Haytham’s first instinct when he felt something burrow into bed with him, to grab his dagger and deal with an unknown threat, was suppressed only by the sleep-addled portion of his brain that insisted the intruder’s scent was familiar. Staying as still as possible, he glanced down to see his four year old son, face streaked with tears and short tail bristling from the remnants of a nightmare cuddling into him. No doubt Raton had been dreaming of his mother again.
Haytham would admit the past few weeks had been difficult. Dealing with Holden’s suicide, coupled with the long trip back to the colonies and news of Ziio’s death would have been difficult enough without the revelation of a traumatized, wary four year old child. In retrospect going to meet Raton with Charles, always scornful of natives, had been a bad idea though the depths of their mutual hatred had caught Hatyham by surprise. Now, for the first time since his return to the colonies with his normally touch-shy son’s soft eartips brushing the underside of his chin, fluffy tail twitching in sleep, Haytham felt at peace.
In the morning there would doubtless be much to do-the Assassins in the colonies had been up to their usual brand of chaos-spreading mischief, the Order’s hold on the colonies needed to be strengthened, and Raton and Charles had to be reconciled (if at all possible), but for the night, Haytham drifted to sleep contentedly with the warm body of his son curled up on his chest.
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AA: oops, didn’t quite make it clear that it was puppy!Raton (since Haytham would hardly name his child after a dead Assassin boy) and wolf!Haytham, but I did my best. Please forgive any mistakes. It's been a really long day