"Oh, Clayton... What's wrong, sweetie?"
The five yeard old impling sniffled. He was covered in dirt and bruises all over."It's James... He's mean..."
Amelia gently stroked her son's head as he fully burst out into tears. Clayton continued sobbing uncontrollably.
The tingling of bells caught his attention. His mother was holding a dark-gray stuffed horse with a white skull head and green mane and tail.
"Oi, little guy!" she spoke in a high-pitched voice, as if the plush was the one talking. "I'm Mr. Hooves, see? I don't like it when you're sad!"
Clayton sniffled. "You're a horsie...?"
"I am, and a proper tidy one!" Clayton giggled a bit as the horse's snout tickled his belly. "There, that's better!" Amelia spoke in her normal voice. "Come on now, don't be such a cry-baby bunting. What would Mr. Hooves think?"
"I'm not a cry-baby bunting!"
His mother smiled. "Then you'd better dry those tears, hadn't you?"
No one likes to be awakened at two in the morning. Striker is no exception to that.
Yet he always found the willpower to throw the sheets off and get out of bed whenever he heard his baby crying, no matter the time.
The five-month-old impling was wailing loudly, tiny tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't notice his father's presence until he was carefully picked up from the crib.
"Shhh." Striker shushed, bouncing the little one in his arms. "It's alright, pup. Daddy's got ya."
Jake hid his face in his father's chest, his tiny hand grasping his shirt.
Striker went to the rocking chair, for the time being, shushing and whispering comforting words to his son. Jake must have had an awful dream if he was this upset. After trying and failing to calm him down with whatever he thought of, Striker recalled there was something else he hadn't yet tried.
With Jake in one arm, Striker returned to his room and searched an old box inside his wardrobe. Soon he found what he was looking for. The cowboy stared at it forlornly for some time. He still couldn't believe it had survived a fire and years of neglect; at best, it only needs a little fixing.
Striker hadn't been sure what to do with his old stuffed horse at first. He couldn't bring himself to just throw it away, for it was of the few things he had left of his mother. So for the time being, he'd just kept it in a box.
"Jake, look," Striker shook the stuffed horse within Jake's eyesight. "I was savin' this for yer birthday, but ye can have it now if ye want."
Jake looked up at the rattling stuffed horse with curious eyes. Striker smiled.
"Oi, little guy! I'm Mr. Hooves, see? I don't like it when ye're sad!" he chimed in a little voice as he shook the toy. Jake reached out for it, gurgling. "There, that's better!"
The impling was happily gumming Mr. Hooves as his father tucked him back into the cradle.
"Mr. Hooves will take care of ya when I ain't around, little one." the cowboy whispered. "He was daddy's friend when he was yer age, so I know ye'll be in good 'hands'..." Striker smiled as he kissed Jake's forehead. "Sweet dreams, pup."