Swiftcurrent Creek Dovahkiin.

Something's come up and I'm not going to actually have any time to sit and write this, and I wanted to do it when my mind was clear. So here's the birthing thread, set for today (December 16th)! Private with the pups for the first round, and then I'll open it up for pack-mates. :)

When she first felt unfamiliar twinges in her abdomen, a flurry of emotions gripped Paarthurnax' still fragile heart. She'd been anticipating the tell-tale sensations for days, as her suspected due date had come and went: nervousness that the delivery of her babes would be as difficult as those her own mother had suffered through; fear that her babes would be born weak, only to perish in the days to follow; the concern for stillborns which, although expected, would likely bring her to her knees.

Privacy during the birth of a litter was the way of Samarkand she-wolves. When their time came, a wolfess of the desert would show her strength by seeking her own company to bring her offspring into the world, and Paarthurnax had wished for this from the very beginning. And so when the cramping in her uterus caused so much discomfort that she resorted to pacing the hollow she shared with Bazi, she requested that her pale companion let her be.

Hours crept by and dawn began to break, but the need to push did not come easy. She breathed in deep, the way Nita had taught her, and to the best of her ability she fought to remain in control of the situation. Pain coursed through her and it attempt to walk it off, Paar strode into the clearing beyond her den. Her entire frame began to shake with the building ache of her brutal cramps. Her head spun, leaving her feeling nauseous and dizzy, but Paar did not wish to seek comfort in her medical supplies just yet. Birthing her litter without the aid of pain relief was important to her, and she soldiered on.

As she made to return to her burrow, she felt something hot and slick at her rear. She hurried forth the few feet to her den's entrance and slipped inside, circled the nest a few times, then dropped heavily to her rump and lifted a trembling hind limb to examine her nether region. Paarthurnax discovered the breakage of her waters and, with it, the increased thrum of pain that accompanied contractions strong enough to make her cry out.

She pushed. And pushed, and pushed. After what felt like an eternity of heaving, the ashen form of her firstborn son was forced into the world beyond her womb.

Instinctively, she nipped away the umbilicus and gathered the tiny body of her new baby in a firm but gentle grasp, plucking him from the furs and dried grasses that made up her bed and settling him between her forepaws to break him free of the protective sack that he'd grown inside. She licked him clean, until the peppered silver of his fine fur was downy and soft, and tears trailed the lengths of her pale cheeks as she nosed her mewling pup toward her warm undersides. He bore the colours of his father, she observed, and stared at the writhing newborn for a long time before the need to push forced her to focus not on her little son, but the next child who was ready to make an appearance.

From her came another boy, Winter-white and much larger than the previous pup, strong and yowling loudly in defiance. She tended to him with utmost love, adoring already the voices of her cubs as she licked and cleaned their feathery pelts, and blinked happily down at them as they nosed around in search of willing teats.

When at last she bore a daughter, Paarthurnax' heart swelled. This child, when clean and dry, wore fur of various shades: deepest blacks, warm honey, chocolate, hot cinnamon and soft ivory. From the obsidian of her button nose to the mottled pink of her tiny paw pads, she was perfect. But there was no time to gaze down in awe at her three lovely, healthy babies; as another crippling contraction racked her frame, Paar prepared to deliver a fourth.

The pup that slid from her was frighteningly small, approximately half the size of his siblings before him. Paarthurnax tucked him against his litter-mates when she'd licked him dry, eager to maintain his body heat for fear that he may catch a chill. But he still cried out, as vocal as his brothers and sister, and despite her initial fear that the last of her brood was not as large as her other pups, she was content that her golden boy would be strong in his own way.

The entire day had dragged by, but Paarthurnax was more than happy with the final result. Four mewling, tiny bodies were nestled at her flank, each entirely different but equally loved. She looked upon them with utmost love and awe, before she closed her tired eyes and curled herself tightly about her brood of beautiful baby dragons.