Dragoncrest Cliffs Widowmaker

Wildfire wondered if she might feel better after a good night's sleep. Life laughed right in her face at that. The pups seemed to take turns crying and making messes all night long. By their second morning, Wildfire was even more exhausted, frazzled and disenchanted than before. She once again experienced an almost violent urge to simply dart from the den and run for the hills. Surely @Thuringwethil, @Portia and @Dio could look after the pups.

She needed a break, if nothing else. All four pups were quiet for a blessed moment and the commander was able to catch a few winks, so Wildfire took the opportunity to slip past her and out of the den. A ragged breath burst from her as she emerged into the fresh air outside. It was a warm morning; it would be a beautiful spring day. The Bandrona trotted a few feet, squatted to answer a call of nature (not without a wince), then told herself to return to the log.

Instead, she remained rooted to the spot, though she did turn to peer in at her family. The Heda's sleeping body partially blocked her view of the pups but she could make out their little silhouettes in their nomi's shadow. She waited for her heart to soften at this picture perfect image. But Wildfire just stood there and stared, feeling utterly removed and more than a little despondent for it.

Something moved on the ground of the den, urging Wildfire a little closer at last. She squinted, not sure what she'd seen. Her eyes scoured the earthen floor, her heart almost stopping when she saw a flash of red on black: an hourglass. Despite her detachment from her own offspring, Wildfire must have possessed incredible maternal instincts deep down inside, because she reacted with the swiftness of a rattlesnake. Leaping forward, she swiped at the spider as it scuttled toward her brood.

She missed. The loathsome arachnid vanished beneath the closest pup* and Wildfire snatched it up and flung it toward her mate, revealing the dangerous insect. She snapped at it unthinkingly. Her snout hadn't been designed for this—taking out prey smaller than her own toe—and all she managed to do was divert it onto the tip of her nose. She felt the telltale pinch half a second before she smashed her own muzzle against the wooden wall, finally crushing the black widow.

* Could be @Artaax or @Blixen if you want. Feel free to call dibs!

I tagged the rest for reference and because HALP!

DIBS.

Thus far, Artaax’s existence had been lackluster at best. The pudgy babe did little save for eat, sleep, and defecate – three things that he scarcely recognized but still felt pleasure and contentment in. He cried often and loudly when he was hungry and found himself wriggling amongst a heap of siblings in search of Wildfire’s life-giving milk. His other vocals usually consisted of soft gurgles and muted whines.
 
He slept dreamlessly until his mother’s warmth shifted away to which he responded with disgruntled mewls. After a few moments of squirming around blindly, he was able to nestle up against another furry presence. His slumbering resumed, but not much time passed before he was jarred awake once more by perhaps the most eventful occurrence since his birth.
 
Suddenly he was snatched upward and before he was able to that abrupt and most-unwelcome sensation, he went tumbling roughly into his mother’s dark figure. Piercing cries echoed through the family’s little home as he wriggled helplessly against the Heda in search of comfort after the traumatic experience.

Everything happens quickly enough that Thuringwethil can’t properly react until a pudgy puppy is thrown in her direction. She’d already been working to get up when Wildfire stepped out of the den a moment prior, but her ribs slowed her down before she got a chance to evaluate what was happening. She hardly gives her mate any attention as she scrambles to relocate Artaax and set him upright and shuffle close to her. He’s already squirming for comfort and she lowers her head to rhythmically lick his head, slate eyes aiming upward to try and figure out what the hell just happened. A few seconds tick by and she’s able to settle herself enough to occupy the pain in her ribs.

“Chon ona skafa daun?” she blurts without realizing the words coming out of her mouth. Concern laces her features but she can’t hide the irritation causing tension in her shoulders.

The instant she felt the spider crunch between her nose and the wall, Wildfire felt a tingle throughout her whole body. Disregarding the fact that it had bitten her, she did a bit of a pants-on-fire dance there beside the wall, shaking her head wildly to send the crumpled little corpse flying. It sailed across the den and landed noiselessly at the Heda's feet, perhaps an inch from where a crying Artaax sprawled. Wildfire stared at it in disgust and horror, then blinked at the wailing whelp, before her eyes darted upward to meet her mate's.

