Dragoncrest Cliffs A million stars

She slept roughly 23½ hours a day now. She used that spare half hour today to visit Portia and the newborn Sirio and Dalia; nibble at some food @Thuringwethil had brought her; and empty her aching bladder. Wildfire then dropped back into a dead sleep inside the cozy log, waking much later that night when she felt a cramp and telling pressure in her gut. Yawning and smacking her lips, the Bandrona eased out of the den, slipped behind it and squatted. Her chestnut eyes rolled up to the black sky smeared with stars as she relaxed her muscles. Instead of moving her bowels, however, she felt a sharp pain and cried out in surprise. Inhaling sharply, she looked down and saw a white blob on the grass between her legs, glowing dimly in the starlight.

Wildfire stared for a beat, sleepily wondering, Did I just lay an egg? Am I dreaming? Another intense pain throbbed between her legs and that seemed to properly rouse her. She gasped loudly when she realized she had actually just given birth. A second later, her instincts kicked in and she plucked the newborn off the ground. Quickly, she carried the tiny whelp into the safety of the fallen tree, silently but urgently nudging Thuringwethil out of the way. Cradling him—him! they had a son!—between her forelegs, she began to clean the damp, pale cub. But the joy that bloomed in her chest turned to horror when she slowly realized there was something very wrong with him; he was badly disfigured.

Wildfire didn't have much time for dismay, however, as a wave of painful contractions heralded the imminent birth of a second puppy (@Artaax). Gently, she plucked him up and tucked him against her chest. He looked exactly like the firstborn, sans the pitiable deformities. The new mother quickly cleaned him, heartened by his normalcy, and then carefully tucked both twins against her flank in the hopes they would suckle. Her heart sank when she saw the slightly older of the two barely moving, much less latching. She looked helplessly upward, as if seeking answers, yet the unseen stars stayed silent.

The contractions became regular after that, though a long time passed—midnight slipped by, the last day of winter giving way to the first day of spring—before Wildfire pushed another baby (@Blixen) into the world. The first and only girl was tiny but perfect, her fur a blazing red. The Bandrona immediately knew what they would call her. A smile curled her lips as she cleaned and dried her daughter, then nudged her in beside her brothers just in time to deliver a fourth pup into the world. He looked just like his sister, only he was easily twice her size. He immediately loosed his bowels on her. Wildfire snorted and hastily cleaned up the tarry, black mess, just the first of many more to come.

Moments later, there was one last wave of pain and a final push. Her fourth son immediately reminded Wildfire of her parents: he was Peregrine (black) on the top and Fox (red) on the bottom. She felt a bolt of fear when he proved less responsive than his litter mates, even his eldest brother. There was a moment of terrible dread when he lay limp, apparently not breathing. But Wildfire's warm, wet tongue eventually coaxed a robust cry from him and he began to fidget and fuss. Relieved by these signs of life, the young mother made certain he was warm and dry, then mouthed him, placing him beside the other four pups.

During the labor and delivery, Wildfire had become rather oblivious to her surroundings and that included whether or not her mate had stayed inside the den. She looked for Thuringwethil now, woofing softly. "There's five: four boys and a girl," she whispered, joy mixed in with a touch of sorrow. "Thur..." she continued a little heart-brokenly in the next breath, "something's the matter with him." She nosed at their eldest, who had yet to start suckling. She loved him no less than the others, though it was almost unbearable to look at him and impossible to do so without picturing a life of pain and suffering.

Without any warning whatsoever, the Bandrona grasped her firstborn son in her jaws and put him out of his misery with a single, swift bite. She knew that it must be done and did it before she could second-guess her instincts. "Can you bury him for us, nomi?" she breathed quietly to the Heda, heart heavier in that moment than it had ever been. "But first," she added, reaching out a paw to touch the commander's, "I'd like to give him a name." They would not bury him without one; that was one of the Redhawks' traditions she would not be upholding.

There has been a comfort knowing Portia and Dio are not too far off in their own den with their own children. Hougeda is not terribly far from them, either, and it gives her a peace of mind each night they get closer to the birth. Thuringwethil keeps Wildfire fed when she wants and she delivers to the other new mother as well, knowing that her brood is only a matter of days away. There isn’t going to be much that pulls her away in the days to come, stuck to her mate’s side until she knows everything is going to be okay. But then again, is she ever going to know that?

