The Sentinels estranged

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Gory violence, dismemberment, terrifying childbirth

She'd not left Donnelaith. The weakened shewolf didn't have the power to do so on her own paws, and had snarled and snapped at any wolf to approach that was not the kind-voiced she or the pale, forest queen. All others, she feared - there was very little good in this world, but she feared for them as much as she feared them.

The devil had taken her, and he'd left something behind. There were things inside her that shouldn't be there, and they were trying to get out. For hours, now, she'd laid on her own, panting and wincing and murmuring prayers of contrition under her breath. Please, take this away from me. I will never serve the darkness again if You make this go away. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I betrayed You. Please, please don't punish me like this. Kill me before you do this to me. Please...

But her prayers were either unheard or unanswered - or, if they were answered, it was a resounding NO. Her gods were angry with her (rightly so! please, please take it away... I promise!) and she was very afraid.

Another thin cry rent the air as the sharp, squeezing pain returned. Mannoah panted and flinched as it washed over her, seeming to consume her entire being. It would recede, as these waves always did, but the fear had finally become too much. Mannoah was done praying.

"Skellige!" she screamed, calling out the name of her demon.

Though the red mother had no love for the pregnant interloper, she knew that the woman had belonged to her king. The children she carried, therefore, belonged to him also, and Doe respected this fact. Detested the woman for leaving, as Larkspur the Deserter had done before her. It'd torn her brother badly enough when Sharky had fled the violent embrace of the sea, but to have his own seed stolen from him in the night had to have been worse.

Doe had looked for her when she could, along the edges of the territories, but her own children kept her from straying too far. She still remembered what happened to her when she left the Bay, and she could not risk forgetting the little beings that tied her to these shores. She had to remember, and so, she had to stay.

But she knew that voice, knew that scream. It was Mannoah, and her time had come. Doe gave a howl of triumph, of support. For even though the woman had left, she had returned, and Skellige's children would be born along the Wickedness as they were always meant to be.

Doe tore out of the den, leaving the kids that were present to fend for themselves (@Szymon would probably be along soon to feed them or poke at them). She followed the scent and sounds of labor to the edge of Donnelaith, where she merely howled to announce her entrance (as she often did, these days) before stepping respectfully over the fading line that once separated their two packs.

"You're okay," Doe said when she came upon the woman, but at once, she doubted her words. The darker shewolf looked sickly and drawn, and her eyes were wild with fear.

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The call sounded overhead and the swarthy titan felt his flesh prick with the anticipation of all those months. His children would be there. Casting his dark eyes toward the wood, he set off at a steady pace. For the first time – since the attack from the bear – he did not move with a jagged gait; the limp from his limb was nonexistent in that time of need. The sands urged him forward, past the point that had once marked the divider between their lands. He did not need to seek permission to enter the wooded pack lands because he and Deirdre were the rulers of both of those territories and their word had become law. Instead of two, they had forged together as one. In spite of the fact that the foreign female was carrying his young, he was already forming a lie to the woman he had been promised to. They would be children from another Cairn and he would merely take them in as his own.  
 
Skellige wondered faintly if there was a chance that one of them would look like him. If they would have the same pale markings of the sea against their ribs or if they would walk with the towering intimidation that he carried in his gait. That didn't matter – he could excuse it as coincidence. He did not think that Deirdre would question it, but he did know that he needed to get to Mannoah before she might utter the truth to an unexpecting passerby.  
 
When his crimson gaze settled on the figure of Doe, he felt relief flash through his veins and his heart thrummed less violently within his chest. Closing the distance on her and the pregnant wench, he lifted his tail upward and adjusted his crown so that he towered over the sad form of Mannoah. "The children," he growled quietly, drawing his eyes to her swollen form. She did not look pleased with the circumstances that were presented to her. Something within him suggested that this would be a difficult birthing. She carried the young of the devil.  

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It was not Skellige who first arrived, but the Red Mother. Mannoah quailed as she approached, knowing the ranchor that the woman had once held for her. Relations had been soothed by the time she'd taken her leave, but such things escaped her in her panicked state. Long, thin paws tried to scrabble away as she approached, speaking softly through a maw filled with sharp, wicked teeth.