"Spider," she blurted stupidly, unaware of the blood dribbling from her crushed nose. "Is—oh shit." She wasn't usually one to swear but Wildfire belatedly registered what she had done: she had thrown Artaax across the den! "Is he—did I hurt him—the spider was going right for him—oh skafa—" Wildfire spluttered even as she slung herself to the ground and inched closer, accidentally smearing blood all over his head as she nuzzled him.

The circumstances were strange, to be sure, but it was in that moment that the Bandrona felt the first real thread of love since the pups' birth. It blew away like a wisp in the next moment, much to her quiet dismay, but she was left with such a feeling of protectiveness that she entirely forgot to mention that a black widow had bitten her face.

Feel free to skip me during rounds, especially if/when others join! I'll continue to post but don't feel obligated to wait on this lil potato to keep the thread moving.

His little heart thrummed more excitedly against his ribs than it ever had in his short life. A dull pain reverberated through his small body, though the frightening and unpleasant sensation didn’t last long. His nomi’s warm tongue smoothed his ruffled fur and Artaax’s cries soon quieted. He was too uncomfortable to drift off to sleep so easily, but his frantic squirms and sounds of discontent ceased soon as he sensed the Heda’s comforting ministrations.
 
As Wildfire reached forward to muzzle him, Artaax inhaled the sharp, metallic scent of her blood. He scarcely noticed as it was smeared against his pale fur, but he did issue a quiet mewl of curiosity as he took in the unfamiliar odor.

She watches her mate frantically realize what she’s done, leaving the thought of the spider behind. Thuringwethil tenses as she throws herself to the ground and approaches both of them, smearing blood across their eldest son. Her lips pull up to show her teeth and a low growl vibrates her chest. She lowers her nose and puts a barrier between the frazzled mother and Artaax, cleaning the blood off the top of his head. “You’re bleeding,” she tells her after a moment.

The thought they need Portia crosses her mind but she’s hesitant for something like this, though her concern for something else rises. If it’s as simple as a bloody nose, it will stop but she doesn’t know what she could have done by smashing her face into the side of the tree. Thuringwethil doesn’t offer a suggestion but waits to see what her mate will do but in the meantime she tries to keep her son clean from blood.

Every muscle in Wildfire's body grew stiff with tension at the sound of the growl and she unthinkingly mimicked her mate's warning. She turned into a stone when Thuringwethil attempted to nudge her away from Artaax, though in the blink of an eye, she scooted backward. Her tongue darted out to flick against her nose, which stung at the contact. She didn't even wince, just repeated the gesture a few more times to get rid of the blood while staring down at the commander cleaning the mewling pup.

"I was trying to protect him." The words were quiet and edgy, with a pleading undertone. She might not feel love for their children right now—and she was grappling hard with that fact—but she would never hurt them, not on purpose. Surely the Heda must know that? In fact, she would go to any length to protect them, which reminded her: "It was a black widow, Thur. I think it bit me."

While it surprises Thuringwethil that Wildfire reenacts her actions, she keeps still. Her resolve to protect Artaax doesn’t budge but it is only a second she has to hold her ground. Wildfire retreats and licks at her nose and she keeps her head low, hovering the boy as she cleans him free of blood and then continues to try and soothe him further. Wildfire’s defense causes her to bristle but she soothes them quickly (not quickly enough to hide it completely), keeping her words to herself. If she hadn’t been here to act as a landing pad for Artaax, she isn’t sure what would have happened to him. They are only days old and still so delicate.

After she words out what may have happened, Thuringwethil picks her head up. Her breath lodges in her throat but she does not move from her position, uncertain of what to do with this information. “You need to see Portia.”

Wildfire's ears flattened as she watched her mate's hackles bristle. She felt a terrible cocktail of dismay and indignation welling up her throat. She had dreamed of becoming a mother so long, looked forward to it so much... and now everything was going horribly awry. The Bandrona swallowed thickly, turning away when Thuringwethil suggested she go see Portia. The commander didn't seem to find the matter particularly urgent, which hurt Wildfire's feelings, although even she understood that Artaax came first. That was the entire point.

