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?”

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.