But she did not attack, and another contraction sufficiently distracted Mannoah from her terror. When the red haze finally passed, Skellige had materialized as well, and the dark shewolf beat her tail against the ground in weak supplication. It did not ease her fear to have the demon near, but at least one of the deities had heard her cries. At least one had answered her prayers.

"Mátame," she whispered to the swarthy Sea King, wanting the pain to end. Dreading what might come when it did. She did not have the strength for these things. The contractions came closer and closer - she knew that she was supposed to push - but there was nothing left in the sickly shewolf.

Part of her was relieved that Skellige had arrived, but for the most part, Doe worried about his presence. He wasn't known for his ability to deal with delicate situations and the birthing of pups was about as delicate as things could get. But it seemed his worries were the same as Doe's, and she gave a tight nod in response.

Doe's ears flickered as Mannoah spoke, and she didn't know the language well enough to recognize the word, but she understood the tone well enough.

"I need you to push, Mannoah," she said, her voice gentle but unyeilding. She can't even understand me, the woman thinks, but that thought is pushed swiftly away. Mannoah should know well enough what needed to be done.

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It was peculiar. As the Jetsam focused her glassy eyes on him, he thought he saw her light up for only a fraction of a second. Her tail wavered and beat weakly against the ground and he peered at her with furrowed brows and a stern expression. It was terrible to think that he did not care enough for the woman who was carrying his kin. He had been the one to bed her and to ruin her... he had forced his young on her womb and yet he did not care if she lived or if she died – he cared only for the children that kicked from within her. She looked pathetic and tired, and he feared that the children simply would not survive the birthing. They were Cairn children, though, he thought with determination... they had war within their blood and they would emerge victorious.  
 
The word that was uttered by the sad woman was foreign to him, but the way in which it rolled from her lips and the tired expression on her face was enough... he understood what her request was. Skellige had seen it many times in battle; he had witnessed the longing for death more frequently than he had seen the miracle of life. Still, he could not end her until she had proven that she had been worthy of carrying the new generation of Cairn children. He leaned forward and released a low grumble, a guttural demand that she press forward and push his pups to their world.  
 
In that moment, the inky wraith drew his head back and called for @Deirdre. She needed to be present for their birth. She and Doe were the most skilled healers he had ever witnessed, and he would not risk anything when it came to the lives of the children.   

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Mannoah stared up at the two, unable to understand even what should have come so naturally in her ailing state. The wolves before her began to separate, multiply, and she could only watch the strange kaleidoscope show as her pain began to fade, as her heart began to beat faster and then... not at all.

Two more breaths were released, one impossibly short and then one impossibly long, and Mannoah could not say whether the air would ever cease to tumble from her lungs. All she knew was that the chill, the hunger, the anxiety that'd gripped her for so long was slowly becoming another figment of her imagination.

She did not live long enough to see the worried look that the Red Mother passed to her alpha.

There was a distant cry, grating against her ears in a sharp, metallic pitch. It was brigtly coloured, wavering slightly, in a way that the young female would often associate with fear. She followed it cautiously, the voice unfamiliar, the request not for her. Still, it was only right that she should investigate, to help where she could.

As Doe's familiar scent wafted into range, she picked up her pace, worried for a moment that something had befallen her good natured friend. To her relief, it was some unknown that was in peril. Approaching slowly in a slinking manner, she looked from one wolf to another; Doe tending to an unknown with a swollen abdomen, and another strange male overseeing the ordeal.

"Doe!" Her voice was a rough bark, tail stiff and held low. When next she looked at the downed wolf, she had seemed to still in an eerie way. Muses froze, her gaze hardening suddenly. "What has happened?" Her tone surprised her, frosty and assertive. She thought she might have panicked, but the adrenalin rushing through her would now allow her thoughts to give way to senselessness. What could she do to help?

Doe flicked her ears, unnerved, and bent down to nose and sniff at the stilled she. "She... she died," the dusky female soon replied. "She just died."

