Following her return from the neighbouring Maplewood, Kaori was yet to leave the pack’s land again; she did not want to travel far and the snowfall the day prior served as reason enough to go nowhere. There were many she was yet to familiarise herself with, many that she knew she should get to know—but she kept to herself anyway. Whilst the dragoness was far more open nowadays than in her youth, that did not keep her fears at bay following her coupling with the scarred man. She did not fear what might result from it, the thought of motherhood not only enticing but something she knew about—after all, she did have a hand in the rearing of her younger siblings, as did the rest of her family. But the days leading up to the discovery, whether the seed would take root or not unknown, was nerve-wracking, to say the least.

Seeking a distraction, Kaori put herself to work that day. After discovering a cluster of birch trees within the surrounding woodland—few of which were nearly felled by the beavers, lingering at an angle, cradled and kept from collapsing by the other birches—she began digging. When Salvatore found her that day, she would be digging through the snow at the base of the fallen birches, seeking to carve a den into the earth below.

The ground, frozen solid, was only just scraped by her nails when a voice sounded from behind; focused on the task at hand, she didn’t hear his approach and was visibly startled by the suddenness of his voice. Her actions were brought to an immediate end whilst her body jolted upright, turning shortly thereafter to face the culprit—and upon seeing a familiar face, she was put at ease, panic reined in and thumping heart slowing. And then she fully grasped to whom the face belonged and she could feel her nerves building back up again.

“Salvatore,” she returned, offering a friendly smile; although nervous, she knew she should have expected another meeting with him. After what happened, she would have been more surprised to never see him again than she currently was. “I am… well.” Overall, that is. She could hear her own heart pounding in her chest, could feel the twitching of her own skin, laced with anxiety. But these details she did not—could not—share with him; all she felt to tell him was that she was fine, in health, the chaos unfolding within unspoken.

“And you?” she asked, far more eager to focus on him than herself. “How have you been… since…” She trailed off and bit down on her inner cheek, uncertain. Did he even want to talk about that? Maybe he simply wished to forget—was that why he was there, to ask her to do the same? Could she, if so?

Whilst he thought of the future, she tried not to think too intensely about it. She wanted to be prepared, she truly did—but each day that passed, each day she questioned herself and whether or not anything seemed different, made her believe that she might be better off not thinking about it. At least not for the time being. And when the topic was brought up, she realised better then why, exactly, she felt better keeping herself distracted: it was terrifying. She did not regret it and knew she would not regret what might result from it, should anything, but logic did little to soothe her worries.

Uncertainty began to build within her chest, threatening to burst. She could do little more than remain silent, listening to him as he spoke, whilst trying at the same time to relax. Pregnancy she could handle, she assured herself, should she be. And children she could handle—but what he wanted, to be involved, was a new aspect of the situation that she wasn’t sure how to handle. Part of her was thrilled to hear that he did not wish for it to go forgotten, that he was actually interested in the idea of being involved, should there be anything to be involved with. But, at the same time, it terrified her—terrified her to the point where she could feel her stomach churning.

Did she want him to be involved?

Mind swirling, she sat down; still silent, thoughtful. She thought of what her mother would say in the same situation, then promptly rid herself of those very murmurings. What her mother wanted did not matter, not now, not when it was the dragoness’ life and the lives of her potential children in question. But, should they come to be, they would not be solely hers, would they?

“It is too early to tell,” were the first words to be spoken, confirming what he already knew. She felt no different, not yet, nor did she know if she even would; pregnancy affected everyone differently, after all, and she could no better guess how her body might react than any that came before her. “I did not think this far ahead,” she admitted. “Back then, at that moment, I wanted you. But since then, I will admit that I have not thought about the future that wanting may have created.” Aside from the occasional, fleeting thought of what could be, she did not allow her mind to wander; she didn’t want to get ahead of herself, nor did she wish to concoct stories in her head and then be let down by reality.

“I do not know you well, nor do you know me well,” continued the Draconid, lifting her gaze to reach his own. “But… I would like to change that. If it does turn out that I am pregnant, then I would like for you to be involved in their lives.” Saying it aloud, bringing what was previously just an idea into reality, made her all the more anxious; the pounding in her chest grew louder, thundering, to the point where she questioned whether or not he could hear it, too. “I think it is important for everyone to know their family and I will not—no, I cannot take that opportunity away from them. I cannot take you away from them.” She only wished she could have been allowed the same option, to be raised with a father that wanted to know her, that wanted to be involved. But that was of the past now, unable to be changed. And Kaori...

Kaori wanted a family for her hatchlings, one way or another.

An agreement was made, terms met. She felt a wave of relief wash over her then, like she could breathe for the first time since this all began. She would not need to go into this alone, should there even be a this—she would have him there, too, to help. Her hatchlings would have a father, assuming any may come to be.

“I am nervous,” she told him, although a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Will you tell me more about yourself? To help distract my mind.” Anything he had to say, she would gladly take; she wanted to know him better, to assure herself that she was making the right decision by allowing him access. And she needed a distraction, something to calm her nerves.