Wildfire slips past her in the middle of the night and she allows her eyes to lazily follow her. She stays in the mouth of the den where it is wider so she can lay flat on her side. The pain had begun to subside over the last several times and she doesn’t want to revisit Portia for another lecture on her stupidity. It is only when Wildfire rushes back, herding her out of the way that she winces as she’s forced to get up and back out. She thinks back to the conversation they had about whether or not she would be nearby and she feels the urge to get closer, to see what is going on, but her legs remain in one place for several seconds. With a forceful shake, she steps back and circles the front of the tree. Her head turns to peer through the protecting redwood giants in the direction of the healer’s den, wondering if she needs to go get him. Perhaps Melchior or Kendra, or…

Thuringwethil swallows the lump in her throat when she’s finally pulled back to reality by the sounds of soft movement and cries from not one, but several, and she loses all focus on what she should be doing. Her ear cup forward to try and catch the next set of sounds in anticipation for what’s to come, worried by the silence of her made. She’s tired, she tells herself with a thick, sickly feeling in the back of her throat.

After what feels like hours, she hears the tired voice of her mate. The words are barely audible and they are enough to react to, slipping inside the tree trunk, biting back the pain coming from her chest. All of it at once is overwhelming. Five puppies. Five. She swallows the lump, turning to the one Wildfire has pointed out that something is wrong with him but in the dark, she cannot see the extent. The smell of him isn’t right, either, and Wildfire doesn’t need any prompting as she puts the child out of his memory and asks for a name.

Slowly, Thuringwethil lowers to the ground and puts her nose close by the lifeless body. His blood stings her nose and she closes her eyes, breathing in the scent of his hours-old life is over. She mourns, albeit quietly, as she whispers a singular, “Antler,” onto his chilling form.

The fates did not see fit to see the child with sunset-kissed fur into the world when the sun still slumbered long hours, and the cold whipped down from the northern peaks. So instead of immediately following her elder brother, who emerged wrapped in a pale cloak of snowy down from the departing Winter, Blixen remained until the time rolled over and the season passed unceremoniously into spring. She knew little of the world until, suddenly, her body hit the chilly ground and the fetal sack surrounding her was lapped away from her mouth and nose by her mother's frenzied tongue. The air was biting, and the first breath she drew was spent on an enthusiastic wail of surprise and displeasure.

Blixen squawled and cried, using every square inch of her tiny little lungs to annouce her displeasure at the unfortunate circumstances that landed her in this hellscape of assaulting tongues and gentle nudges. She couldn't see; couldn't hear, and felt no greater emotion than that of frustration. But it slowly began to abate as she realized her untempered senses were sending tiny sparks of pleasure from the depths of her developing mind at the attention. Belatedly she realized—she liked the warm thing that cleaned her off, and coated her in a scent that would soon become her identifier.

Of course, it was impossible for her to convey this, but she did resume crying (albeit softer this time) when Wildfire's attention turned to the next sibling in line. Artaax squirmed beside her, and the tactile sensations that he sent through her from his movements inspired her to wiggle forward until her nose collided with Wildfire's stomach. Her mouth opened and closed silently as she worked an invisible teat, unaware that her instinct was telling her to eat, until her mother shifted in such a way that her tiny little lips closed around a nipple. She took to it with a vigor and worked the life-giving milk from the fleshy knob while entirely ignorant of the merciful death of her eldest brother.

There was nothing for the snow-furred babe to know, sense, or acknowledge until life’s greatest miracle carried him swiftly into the world.
 
He came forth, the warm sack that had enveloped him spilling away to leave him cold and defenseless upon the ground. His lungs contracted sharply to draw in the boy’s first breath that fueled the tremendous wail that echoed from his toothless mouth. The sensation the cold air left throughout his body was one Artaax was entirely discontented with.
 
His pudgy little limbs shifted to carry his deaf, sightless form into the unknown. He knew no other way to communicate his displeasure towards his predicament besides crying out into the darkness. A squeak of surprise was emitted when the warm, moist sensation of Wildfire’s tongue swept over him. His distressed mewling quieted some as he found himself nestled against his mother’s stomach.
 