Aghast, Doe's eyes strayed to the woman's belly before darting quickly between the other two. "She's dead! The pups - they'll die with her!"

She'd never been one to shy from violence or gore in the past, but somehow, this was different. It seemed abominable to desecrate the womb of another. It was a sacred place - a place where Doe did not belong. Not unless she'd been the one to kill this woman, not unless she was planning to eat whatever meat was on her - not raise it as her own!

But these were Skellige's pups, and she was Skellige's wolf. Doe stole one last fortifying glance at her alpha before leaning down and running her nose down the line of the shewolf's belly, searching for the weakest place, the safest place to tear into the dead wolf.

"Esa, forgive me," she murmured, praying to her mother's god before tearing deftly into the cooling body before her. The skin was stretched so weak and thin that it seemed to snap away when Doe had made an opening. Drawing on her years of pulling apart her prey, Doe found the other woman's womb and pinched the membrane gingerly between her teeth. With great care and abortive snipping motions of her teeth, Doe revealed the seven bodies within. Two were obviously dead, shrunken and twisted as they were, and another had a strange and grisly mutation that Doe preferred not to look at for very long. The remaining four, however, were moving sluggishly within their ruptured sacs.

Heart pounding, Doe took the nearest one into her mouth and began furiously cleaning the blood and gore from its tiny body. "They need to be cleaned," she instructed, eyes wild as they flicked between her two companions.

Order of birth is in tagging order for you lovely folks. <3

 
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It happened so suddenly; the woman was there one moment, pleading with him to end her life, and the next… her wish had been granted by the great gods. The sea-spattered titan curled his lips over his yellowed fangs and drew his crown back, a violent and ghastly bark was emitted from his jowls. How dare she die and attempt to take the young with her!? Even on the face of his witch doctor was painted a picture of disbelief and fear; Doe looked from the dead woman to Skellige and back to her once more. He was not well-versed in the art of birthing and he could only feel the dread as it stretched through his limbs and took hold of his chest. The wraith clicked his fangs together in a frustrated display of his emotions.
 
At once, Doe came to life and he watched as she nosed toward the swollen figure of the woman. She muttered a prayer of forgiveness to a god that Skellige had not heard of, and he was quick to dart a scorning glance in her direction. The pups – his children – were not only being born within the confines of the forest, but he did not need the breath of a foreign god to fall upon their tender bodies. Still, he knew he must trust the woman he had brought into his life. Doe’s teeth moved swiftly and he watched without stirring as she ripped into the gut of Mannoah and once more into the womb that held his young. So many little bodies… some of them were grotesque and frightening, but he lowered his skull toward them and breathed in. Somehow, the scent of life clung to their tiny figures… at least to four of them.
 
Instructions were given and the massive brute glanced warily toward the witch doctor with a flustered expression on his shadowed face. Dark eyes roamed over the tiny figures, wiggling within the sacs that held them. He was not a man of tenderness or a creature of gentle touch, but he knew that the lives of his offspring depended on his ability to demonstrate some form of fatherly care. Picking the nearest pup – a dark child – he began to work vigorously with his tongue to remove the remains of their dead mother from their body. They would live and they would thrive in the land that he had claimed as his own. The dream that had fallen on him had been true... four pups, and they were already named by the great ancient beings of the water: @Smokestep, @Moorhen, @Redshank, @Sandpiper. 

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There was nothing quite like the miracle of birth. It was a moment of beauty that was cast upon the world; new life entering the cruel and unfortunate land. For most, it was a moment of reverence and care, and some would confess that there was nothing that could compare to it. For the Cairn children, their lives began in a similar fashion to how they had been conceived. Skellige had taken what did not belong to him and had forced them into a future unknown.
 
The weakness of Mannoah was no true mark of how strong her young would be, for she had possessed the strength to carry the tumbling wildlings within her for months. Still, when Kingfisher felt a stir within him and the desire to break free, even the youthful lad could sense that something had gone amiss. Struggle as he might, the pup was not being allowed to break free of his confines and he began to wiggle out of panic. Tiny legs scrabbled to break himself out of the womb that he had grown inside of, but he was being permitted to leave and his heartrate was climbing. Still, he knew only to move his limbs as swiftly as he could and so he did until he felt his tiny body tumble from the warmth of Mannoah and into the frigid world outside.
 
