Wolf RPG - calling out mayday

Its time it’s time it’s time

Her paws, stumbling over each other, raving raving raving.

Her eyes, wall-eyed and mad.

Her son, @Earp . Swinging in her jaws, held oh so careful.

She picked through the lair of the small gods, pulled by some tether wrapped into the broken pieces of her ribs. Her head bobbed gently as she clambered up and over a rock, hissing when the sharp surface brushed her sensitive underbelly. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

She moved deeper. Her fur caught a shaft of moonlight high above, and the spidery woman stopped, looking up at the skylight high above her head. Then, she kept on.

Time time time time

The clock’s hands ever moved.

She stopped, shrouded in dark, staring at the maw of dark in front of her, the faint glitter of water nearby. The distant crack in the roof that gave the world monochrome color.

Here

She stood in the fractured moonlight. Her eyes focused on the distant, splintered pieces of moon.

She sat Earp in the center of the cracked moonlight.

This. This is yours. She croaked to the dark.

I have given you him. She slipped into the dark, for only a few spans, before she came back with the fat body of a rat clutched between her teeth. She passed the bleeding wound that killed the creature over Earp’s downy little head.

He is yours. I am released. The whispering turned to howling cheers, and in a rush, they left her. It was so quiet. She could still hear them.

The small gods would never release her. But they would leave her be, for a time, to infest her given vessel. She gathered the boy, tucking him out of the moon’s vision, into the darkness against her belly. Then, she promptly tore into the rat.

Where his golden sister received her baptism in mother's blood and mother's love, poor little Earp was awash in the terror of gods and the stench of death.
He did not mind.
He was a faceless boy for now, without eyes or ears to behold the horrors of his birth. Even if he could, he would not have known fear. This was his world, in the only colors he would ever know:
Small gods small gods small gods
If Lonesome Dove looked quite closely, she might have seen something reminiscent of a smile twitching at the boy's small mouth. He fell into sleep. He dreamed of that red smell and that pale silvered feeling.

The rat devoured, the rattlesnake cleaned her jaws with a flickering tongue.

Her eyes caught the pale figure beside her stomach, still wrapped in sacrificial blood, sleeping quite soundly.

What is my name? She asked the dark. It did not answer. Her ears flattened, her mouth curled into a hissing snarl.

What is my name?! She bellowed to the dark, only to hear her own voice return to her. Viciously, she wrenched her head to look at the boy.

I named him! I named him! What is my name?! Finally, they came to her, soothing and loving, their spiked nails digging into her chest and her jaw. She felt like a bug, pinned to a cork board, her breaths turning to wheezes.

What is my name? She tried one more time, but the words were gargled. As if the curved talons of a great owl had wrapped around her neck.

You are as you have always been, we do not change that. He is ours, his name is just a skin he will wear. A bolt of pure fear shot from her ears to the very tip of her paws.

My name?

is?

Lonesome Dove closed her eyes, let her head fall to her paws, and cast her mind very far away from the child she had borne and the gods who retracted their talons and patted her head like a child.