it was morning. winter was well upon them, as told by the light flurry of snow. bhediya's coat had finally thickened to capacity so instead of finding shelter, she sat still in the center of the wood to enjoy the scenery.

too much time had passed since her last conversation. loneliness had a grip on her heart and refused to let go.

how long?

bhediya's head felt heavy as it turned to face ibis. a weak smile was all that she could muster, though she hoped that the girl wouldn't mind. behena, she called, making every effort to stand and meet her where she stood. bhe ran her snout against ibi's shoulder and offered an affectionate rumble.

what're you up to? she asked, wondering if there was room for one more.

each word that ibis spoke came a breath of fresh air. it was easy to enjoy her presence and so bhediya did, finding herself catching a sort of second wind. you can ask me while we walk. there was a tired look to her eyes, one that communicated the pain of age, but a warm smile decorated her maw.

what's on your mind? bhe asked as she began thee stroll. whatever it was, even if she didn't have a sufficient answer, she was glad that ibi felt confident enough to share.

it was difficult to pinpoint bhediya's exact emotion upon hearing ibis's inquiry. most of it was flattery, being the one chosen to have this conversation, but there was a trace of sadness, too. of all the girls she'd ever brought into the world, she'd never had a chance to help them when their time came. in that way, ibis was like a daughter to bhediya, though by declaration rather than genetics.

the girl's embarassment was palpable. to offer comfort, bhe gently nudged at her shoulder. i have a lot of them, she replied, her mind searching for any memory of their faces. my youngest three, they were all very different. they had their own personalities, you know? even as infants, it was easy to tell them apart just by the way that they acted. one of them, arushi, i remember her being like you.

this was the last time she intended to mention the names of her lost children. it was easier to presume them dead than to accept that she'd been left behind. bhediya drew in a deep breath. no, i don't know. there were too many stages of motherhood for her to deduce the correct one. you don't have to be...shy, ibi. you can ask me.

their conversations always routed back to the unrealistically high standards ibis aimed to keep. bhediya frowned, finding herself incredibly discontented with the girl's non-acknowledgement of her accomplishments. it was easy to ignore the presumably unintentional jab because in that moment, bhediya's only concern was soothing her companion.

there wasn't much that she could say, though. if ibis wasn't ready to be a mother then bhediya couldn't encourage it and walk away with a clean conscience. this is what i know about blessings, she said, you have to work for them, just like everything else.

and sure, keeping the caches full was no easy task. it was difficult to keep everyone happy and healthy, especially as their group grew. however, we've managed, haven't we? motherhood was comparable to hunting during a famine: a lot of hard work with no guaranteed return. why don't you think you deserve it?

a small gap grew between them after ibis took pause. bhediya turned to face her, concern writ on her expression. it was justifiable to have concerns before entering motherhood; every parent wanted to be perfect. learning that this was impossible, well, it had to happen on its own.

so, bhe let that comment slide. kids had never been a part of her plan, either. it just so happened that pregnancy befell her (and twice over!), leaving her to deal with the consequences. both times, she'd left before having to fully accept that responsibility.

it doesn't matter what anyone expects of you, bhediya explained, all that matters is that you're ready. if you're not, and she didn't think that she was, then we can wait. next spring, the spring after, hopefully i'm around for the spring after that... getting old sucked.

still, even with her doubts, bhediya could sense the maternality (maternal mentality?) of the girl. ibis was mature for her age; much more mature than the elder had been during her first pregnancy. she thought that ibis would make for a good, albeit unconvential mother. are you thinking about it? bhe asked, suddenly realizing the implications of their conversation.

okay, so bhediya was right: divulging her own experiences as a mother earlier in the conversation would have proven much less effective than sharing them now. it was a touchy subject that carried with it bounds of painful memories, but offering the knowledge that she'd acquired was necessary to communicate her point.

and it was ibis. bhediya loved ibis; they'd become like family, even if the sentiment was one-sided. 

i've done this twice, she sighed, and in two very different situations. i was there physically, but i wasn't there mentally, meaning i wasn't ready yet. and because i wasn't ready, i caused a lot of pain. pain that i'm still dealing with and that i know my kids are dealing with, too.

there was always the risk of judgement. instead of going into detail, bhediya left it at that. i'm not saying this to scare you, but i...i want you to make sure that when you become a mom, it's because you were ready for it. not because it's what anyone else wanted, but because it's what you wanted.

their conversation was ending. bhediya accepted the girl's nuzzle and tried to reciprocate but found it difficult, given their difference in height. she stifled a laugh, as did her writer while imagining the two of them beside one another.

come and find me if you need someone to talk to, okay? bhe gave another stiff wag of her tail. and if you do decide to, you know, i want to be one of the first to know.

it would be too difficult to watch her only companion turn and walk away. instead, she spun on her own paws and made her way back to their starting point, trading the smile for a flat, emotionless expression.