Blixen’s squirming presence soothed him further and he shifted closer to the child he’d come to know as his sister. Instinct propelled him forward, his dark nose prodding blindly against Wildfire’s belly in search of sustenance. In order to locate another teat, he had to wriggle away from his sibling a bit and the absence of her presence elicited a cry from the boy – only until his face brushed against a nipple, towards which he aimed his mouth and began suckling away ravenously.

She could not guess at the origin of the name, nor its meaning to the commander. But Wildfire quietly echoed, "Antler." She peered down at their ill-fated son, her throat tightening at the sight of his blood, which she had spilled. She slowly turned away, refocusing on her living children even as she reminded herself that she had done the most loving thing she could possibly do by putting down Antler. They would not forget him, yet they could not linger over his death.

Thuringwethil made no immediate move to bury their poor firstborn, so Wildfire said quietly into the dark, "What should we call the others?" There was joy in her voice, despite their loss. She spoke to her mate, yet remained transfixed by the bundles of joy squirming at her belly. "This one looks like Dio. What if—" Wildfire looked up now, catching the Heda's eye. "—we called him Artaax Dio?" She thought the names paired well and the resemblance to their gracious donor made sense to her. "What do you think, nomi?"

"And what about Phoenix for him," the Bandrona added in the next moment, bending to lick tenderly at the ruddy boy's wrinkled face, "and Vixen for this little mama's girl?" Her lips curved into an affectionate smile as she nosed their only daughter. Those were the names she'd picked and it seemed somehow fitting to assign them to the pups that most took after herself. Her amber eyes burned warmly in the darkness as she regarded them for a long moment, her attention then slipping to their youngest.

"He looks like my parents," Wildfire murmured, unaware that he was also the spitting image of her mother's sister (an aunt she'd never met), Robin. "He gave me a scare at first. But he's doing good now," the new mother observed even as his mouth opened into a tiny "o" and he let out quite the screech. Although the sound could be considered irritating, it was music to Wildfire's ears and she leaned down to soothe him with several methodical strokes of her tongue before gently urging him toward a teat.

Once he quieted and began to nurse, Wildfire looked to the commander once more, eyes soft and heart beating with such joy. They had lost one little one, yet the other four seemed perfect, healthy and strong. Between the two of them, they would never let anything happen to the others. And together they would raise them from these tiny little bean bags into fierce and loyal members of Drageda, one day even earning the right to bear the Drakru name.

Thuringwethil looks upon the child for a moment, her nose still close. Soon he doesn’t smell much more than blood and she wraps her mouth around him to set him away from the others. She knows she can’t dig a grove big or deep enough in her current state and she’ll find Dio later to do the deed for her. It’s something she’s supposed to do, and feels it is only her right to do, but she has to give herself a pass.

When Wildfire goes on with names, she turns back to her mate and looks at each respective puppy. She lingers longest on Artaax, blinking a few times as the thought of a middle name—of Dio’s middle name—doesn’t settle well with her. These aren’t his children, no matter his contribution. She is hesitant at first to say something but these are her children, too, and even if she gives most of the room to her mate, their names will remain as close to home as she can make them.

“Just Artaax,” she decides, lowering her nose a little closer to the child. She touches the next one over, Phoenix, and then finally, the one without a name. The weakened of the bunch that still remained resilient. Other than size, there are no other deformities and no ill-smells to lead her to believe something else is wrong. Her nose wrinkles as she lingers on the last boy, wondering what name in store is for him. “What about him?”

it's nearly 3am and i didn't realize it was my turn so i sprang up to reply, hello.

As her parents looked over the brood, Blixen single-mindedly focused on suckling from her mother. Her instincts told her to fill her belly to burst—to drink deep of the nutrients and antibodies that would later serve to kickstart her systems. She warbled a note of contentment through a mouthful of milk and, of course, managed to dribble some of it down her chin, ultimately paying it no mind at all. Beside her Artaax squirmed in search of his own teat to hoard; she was ignorant of the others, and the only knowledge she had of her brother thusfar was the heat that radiated from his tiny body.

