Ravensblood Forest convalescence

@Olive!

It was midafternoon and pleasantly cool when the smoke-and-shadow female caught and killed a young marmot, plump and careless after having gorged itself on the budding spring shoots. Judging by the hour, Lotte surmised that if Olive was suffering any residual pregnancy-induced illness, she’d be through with it by now. The young mother-to-be, ignorant of the fact that nausea was for some unfortunates an all day kind of deal, moved at a quick clip toward the den the pale sylph and her dark knight shared. Lotte meant well — surely it would be difficult for the injured twain to hunt during their recovery, and it was likely they didn’t want to be separated — but when she reached the clearing a feeling of trepidation settled in her gut. The unease bloomed, twisting uncomfortably and sending little shocks of genuine physical discomfort through her system. Placing the marmot between her forepaws, she leaned forward and dropped her hips to stretch her lower back and hindquarters, working out the odd, taut feeling centered in her lower abdomen.

There was an additional motive — though not necessarily ulterior — for Banríon’s wanting to meet and speak with Olive. Whether it was due to the jarring nature of their meeting or the upsurge of hormones she’d been experiencing at the time, Lotte just didn’t have a good first impression of the flighty woman. The fact that Olive was so close to term didn’t help matters; the impatient rogue checked her lean, athletic musculature daily for any discernible physical changes that would prove to her — and to the rest of Teaghlaigh — that she was Arturo’s mate and worthy of her title, but aside from certain unmentionables, she always seemed to come up short. Lotte and the rest of her family had always possessed hearty appetites, and the fact that she was hungry all the time could easily be attributed to her own continued convalescence.

Swallowing her worries, Lotte howled softly, hoping the woman was home to hear it.

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It was good fortune that Lotte had gone seeking Olive where she had, for she did not stray far from her den nowadays. The vagrant had said goodbye to coast and her beloved keep [and had made quite a show of it too], knowing that she would not be leaving the confines of the bleeding, sap-stained timber for some time. Normally, this would deeply bother the seraph [who’s feet felt as light as the wind and not any less spirited] but Olive was oddly… at peace with it. The world beyond Teaghlaigh was big — almost too big. Spooky and evil things lurked around every corner, it seemed, and the world outside was overflowing with untimely coincidences and unfulfilled vengeances; all the things that actively sought her downfall. The lamb had enough of big — now, she wanted small. Olive wanted the safety of the forest and to hell with the rest! Yes, a world within which existed only Teaghlaigh was tempting, but tempting still was a world within which only her newly expanding family existed… she wanted the limits of her world to be the sanctum of her den, her dark husband at her side and fat babies rolling in her arms. It was a small world, but it was a good world, untainted by the coincidences and vengeances that jaded the big, bad world out there. 

Olive’s rapidly progressing pregnancy also gave her a quite valid reason to no longer leave the forest… and meant that she didn’t have to admit that she was scared and losing faith in the universe [which once captivated her blindly] — a trust that, to her, had been like the oxygen she breathed. Perhaps she had grown fearful and allowed the world to make her cold — or perhaps she nurtured a very healthy sense of vulnerability, especially now that her children were no longer some figment of imagination but a very distinct reality. Whatever the truth was, the world was quickly changing and Olive, for once, craved stability: that was where Dakarai came in. The dark knight was the most constant thing the lamb had ever known and oh how she loved him for it. Ever since Olive had become with child, Dakarai had scarcely left her side [even when he had lost himself and had every reason to move on without her]. Though they were back amongst family, still Dakarai was never too far — but on this particular day, the dutiful husband was away, retrieving his hungering wife a snack.

The hunger wife in question laid heavily against the smooth stone of her above ground den. Olive was fatigued, having had busied herself for a better part of the day gathering soft boughs of greenery and layering the hard flooring with it. With her body busy at healing would and nurturing pups, there had been no time to dig an subterranean den [as her instincts told her to do], so she would have to make do with the rocky outcrop that had been her home for some time. The perennial cushion was replaced almost daily, as the shewolf was growing increasingly restless and did not believe that her children should be born on anything put the freshest and softest carpeting. It was here that Olive laid, snuffling around and rearranging any leaves that were within her grasp, when she heard Lotte. Initially, the call shot adrenaline through Olive’s body and the mother-to-be shifted uncomfortably, wondering why Arturo’s queen would seek her out. It certainly couldn’t have been for anything good — and the possibilities made her nervous. The two women had a most interesting relationship [for a relationship so new], but Olive knew this women was her Banrion and deserved her respect. So Olive hauled her fecund frame from the ground and waddled towards the smoky wolfess.

“Lotte— it’s great to see you.”

