Neverwinter Forest where is your sanctuary? where is your rest?

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@Ondine looked like she was about to pop any day and Kjalarr knew within the marrow of his bones that the birth of their children would be any day now. Despite Floki's reassurances the knowledge was just as daunting and as terrifying as it had ever been to Kjalarr. Yet, apprehension and fear was not the only thing he felt. He'd noticed about a week or so ago as he considered with a restlessness that any day now the children that they'd made would be born there was a tickle of ...excitement for it, along with a curiosity. During the night as he wrapped himself around his mate's body to offer her his warmth he could sometimes feel them kick from within her. The first time, it had startled the living Hel out of him. It was the first time that Kjalarr truly grasped that the children carried within her womb were really, truly alive. It was the first time that the new father-to-be felt true excitement regarding his own children. As he worked to drift off to sleep night after night he lulled himself to sleep by trying to imagine what they might look like. Would they look like him? Or Ondine? Or Thistle? Or one of his other siblings? Perhaps they might look like one of Ragnar's siblings. The possibilities were endless and it made his head swim a bit at the overwhelming possibilities of it all.

The groundhog that hung limp from betwixt his jaws, his grip firm upon the stiffening corpse that he carried to the birthing den was a fat thing. Almost a struggle for Kjalarr to work around where to grasp it without looking too much like he tried to take a decent chunk out of it. The morning was cold, the fresh snow fall from the night before crunching under his heavy footfalls as he followed the sweet, saccharine scent of Ondine's mother's milk though he knew the way to the birthing den by heart now. He dropped it at the mouth of the den wondering if Ondine was awake or if she'd want him to bring it to her or if she'd pop out and stretch her legs. She wasn't overly active these days but she was swollen from her flanks to her teats which had begun to express milk at some point. So, he tried to do what he could for her: getting her what she needed and making sure she was far from hungry even if it was hours after until he had restored enough energy to hunt for himself (not that he would tell her that).

“Ondine?” He called tentatively, softly into the darkness of the birthing den. “I brought breakfast.” He informed her, taking a step back as his salmon pink tongue drew across his lips in an attempt to clean up any blood that might have been left behind.

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Unable to sleep - unable to even really walk without throwing up, life was pretty tough for the swollen to-be mother. She felt like dying every time she even tried to move, but at least she still could. She sometimes felt them kicking too, which gave her a boost of confidence and will-power that she truly needed. She was doing this not for nothing. Her children deserved a life, and she would provide, whether it made her feel like shit or not. She noticed even her teats were preparing for the big day that was only a few days away at this point if her calculations were right. 

A familiar voice and face soon appeared and she smiled weakly - laying with her back toward the opening but her face turned at him. She didn't feel capable of rolling over fully if she wanted to keep this place puke-free and chuffed gently at the to-be father. Breakfast? She heard her stomach rumble, that was followed by a firm kick from one of the pups. 

Thank you. Her voice was weak, yet not to a point of utter devastation just yet, and she motioned for him to get in.

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Ondine's smile was weak and the concern that furrowed the scarred northman's brow was unbidden. For the first time, Kjalarr realized how utterly selfish he'd been this whole time. He'd worried after his own fear like it was the most important thing. Never once had he stopped to consider if she was afraid ...or if she was strong enough to survive bringing his ...their children into the world. Until this moment when he took in her weak smile he'd never even considered it. All at once, the guilt threatened to choke him as it washed over him like a tidal wave unleashed. He assumed that all births were smooth and that the mother survived every time but a small voice in his head told him that, surely, this couldn't be true or a realistic view of childbirth (it only went to prove his utter inexperience at this). He considered that perhaps he should make a sacrifice to Frigga, so that she might lend Ondine and his children the strength to survive the ordeal.

First, his concern was the mother of his children. At her invitation he grasped the groundhog and entered the birthing den, looming over his mate for a moment to place the kill close to her so she did not have to stretch or go very far for it before he laid down, curling his body around her's without invitation, offering her a series of licks to her cheek and then her ear if she allowed it. “Eat,” Kjalarr encouraged in a low murmur to her ear where he aimed to nibble playfully before he would draw his muzzle back. “You need your strength.” If I could give you my strength, I would.

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No one ever quite got a good grasp on her, which was probably the reason she was used to her feelings being shoved to the side. She paid little mind to it - knowing that all she needed was her own pity most of the time. Nothing more, nothing less, she had gone through life carrying her own heavy problems on her back like no big deal. It was neither smart nor dumb to do so to her, but she supposed everyone though differently about that. It was true that she was afraid of the day of the delivery, but not easily would she allow fear to rule her world. Or, perhaps she was too tired to worry as much as Kjalarr about this all. Whatever it was, she did not need his pity - just the comfort of his body and mind holding her up a bit.

The groundhog was placed near her, which she appreciated, and she gently pulled it just a little big closer. On her side still, she began ripping little pieces of flesh, eating them carefully and not too fast that she would start puking again. She did not mind (even enjoyed) Kjalarr lying down next to her, curling his strong frame around hers. Silently, she smiled in utter disbelief that this was truly happening. His comforting licks and nibbles she appreciated now more than ever. His words and his breath tickled, and she giggled softly, before ripping some more pieces of meat for her and their babes.

Thank you. In her exhaustion, she had forgotten she had thanked him already.