a slight incredulous shake of his head.
Firefly nudged him with her elbow. "Imagine what that was like on the inside."
His expression said he'd rather not. And yet even though he could've put Thistle down, or chastened her to be more gentle, he did neither.
His hand was large around Firefly's, still seeking this contact despite the ball of energy squirming on him. Thistle sought near-constant touch, and while it sometimes overwhelmed Firefly, Caesar brimmed with an abundance of physical affection. A palm on the lower back for his mate, a chuck under the chin for his daughter – thumb over knuckles, hand cupping face, lingering fingertips upon parting. He was not always expressive with words but one could never doubt his devotion.
He glanced at Firefly, as if aware of her contemplation. He raised a brow but she merely grinned, swaying into him as they found the path and turned toward the gates.