A/N: Internet is crap. Voice is gone. Muse fled- probably to Canada. If I have to write this blurb one more time I think I'm gonna scream. Enjoy the fluff, y'all, and pray with me for the return of my internet.
Little One
The noise grated on his nerves. He cast a glance toward the heavy oaken door and picked up his cutting knife again with a frown. The crisp crunch of the vegetables under his blade did nothing to stifle the sound, and a few slices later he nearly severed his paw when the thin wail rose in pitch and cracked piteously.
"Columbine, he's crying," Martin murmured, not for the first time that afternoon.
"I'm not deaf, Martin," smiled the young mousewife, and she took the knife from him and made swift work of a starchy tuber.
"He sounds hungry," the big warrior pouted, flexing his paws uneasily.
"I just fed him, Martin!" Columbine laughed, tossing the sliced goodies into a salad. "You're worse than Gonff!"
She heard him huff, cast about for something to distract himself from the babe's insistent cries. Columbine laid a tender paw on his arm and squeezed.
"He's alright," she soothed. 'He'll drift back to sleep soon enough."
"Maybe he's lonely." Martin's stormy eyes were fixed on the door, a deep frown tugging at his lips.
"Let him cry awhile Martin," the mother told him in a tone that brooked no nonsense. "It'll strengthen his little lungs."
A particularly loud sob had the warriormouse grimacing, and he breathed a heavy sigh.
"I'm going to help Gonff along with that food from Goody," he excused himself brusquely.
Not two minutes after the warrior disappeared, the din from the neighboring room had silenced. Breathing a patient sigh, Columbine wiped her paws on her apron and peaked through the crack of the door.
Martin cradled the baby mouse close, pulling a silly face and leaning against the room's wide windowsill. He pointed out into the early evening, whispering lowly, and there was a sharp giggle echoed by the warrior's deep laugh.
Worse than an old mousewife, she mused with a small smile.