The protective sac still remained around his body, but it had already been punctured by roll of being spilled from his mother’s gut. His little foot emerged from it and struggled – with very little strength – to remove the rest of it from his face and body. Blind and full of fear, the pale child knew very little of what his appearance would strike within his father. The child to be known as Kingfisher – named by the great ancient beings who roamed the vicious waves – could only be seen as a frightening reminder of inevitable doom. He was a rogue in the night, and while he knew very little about what his appearance meant for Skellige, his father would gaze upon his pale form with fearful eyes and a wildly thrumming heart.
 
Kingfisher could only be called one thing by the inky titan of the depths: Smokestep.

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she had been across the territory, near the cliffs, and the spirits had warned her of something. the birds then took to the sky and wheeled around, their calls disconcerting to the queen. what is it? she wondered--and twas then the call broke the sky, and her worry was so great that she did not think before she moved. the whisps lit the way, and she followed their path, but when she had arrived it was too late. before her eyes was a woman dead, and muses deirdre was glad to see that muses was here, and then her eyes fell upon the most precious creatures deirdre had ever seen. the macabre scene did nothing to them; their innocence, their purity, was whole. 

but deirdre's eyes fell then to skellige. she, like doe, knew that without a mother the odds of these children living were slim. they needed warmth, but deirdre had nothing else to offer them bodily. she was not yet a year and had no milk to give. but should it be here, where their mothers blood ran and soaked the earth? 

tell me what i must do, deirdre's eyes roved toward doe then, who would surely know. she did not ask what had happened here as it was not the proper time, and deirdre truly had the patience of a saint.

By the tense uneasiness that filled the air, Muses understood that something had not gone to plan. She was aware that some wolves would die during pregnancy - it was a trait her father abhorred - although it was a bad omen. Her brows furrowed, black lips drawing into a taut line. She observed as Doe got to work removing the whelps. It was perhaps better to save them, although the mother had been weak. Idly, Muses wondered if her father would have shown such compassion.

As it was, a little over half of the litter appeared to be strong. While some were hideously gnarled, defects contorting their little bodies, there were four that appeared to be well developed, although Muses wouldn't trust herself to confirm it. "The living ones must be tended to," She murmured, turning towards Deirdre to relay the instructions. With a bit more boldness, she added, "The dam's body should be removed immediately. It is a bad omen, and it would be a bad fate for the pups to cling to her weak spirit." She sighed, ssuddenly weary, and reluctant to take the body away herself. Where did they even bury the dead? What if they did not want the body of the deceased to taint scred burial grounds?

Instead, she returned her focus to Doe. Following her example, she pulled towards her the sack of a random pup - it was difficult to discern any distinguishing figures while they were still in the placenta - and carefully tore away at the nourishing membrane, using her tongue to wipe the pup and to stimulate breathing.

Puppies can totally jump in wherever; post all you want! I'll get Moorhen in as soon as I get home.

Doe turned toward Deirdre at once, tail waving weakly at the sight of her friend. It was good to have the healing presense of the forest queen among them, and the red mother was already thanking the Wickeness for guiding her teeth - for this grisly birth had not been the work of Esa.

"Yes," Doe agreed when Muses offered her own advice. "Will you see to this, Skellige?"

Although she understood that he might have a desire to remain close to the newly born children, Doe knew also that he would be of more use to them doing this task. It was women's work to soothe the newborn babes, and as far as Doe was concerned, the Sea King had no business here. Still, she had more sense than to say such a thing.

Doe had already laid the first pup she'd taken against her belly, and there, the child called Redshank was still nestled. The red mother glanced toward this one before tracing her eyes over the others, calculating. Four more pups were a lot to take on. If Deirdre were older, she might've asked the forest queen to help her nurse them, but, as it was, there seemed to be no help from any corner.

Doe's eyes landed on Muses. She seemed an adequete age.