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A bitterly familiar pang of jealousy filled Lotte’s mouth with acid as she watched Olive, round with children, emerge from the shadows of her stonewalled den. Teaghlaigh’s second mother-to-be tried to stifle it, but her rich alto timbre was gruff and cool as she questioned in a perfunctory way, “How are you?”

She hadn’t said anything amiss, but her inability to cloak her emotions and smile gracefully at the woman was far more frustrating than a verbal blunder. Lotte lifted the marmot and brought it nearer to Olive, nudging it close with her broad muzzle. The fresh scrapes she’d sustained when chasing off the fox still stung, but she paid them little mind as she looked searchingly at the green-eyed woman and was forced anew to battle her own green-eyed demon. Olive wore her pregnancy beautifully, and even the healing wounds that littered her body seemed to possess a certain dignity that Lotte could not comprehend. “I do not feel close to you,” she said frankly. “I want to — I came here to bring you food and talk with you.” It wasn’t in the soot-stockinged rogue’s nature to beat around the bush unless subtlety and subterfuge were absolutely necessary, so she spoke quite plainly. “I am Banríon — but I am more than that. I am a wife and a twin and a mother, but I am jealous that your babes will be born before mine.” Now she did smile, though it crumbled at the corners, for poking fun at herself was one of the best ways Lotte had learned to cope with things she found particularly troublesome. A hefty sigh gusted from her lips.

If Olive was air, drifting loftily hither and thither, wholly immune to imprisonment by any corporeal demand, Lotte was earth — all blood and flesh and sensation. The two women were equal in their love for their husbands and their desire for children, but they differed in so many ways. More quietly, “Arturo is fond of you, if you doubted it,” Lotte intoned. “You are like a pikkusisko for him. A little sister.”

Swallowing, Lotte drew her tongue across her lips, still sweet with the marmot’s blood. “What I want for us — ” she said with uncharacteristic hesitation “ — there are packs with many mothers, and these mothers are all sisters in the way that Teaghlaigh is a Family. They labor together and weep together and laugh together. Some of them share the same man, and though neither of us wants that,” she barked a laugh, “I want that closeness. I just do not understand you. Will you talk to me, ihana kuu? Will you tell me what happened in your words, and spend some time with me?”

This early in the game, Lotte could not even say that she liked Olive — but she wanted to. She was willing to make the effort, no matter how uncomfortable it was, if it meant reaching a point of camaraderie.

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The air was thick and tense as the fruitful Banríon approached her, a carcass swinging from her jaws. Olive’s eyes reflected the springtide greens of the canopy above as they flicked from queen to meal, queen to meal. The woman, heavy with child, could not pretend as if she had not hungered almost continuously since her and Dakarai’s return flight to Teaghlaigh — and for the strangest of foods, too: meat. For nearly her entire life, Olive had maintained a staunch appetite of greens and berries [supplemented with flesh, but only on occasion] and found that her body was quite nourished from it. So, to crave meat [and not just any meat, but the bloodiest and choicest moities] around the clock was a foreign and uncomfortable sensation. Perhaps it was Olive’s body rush to nourish and grow her pups, stunted from the distress that was ever-present during her pregnancy, in the few days before she would bring them into the world. At least, that was how she rationalized it. 

Dakarai often was the one who fetched her such fare, as he was a most dedicated and loving husband. The dark night did not make comments or pass judgement; and for that, Olive was grateful. On occasion different members of the family would swing by [as Lotte was doing now], but their visits were seldom and sparing. No one wanted to speak to a Náire — the disgraced ones who had once occupied such high ranks within Teaghlaigh — no one wanted to be associated with such debauchery. So Olive and Dakarai kept to themselves for the most part, unwilling to impose their company on any member of the family, old or new.  This solitude, however, did not keep Olive from zealously accepting the Queen’s gift and with a dip of her creamy head and a few nudges of her sculpted maw, the mother pushed the meal towards the mouth of the cavernous stone den to be enjoyed later. 

“Thank you,” the pale woman offered softly and fell silent, certain that the brazen queen would be forward with the reason for her visit — and Olive was not wrong.  Olive’s ears cupped towards Lotte in interest but she soon tired of the weight of her swollen belly and she gradually slipped closer and closer to the ground, until her forearms rested upon the strong earth and the weight of her swollen belly was similarly supported.  With a cordial flick of her muzzle Olive offered the queen the same corporeal reprieve [the queen’s velveteen body was also busy at work, creating life] and continued to listen to Lotte’s words, heart tweaking at the mention of little sisters, family that laughed together and understanding — everything Teaghlaigh once had, but now was broken.