Eventually her greedy guzzling slowed to a more steady clip as the conversation passed from the healthy children to the one who initially struggled in the first few moments of his life. He punctuated his moment in the spotlight with a wail that, blessedly, fell on deaf ears. Finally she reached a point where her body automatically put a stopper on her gluttony and, with an audiable pop, the teat slipped from her mouth as she unceremoniously resumed squirming around blindly for attention.

The new mother was too caught up in the breathless wonder of their new family to catch the rejection right away. By the time it occurred to her, Thuringwethil was asking after the youngest. Wildfire paused and blinked, lips pursed and brow furrowed. Why didn't the commander want to honor Dio this way? She had absolutely no desire to bring down the room by arguing over names, so she simply nodded. Perhaps she would bring it up again later, since it meant something to her to recognize their donor.

"You decide," she said simply, mouth curling at the corners. "The other names are okay?" she added, just in case the Heda had any qualms about her mate's other choices. She was so happy at the moment that she really didn't care what they ended up naming them. Wildfire was just so glad they were here.

Sorry for the delay! So, so sick. :-(

He nursed greedily, suckling away with what felt like an insatiable hunger. Taste was a concept unknown to the boy, but he was overcome with a feeling of warmth, contentment, and pleasure.
 
Droplets of milk dribbled from the corners of Artaax’s toothless mouth as his feasting finally began to slow. Only when his belly was full to the point of bursting did he release Wildfire’s teat.
 
Having consumed so much of the substance to the point of discomfort, his body responded by promptly regurgitating a tiny pool of it. The cream-furred babe experienced relief and he mewled softly to proclaim his satisfaction.

She’s given the choice to name one of them. Artaax had been previously decided, as some of the others, but the weight of his feels different. She doesn’t have time to consider what may or may not be a good name for the boy. Thuringwethil lowers her nose and puts a leathery touch gently on his rear and breathes. They are but only minutes old; just a little while, they hadn’t been here at all, and now they had this little bundle to care for.

“Robin,” she says after a moment, picking up her head and trying to adjust to a new position so that she can run her tongue across the top of her mate’s head. There may have been conflict from the beginning, even now she won’t say the air is free of tension, but she knows one thing: “I am so proud of you.”

One minute she's wiggling like a crazy bean, and the next she's slowing down as the soft vibrations from her mothers' voices lull her into a comfort both familiar and unfamiliar. Blixen squeaks a few times to add her own opinion to their own conversation, but soon even that is quieted as she finds a warm little place nestled between her mother and her siblings. Her brain is underdeveleoped yet, but it offers flashes of color and sensation that keep her company until she slowly passes into a restful slumber.

Concern flickered through her when Artaax disgorged his first meal, though maternal instincts took command. She cleaned him and bundled him closer to herself and the other pups. It's normal, she told herself, and there'll be many more where that came from. Her lips twitched into a smile, which deepened at her mate's words.

"I'm proud of us, our little family," she replied softly, gazing up at Thuringwethil and then back down at the brood. "Antler, Artaax, Vixen, Phoenix and Robin," she added, finding the final name more than suitable. It fit in with all her family's themes, to boot.

She was starting to feel exhausted, if still overjoyed. She didn't think she could sleep any time soon. Once more, her chestnut gaze lifted to the commander's face. They had arrived. They now had names. Life was only just beginning. And Wildfire finally had everything she'd ever wanted—everything she could ever ask for.

PP with permission obtained earlier

Thuringwethil doesn’t know if she’d ever admit it, but she doesn’t feel much differently than her mate. The excitement of the night, learning of the growth of their family, has sent sensation all the way to her nerve endings. She’s certain the last thing she can do right now is sleep and so she diligently chooses to stick close to her new little family. Her tail thumps idly on the ground and she presses her nose to each squirming babe and concentrating on how differently they smell from one another. A heavy sigh escapes her, pleased with her new life.

The remembrance of Antler, however, causes her head to lift after a moment and she slowly and carefully stands and gives the fallen boy a nudge with her nose before she gingerly scoops him up and steps out into the night. She takes him to @Dio to bury, knowing she cannot do it for her son, but she does not leave until the mound of dirt is covered and packed.

When she finally does return, a little dirtier than before and empty of their child, she tries to settle in close to them once more and reuniting with her children.