she'd nosed
@Artyom awake early that morning, just as the barest rays of sunlight began to play on the snow. a short howl to the pack to announce their absence, trusting in Bhediya to watch over them while they're gone. together, the pair set off to the south; adopting a gentle, roving pace. winter's grip is still tight, though she likes to imagine she can see those tiny signs that it's beginning to loosen - the fleeting figure of movement in the canopy that could be a robin, the gentle drip of a sun-warmed icicle.
she pauses, then, grimacing as she attempts to force back nausea that hits her like a truck. the pain in her chest she can stand, but the seemingly random bouts of nausea are becoming stronger, and more frequent.
He was loathe to wake that morning, and stirred Dawn's touch with a soft groan. Artyom blinked and squinted against fresh Winter sunlight, upward toward his mate's silver features. "Доброе утро," he muttered sleepily in his mother tongue, a lazy smile on his face as he attempted to huddle closer, "just a few more minutes..."
The sterling leader would have none of it, however; it was time to venture into the valley and attempt to better acquaint themselves with their neighbours. He pulled himself together, finally, and loped contently at Dawn's side as they crossed from the borders of their home into unclaimed territory.
Artyom paused when she did, concerned brown eyes on her as she steeled herself. Did she sense danger, perhaps? The gilded ranger felt suddenly on edge; "something wrong?"
her tongue swipes over her lips, steeling her stomach as it revolts with renewed vigour. "it's nothing—I'm sick," she says, wincing once more before moving forward once more. concentrating on it only seems to increase the saliva congregating in her maw, the speed at which her stomach seems to writhe.
she looks to him, expression softening as she tries to convince herself that she is not, in fact, feeling the way she is. "it could be a good sign," she offers with a small smile, though admittedly, one she'd rather hoped she wouldn't experience. she inhales sharply, causing her chest to throb with hurt. today, apparently, is not her day.
She assured him it was nothing, then loosed a bomb: she was sick. Artyom simply gawked at her, wondering how she could fob an illness off in this manner, before he recalled their last brief talk of her potential pregnancy and how she shared that the early stages could make her feel like shit.
"Oh," he said simply, feeling at once a little sorry for her before - "oh!"
She went on to include that it good me a good sign and, with his smile having grown to mimic a Cheshire cat grin, the hunter could not reign the enthusiastic sweeping of his tail nor the flutter of anxiety in his belly. The excitement was short-lived, however, on noting his companion's obvious discomfort. "We can turn back if you wish," Artyom offered, "go another time?"
his realization is enough to have her grin, her tail lashing once behind her as excitement builds. not yet; not until she's sure. she noses his cheek once, softly, as he suggests they turn back. "it should go away soon - I'll be ok." she reassures him, and somewhat too, herself.
"besides - if we wait too long, I'll be gross and fat, and no one will want to meet with us," she claims, gaze lit with mirth as she brushes against his shoulder.
Dawn moved in to deliver a 'boop' of her snout against his pale cheek, and he andled his head to mouth affectionately at the underside if her chin. It was still surreal and terrifying to know that he would be a father as the cold season transitioned into Springtime, but the excited anticipation had grown to outweigh his fear.
She suggested that they carry on, that she would be fine to make the journey. Artyom reigned in his concern, doing his best to spirit it away - they had no real rush to return to Whitebark so he was happy to drag it out for as long as his mate needed. "Alright," he concluded, and resumed their pace.
Her suggested of becoming gross and fat was met with a huff of breath in disagreement, and the ranger shot his companion a playful, sideways glance. "You could never be such things, мой сладкий," came his fond words, "besides, if anyone dared insult you, they'd have to answer to me!" A laughable comment, considering his peaceful nature, though one meant to deliver assurance of always having her back.
he accepts her promise that it will fade, and unable to avoid the thought, she adds, "I won't vomit on your feet though—promise." his huff is met with a sideways glance, muzzle curved slightly.
brief surge of warmth is overtaken by mirth at his assurance, exhales sharply, brows furrowing. "a fate worst than death, surely." she teases, brushing against him easily. "I am glad you are with me, then, to defend my honour." it is meant as a tease, but it's half-sincere; their relationship has been sudden, but since he'd found her way to their borders, it is rare she knows anything besides happiness, or in the least some deep sense of content.
"Thank you," the ranger chirped playfully in response to her promise not to throw up on his paws, swaying just enough to brush his flank to Dawn's, "you are too kind."
He enjoyed their playful banter, the ease of it all. It drew Artyom closer to his mate, strengthened the connection he felt to her - encouraged that budding love he so desperately longed to feel. "You are lucky to have me," the hunted teased with a wink of his eye, "but I think fortune favoured me most of all, to have placed me here with you."
They continued their way Southward, enjoying one another's company - with Artyom determined to lure Dawn's attention away from the discomfort in her belly with his epic banter and charm.