Then it was Olive’s turn to speak… and Lotte wanted answers; albeit, requested in a most sugared and friendly of manners. At first, the mother was critical of Lotte’s inquiry [perhaps she was Arturo’s inquisitor, sent of behalf of the absent king?] and for several moments, Olive remained silent and visibly withdrawn, deep thought writ upon her facial features. How could a woman so young, feel so matured and superior? What could she say that hadn't already been said? Despite her qualms [which were ever-present nowadays], Lotte’s gregarious and garrulous nature easily won Olive’s trust unbidden and the pale sylph let out a huff, looking up at Lotte with a swimming, eau-de-nil gaze. “I want that closeness too,” she admitted weakly, her delicate voice contrasted with Lotte’s confidence and aplomb. Her petite, milky paw clawed restlessly at the ground from the discomfort of her pregnancy as well as the strong presence of Arturo’s mate, queen.  “I… I don’t know. I never meant to put any of us in danger… I—I thought I was doing the right thing.” Oh, how Olive disliked speaking about herself [on behalf of forces much larger than her]! Why did the others pull at her for an explanation, when every [and all] actions were divine and written in the stars? Olive recognized that she hadn’t yet answered the queens question, but the mother’s stomach was in her throat and simply couldn’t bring herself to do so. 

“How could my perception have been so far off?”

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Lotte’s broad muzzle dipped in a solicitous nod at Olive’s softly spoken “thank you,” but she was largely quiet as she watched the play of emotions across the older female’s face. She wanted to see the Olive that Arturo had spoken so fondly of — the bright and laughing little sister with an occasional impetuous streak — but it was difficult. She didn’t particularly feel like reclining — the cramps were often better when she could stand and move at will — but at the inviting quirk of the sylph’s muzzle Lotte responded almost immediately. Carefully she mirrored the gravid female’s posture, though her reason for doing so was subconscious: she wanted to build a rapport with Olive and had the best intentions in mind.

For once, Lotte wasn’t acting on orders or donning the mask of another persona to get the information she craved — and unfortunately for the young mother-to-be, that meant that she was vastly uncomfortable. She knew what Kaniini, Kitku, or Solene would have done and how they would have gone about it, but in this moment she was only Lotte — and a very hormonal Lotte at that. Olive’s visage did not lighten, and Lotte’s quip fell rather flat; it was enough to make her wish she’d just dropped off the food and skedaddled.

Soot-stockinged limbs tensed to do just that — run from the situation — but Lotte was saved from a graceless, bumbling exit at the soft huff that plumed from Olive’s lips. In the end, the rogue was tired of talking the situation to death and decided to simply drop the subject in favor of lighter, brighter ones. They’d never achieve any sort of closeness if Lotte launched the harder questions straight out of the gate. She made no verbal transition, just asked, “How long until they arrive?” instead, gesturing toward the convex swell of the misted druid’s flank. “Are you excited to meet them at last?”

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It seemed that the queen had no desire to speak about that subject for long and Olive found that she was relieved. The topic of their plight had been belabored and beaten to death since their arrival at Ravensblood Forest and Olive, for one, was amenable to the idea of dropping it completely. It was finished, wasn’t it? She had traded the delicateness of her virginal visage,  which [until recently] had been untouched and unmarred by the roughhoods of  life… though not entirely by choice. No, the hulking spectre of a woman — the matriarch of the blackfeather fuckers —  had not given her a choice at all. But it was done; finished; their debts paid. 

“Yes, I am” Olive sung sweetly, looking back and reaching out her muzzle to smooth the thinning fur of her belly.  It was likely only a week longer until they rushed to greet the world, and Olive was pleased she could birth them in the peaceful seclusion of Ravensblood Forest, under the protection and jurisdiction of her family. There had been so many moments during the past month that she did not believe it would be so. “I have never been a mother before,” she continued, an earnest smile twisting her lips. At two and a half yeas old, she hadn’t had much time to try; not that had stopped the queen who sat before her, scarcely a year old.  “but, from the stories, I understand it to be simply splendid.” 

Olive blinked big, moony hormonal eyes at Lotte. If she was going to have any hope in returning back to Arturo’s favor, she would sooner need to win over his child queen. Here she was, outstretching her an olive branch [lol] — how could she not take it? “How lucky are we to experience this journey together?” the mother-to-be chimed brightly, hoping to return the sense of closeness that they both so desired, yet seemed so elusive.