"We should get them into the den," she murmured, plucking Redshank from her teats and rising from the ground. "None should be left in the open - All of us will need to carry one, and then the bitch can be taken away."

Resolutely, Doe carried the precious babe from the bloody scene of his birth and took him swiftly to the place where her own children had been born, where they would have come into the world, too, if their mother had remained where she'd been told to remain. Doe's nest was still warm, her three children still huddled under the sheepskin that Szymon had brought her. Doe placed their cousin among them and moved aside, allowing the others to do the same as she went to the natural shelf that held some of her herbs. From there, she took red raspberry leaves and dried, chewed nettle. She was producing enough milk for her own three pups, but perhaps not for four more.

These herbs she placed beside the nest before climbing in and rearranging the little bodies inside of it.

"These herbs will cause a mature shewolf to produce milk - Muses, if you and Skellige both are willing, the help could mean the difference between strong, healthy pups and... dead ones," Doe explained.

Tiny, vulnerable, still. The infant shewolf called Moorhen was spilt unto the world in the most unconventional way, and thus, she remained unconventionally silent. One might've thought she was dead if not for the steady thrumming of her heart. And, indeed, her first breathful of clean, saline air was silent as well. Her lungs pulled strong and true in her chest, but she gave no lusty cries of life as her cousins had before her, as many small wolves had done before her.

But she was alive. She was spilt from the dead womb and pulled into the living world, cleaned by a living tongue, touched by a living fire that quickly took up in her heart.

She was alive.

She was the last to be removed, the last to be tended to; a wet and miserable creature, gracelessly ripped from the warmth of her mother's womb. Was she fated to die, deprived of oxygen while still in her amniotic sack? It would be a blissful death, a mercy to die in such a manner. She would not rot, becoming a septic bulb to poison her mother from within, nor would she know how cruel death could be, malicious and unforgiving. If she was to die, it would be peaceful; she would simply not wake up, and perhaps her soul would wander the coast until it found a new body to inhabit, one with a more blessed fate.

Sandpiper, however, was a Cairn wolf. Although she might one day grow to be a svelt, elegant creature, cursed with asimilar physique to that of her late mother, she was born with the spirit of a sea wolf. True to her family's honour, she was born a fighter. Her little limbs wriggled, soft claws catching against the membrane of her prison. [size=large]A[/size][size=large] hing leg ripped through, and was hit by unwelcome cold. She pushed away in shock, body moving in an automatic way. Her snout pushed through to reveal a tiny black nose, the pink slip of her tongue, preventing her from suffocating immediately, but surely not for long.[/size]

[size=large]Fight![/size]

[size=large]Her chaotic introduction to the world was truly just the beginning.[/size]

He was a child borne of violence, entering the world the same way he was destined to live it. Time would only tell if the same could be said of his siblings — however they were all Cairn children, and their father a leviathan of the sea. There was no doubt; they would be as powerful and as unyielding as the ocean. Especially if they had survived a birthing as traumatic as this.

He fought and kicked as much as his stubby limbs and barely developed muscles would allow him to, raging against the forces that took him from his comfortable cocoon. To an onlooker, the movements were only a gentle flounder, but to the pup, he was squirming harder than ever before. The womb had been cramped but comfortable, the faint heartbeat of his mother soothing him despite all its irregularities.

Even as he was released from his sac, the boy struggled, the warm tongue brushing over his body doing nothing to ease him. He knew nothing of what had befallen his mother, of the siblings he would never meet, or even of his fellow, surviving brother and sisters. All that mattered currently was his currently uncomfortable existence, a thing that Redshank complained about. Loudly. His cries did not cease until he was nestled in a place of warmth. He prodded hungrily at the foreign bodies that had been placed beside him, instinct guiding him to search for a teat.

deirdre listened to doe and swiftly plucked up a cub to take it where it would be warm, for now. when the time was right she would take the children to a more appropriate place to rest but for now she could only think of their surviving and their comfort. she listened to doe speak all the while, and her head tilted with interest. muses, milk-mother. none could imagine this to be the lifes course, but so it was. deirdre worried--winter was coming, and there were more mouths to feed, more than she anticipated.