For a split second, she thought of pretending to go to Portia's den, only to run off in some other direction. The pups would probably be better off if Wildfire left them in the Heda's care alone. But some instinct rooted her feet to the ground and she refused to bend or budge. "I'll be fine," she said, with no real idea if that was true. She moved to sink down in front of Thuringwethil and Artaax. If the commander indicated in any way that Wildfire should back off, the Bandrona ignored it. Even if Wildfire was struggling horribly with motherhood, this was still their son. "Is he okay? Let me see him." There was no "please."

Wildfire blows off the suggestion to go see Portia with a quick I’ll be fine and her ears twitch and lay flat against her head. When she gets closer, demanding to see the boy, Thuringwethil does not move and keeps him tucked between her front legs and in the shadow of her cranium. Other than a little upset, and blood smeared upon him, there is nothing she can note is wrong. If he hadn’t hit her when he’d been chucked, it might have been a different story, and now she’s hesitant to ever walk away from the children in the care of her mate alone.

“He’s fine,” she says and it takes every effort not to speak through her teeth. However, she searches Wildfire’s nose to find the smear of pink across her muzzle. “He won’t be if that bite is serious; you need to see Portia,” she insists, trying to cool her tone. Perhaps the break away from the children might give her a piece of mine, tending to herself for once instead of being sucked dry by four little mouths. “I’ll watch them. Will you go?” Slate eyes angle upward, hoping she will not have to force the mother away.

The commander neither blocked her nor facilitated her access to the pup. Wildfire bumped into her as she nosed over Artaax, pressing her tongue to his face and cleaning up the last remaining blush of blood. When she drew back, he was stained faintly pink, which might have been amusing under other circumstances. As it was, the Bandrona could only frown down at him.

"I was trying to save him," she said quietly, chestnut eyes lifting to meet her mate's. "How about I watch him—all of them—while you go get Portia? I want to see if he'll nurse." Some maternal instinct told her that suckling would help soothe away any remaining shock in poor Artaax's system.

Despite being so small and fragile, Artaax recovered quickly from his brief catapult. Nothing hurt and he felt soothed by the abundance of affection he received from his mothers.  The warm, moist texture of their tongues against his tiny body pacified any trace of discomfort he might have felt from his rough landing.
 
In the dark recesses of his developing mind, he was able to begin distinguishing between the two scents of his parents. Wildfire’s was linked to his instinctual drive to nurse and seek comfort, and while Thuringwethil’s did not contain any trace of milk, it was still recognized as something good.
 
His squirms became more deliberate as he shuffled along his nomi’s forelimbs, ceasing only as the infant’s nose connected with one of the Heda’s large paws. A curious mewl was issued before Artaax began gumming away mindlessly on one of the dark toes.

Last post from me but tagging Portia to take over and care for her nose? :)

Wildfire does not heed her command and acid licks the ends of her nerves, sparking something that takes more effort than she realizes to hold back. She does not take the bite on her nose seriously and she doesn’t know anything about these things to know the severity of something like this. Her mate’s eye contact doesn’t settle well—something relatively new to her—and she lifts her lips in warning but she moves all the same. It takes effort to try and stand and turn the way she needs to work her way out.

Thuringwethil doesn’t say anything else—she doesn’t have any words left—and leaves the den. She makes one detour, however, to @Portia’s den where she finds both @Dio and the healer, briefly explain what happened and what she needs of the healer before she leaves them for the redwood forest.

Wildfire's jaw muscles tightened when Thuringwethil lifted her lip. Rank should have no place in their relationship, as the Bandrona had tried to relay in the past (much to the duress of said relationship), but the commander had never seemed to be on the same page. She said nothing else before exiting the den. Wildfire's ears briefly splayed at the tension in the air but she swiftly redirected her attention to Artaax and the other pups, herding them into a pile beside her flank.

"I'm sorry I'm such a terrible mother," she confessed in a whisper against the eldest's fuzzy forehead, eyes closing. She nudged him in particular toward a teat, then drew in a breath as she waited for Portia's eventual arrival. Fortunately, the Bandrona would turn out to be correct—she would be fine, as the the bite was either dry or she was immune to the black widow's venom—but it certainly wouldn't hurt to have the Fisa do a checkup.