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Lotte cracked a smile at the mist-shrouded mother-to-be. She was such a funny little wolf! The battle-whetted soturi felt their differences keenly, but if she squinted — Olive wasn’t all that bad. She was easy to get along with in that she posed little to no threat to the Ansbjørn bitch, was devoted first and foremost to her husband, and had no designs on Arturo’s affections. Even her children seemed of little importance now, although Lotte’s moods were as capricious as her hormones could make them. Right now she was in a good place, willing to regard the sage-eyed sage with tolerance and magnanimity. “This will be my first litter also,” she said, though it was probably obvious. Lotte wasn’t that much younger than Olive, for her first head had come only two months prior to her second birthday, but she tended to expect more from older females. In the tundra, age had been indicative of experience and strength — but the softer clime had made for softer females, and Lotte couldn’t find role models in Olive or August. This had irked her at first, and would continue to irk her from time to time, but if she could do away with her childish expectations —

…well, more sisters was never a bad thing.

“My mother always said that I was made for motherhood,” Lotte mused. “I drove my siblings mad with my fussing.” Her throat grew tight as she thought of Bård and Tove, Lærke and especially Dagfinn. She didn’t know quite what to make of Olive’s question: “How lucky are we to experience this journey together?” There was something deeply singular about pregnancy that made Lotte want to shut down that idea where it stood and keep it for herself, but there was also a deep desire for camaraderie that kept her from doing so. Her hesitation was palpable before her black-masked face broke with a mischievous smile. “We are lucky,” she agreed with a chuckle. “Maybe Arturo and Dakarai are not so lucky — I, for one, eat enough to feed myself and ten cubs.” Her tone was rife with disappointment as she muttered: “I eat this much, but still I am not fat,” she fairly pouted. “How long does it take for them to show?”

Shall we tie up this golden oldie too?

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Olive could not help but attempt to stifle the youthsome giggles that Lotte’s stories produced. The young girl had a commanding, powerful presence that was difficult to ignore – and though the featherlight space cadet had [at first] been intimidated by such a dominant energy, she had quickly grown to appreciate Lotte’s vivacity. Young as she was, the mummer was strong in the face of her steadfast husband and unafraid to challenge him head-on. Balance, Olive admired affectionately. It was what her and Dakarai had, and it was a beautiful thing.
 
At the image of a young Lotte, surely a picture image of those cubs growing within her, Olive let her laughter pour forth and when the tinkling of her joy faded away, the fae tossed her head as if to gain composure. ”Knowing you and Dagfinn, I can see that.” Though Olive had only met Dagfinn on scarce occasions, she knew the queen was close with her twin and he was free to enter Ravensblood Forest as he pleased – as Blackrock Depths and Donnelaith had once been able to do. Perhaps, once upon a time, Olive had clout enough with Arturo to make such a request – but that time was no more.  
 
Then Lotte turned her attention to the progress of her pregnancy. The two women had become enceinte at around the same time [must have been something about the winter snows that inspired such [i]heat], but it was true – Olive was bulging at the seams, her petite frame clearly encumbered by the process of creating life, white Lotte had no more than a small curvature to show for all her hard work. ”Hmm, I am not sure,” the druid commented with a hum.  ”We are so different,” not only in body, but in personality. It was not a bad thing, but as Lotte had mused upon just moments before, each pregnancy was an individual experience.  ”Perhaps they find you too comfy – they are hiding so they will never have to leave!” Her voice was bright, wishing her pups would come to the same verdict.  When with child, Olive felt divine – purpose driven, complete – knowing that new beings would soon enter the world to help spread light and hope across the wilds… and only now, she could hold them close and keep them safe from the evils of the world.
 
As if roused by the sudden rise in their mother’s tone of voice, one pup  [the one who constantly situated itself nicely within her ribcage]  gave a hard kick.  With a lurch, Olive shifted her weight to the other side – evincing the restlessness she had been experience with brutal force – but the discomfort did not abate  and  the mother-to-be  soon pushed herself up on thin, willowy forearms. ” I wish to continue talking,” she sighed, wishing to continue building a rapport with the woman who stood before her; but, there would be much time for camaraderie after the pups were born. Olive was sure of it. ” but now… I must rest.” Olive cast a knowing glance at Lotte, suggesting that the scarfed woman likely felt the same way.  ”I thank you for the gift, my queen,” She drew the slain marmot forward, knowing it would greatly satisfy her uncharacteristic cravings for flesh.  It was a truly kind gesture, and for such kindness, Olive was wholly grateful.

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♥ It was a good one, as all threads with you tend to be!

“…there would be much time for camaraderie after the pups were born. Olive was sure of it.” OUCH. MY HEART.

Lotte, like Olive, was thankful for their meeting, despite its relative brevity. “Please,” she interjected when she could, her small, bearlike ears pinning back uncomfortably at the title. “I am only Lotte. Rest well, ihana kuu.” The black-and-silver songbird was a dominant bitch — had potential to be one in every sense of the word — but Olive and she belonged to each other now. They were Family. The glimpse of what their relationship could be danced just out of Lotte’s reach, but they’d get there eventually.

Lotte was sure of it.