No one seemed opposed to the idea of removing the body. It was a logical step, for the deceased would no longer be able to provide any thing, save scraps for avian scavengers. Doe, who had recently had a litter of her own, seemed to know what to do. Otherwise, due to their inexperience, Deirdre and herself would be useless. The father of the pups probably had little knowledge on the subject as well. Muses knew fathers to be more of enforcers than providers. Her own had been generally absent for her upbringing; women were meant to tend to the children, after all.

She gently picked up the single wolf cu, Smokestep, she had first tended to, carrying him briskly after Doe, who led them towards a den that had been undoubtedly prepared for the recent birth. It was a cozy place, with room for a few mothers to reside within at once, she supposed. Carefully following after the red female, she lay the pup among his sibling and cousins, before shifting over to make room for the others to bring the two remaining puppies in.

No more than a heartbeat larer, Doe had turned back, producing a small offering of strange smelling herbs. Her first instinct was to wrinkle her nose, for she did not have the same appreciation for them as a healer might. Copper ears cocked forward, she listened to the explanation, and the plan. Uneasily, she flicked her ears to the side. Although Doe herself was producing milk, there would not be enough to feed several hungry mouths. In hindsight, she supposed that she was old enough; Deirdre, the only other female present, had not reached full maturity. Ever giving, the pale creature bowed her head, accepting the duty. "If Skellige agrees, then I will do whatever I can to help." A combination of selflessness and naivety encouraged her to step up to the role of wet nurse.

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The heat of the moment had faded as Deirdre arrived and swiftly made herself useful. Though he detested the taste of it, Skellige had finished cleaning his pup and he was appropriately squealing and squeaking as his tiny limbs wobbled. The brute glanced down at the darker pup and breathed heavily, drawing his tongue over his lips and muzzle to eradicate the taste of the dead woman from his mouth. It clung there like a plague. Just as these thoughts crossed his mind, the wraith’s attention was drawn toward Doe as she asked if he would be able to dispose of her body. Momentarily stunned by the statement, he frowned and glanced from Mannoah to his friend before nodding his head once. First, they were to find a safe den for the pups and to get them started on feeding.
 
Gripping the dark pup in his front teeth, the leviathan began to trail after the group of wolves ahead of him. They did not go too far – thankfully for the children – and once they were inside the den, he made a motion to get the pup in his mouth as close to warmth as he could. Already, his squeaks were growing fainter and Skellige would not allow for his life to fade because of the chill in the air. He had entered the den just as Muses had mentioned him by name, and it snapped his attention toward her with swiftly furrowed brows and a thin-lipped expression on his dark face. “Yes. Whatever you must do to keep them alive,” he instructed with a swift nod of his skull toward the woman. She had come from nowhere, but he knew that she was a blessing in disguise… no doubt, the great ones had brought her to him and his kin.
 
With one last glance at his pups and toward the women who stood in the den, he nodded his head and returned to the bloodbath in the forest. It took him a great deal of time, but the thick brute managed to drag the body of Mannoah from the wood and down to the ocean’s edge. With enough pull, he was able to grip her nape and swim as far as his limbs would allow into the sea. Once there, he released her and watched her tattered figure begin to sink slightly beneath the swell. A cold expression adorned his face as he watched her sink into the depths of his most beloved land. The creatures of the water would make a quick meal of whatever would be left of her. Without so much as another word, Skellige turned and returned back to shore. His flesh pricked from the ice on the waters and the brisk wind that tousled his thick coat. Children of the winter, he mused to himself with a scowl.
 
Though much time had passed, he still returned to the den where his pups were already curled tightly against the women who were there. Their bodies were tiny and fragile looking. He wondered – in the very back of his mind – if he had ever appeared so small and sad. If he could rise beyond his own upbringing, certainly the four before him could. A quick glance toward Isengrim, Julep, and Whiskey left him with thoughts of how they would react toward the new pups. The wraith knew he had endured enough thought for one day. With a quiet huff, he placed himself toward the mouth of the den and glanced toward Doe with an expression that seemed unreadable at first but had faded to something unfamiliar for the titan: gratefulness.

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