Pride hadn't ever been particularly bratty, even just as a normal kid's reaction to weariness. He was aware of it, of course, but necessity and life-or-death situations had dictated his behavior instead. It was hard to be pissy about speech when one's friend was crippled, near starvation--but that wasn't what his mind was dwelling on. He was just a little confused, a tad baffled as to how to handle this. Azizos and Arsu had always been polite, only cranky now and then, certainly never throwing a tantrum and it was the white stag's first experience with such things.
Her bark of 'No!' stunned him into silence, his head reeling back, eyes blinking. She hadn't, it seemed, registered any of his encouragement--that struck him, hurt and saddened him, just a little. He was surprised, even, that a mere child's rebellion could hit such a chord. He pushed that down, aware that she didn't quite mean it. His parenting experience didn't quite extend this far, and so as Jampa finished speaking, he tried reason instead, calm and directed.
And this time, he kept the wordiness to a minimum.
"'I'm sorry' is a good start, and your apology's accepted. I'm sorry if I'm boring you." It wasn't sarcasm, just slow and measured speech. She'd yawned, which half confirmed his suspicions, and so he nodded. "That is a no to a story, then-?" he asked, and nodded off toward the Throne. "Come." This tone brooked no argument, though it wasn't commanding--merely firm, though still kind. And Pride turned to head that way, though he glanced back to see if Jampa would follow him.
It would be a lie to say he wasn't disappointed that she didn't want the story, but as he walked he began a little light show, nonetheless. Perhaps it'd put her to sleep, or at least soothe her mood--he didn't know--but it was a gift all its own, just the same: a soft display, curtains of shimmering violet and green as if an aurora glistened in the air around them, glittering with the diamond droplets of stars. It was very clearly sky, and it seemed to form ribbons drifting, tail-like, behind a magnificent, phoenix-like bird: the Three Kings, sweeping high around them, an illusion of Pride's making. Arsu and Azizos had enjoyed watching such things--they'd often drifted to sleep to illusions or tales from Mercurius or Pride; perhaps Jampa would like them, too.
"I hear that's what the sky is like," he told her, quietly, as he led the way to a place that she might rest--a place he'd bedded down in many times, thick with soft grass, his fur and scent. "The open space outside the caves where other creatures fly." A pause, and a nod to the bed, though he kept the light show swirling up around them: "You may rest here, if you want." No demand, lest it be rebutted: merely an offer and the hiding, too, of a father's hurt feelings.