Blackfeather Woods I've taken shits better than the lot of you

Thank you, marie, for the beautiful title. 
Set to the 10th-Happy anniversary BFW!
Tagging @Nikai, @Witchhazel, @Keoni, and maybe @Nemesis and @Damien.
Welcome to the world. Have fun, and please keep hands and feet inside the ride at all times.

Autumn slipped in without much fanfare, quietly taking it's place after summer. The days seemed to blur together, taking on a smooth, uneventful quality. Soon, the leaves would burst into a vibrant fire of orange, red, yellow and brown, and the land would be lit aflame. But for now, Autumn made it's quiet entrance known only by the cooling and shortening of days, and days like today. 

The diminutive silver girl lay in the Glenn, ears pricked forward and eyes alert as she simply watched the day unfold. The sun had only just made it's approach known, and pale light slipped through foliage into the protected Glenn. Fog hung heavy, creating a thick, almost tangible film in the air, and the morning was oddly silent. Birdsong did not break the thick silence, save for the distant croak of an old crow. Amid the silence lay the wolf, though far from content. Her veins hummed with an odd, insatiable energy, and she was torn between her lazy reverie and pacing the clearing with restless vigour. 

She made to stand, surging to her feet awkwardly, and pausing to accommodate the weight of the load she bore within her. She scented the air, pale green gaze searching the clearing as the nymph panted lightly, seeking to not disturb the silence of the morning. Then pain, a shooting bolt down her side, and she gasped, stumbling backward as her ears pressed flat against her narrow skull. Her eyes were fearful as the pain abated, not knowing what it meant or entailed. Pain flashed again, as did her restlessness, and the woman turned, ears flattened and tail tucked with fear and nervousness as she headed to the closest shelter, the den she shared with her sister.

Fur brushed against earth as she ducked inside, sidestepping a small dark blob she recognized as the one named Abraxas, and taking a moment, to shove it close to the dark form of Nemesis. As she crouched over the babe did the pain rear it's head again, and she shoved the boy awkwardly against his mother's side, where he was quick to find a teat. But her thoughts were far from the babe as she circled toward the back of the cave, decided it too constricting, and opted instead for the far side, offering a clear view of the entrance. There she slipped onto her side, whimpering softly in fear of this new thing, laying her muzzle on the earth. Only to find herself uncomfortable, and roll onto her other side, headup. Only to change again, and again, as shooting pain grew in intensity and frequency. 

The light was stronger now. The wolf in the den panted, eyes wide in fear and pain. She had given up on changing position constantly, too tired and fearful to bother. Outside, the fog still lay heavy, and silence reigned. A little less than an hour had passed since she had first slipped into the den, and things had deteriorated constantly since then. But now, pain unlike any other lanced through her, and while she had spent most of her time in strangled, painful silence, she yowled, a feral, fearful sound.

And then the first. She stared at the thing, bloody and wet and weird, so unlike the pups her sister had. She glanced fearfully at the other, unsure, before instinct awoke with her and she reached for the bundle, making to clean it and pull it toward her. The first few laps were hesitant, unsure, but then she gain rhythm and the thing gave it's first breath. She inspected it a tad roughly, discovering it male and dark in colour. She spoke then, her first word this morning, a single, breathed word. "Nikai." she muttered, making to pull it close, but a spasm of pain interrupted her. 

She breathed out roughly, moaning in pain, and then there was another. Wet and bloody, as the first had been, but really rather bloody. Spasms still rocked her, but she pulled the male close, then the other, lapping it as she had the first. She cleansed it, the pale blob, devoid of any marking, or any that would be visible in the poor morning light. A girl, this one the first of it's gender, and strong. She wiggled fiercely, and the new mother wasted no time in pulling it close. 

In the brief stint between spasms, she observed then, a smile growing on her features as she took them in. They had come from her. She had nurtured them, cared for them all this time. This life had come from her, and she had not failed in this task. As she gazed upon the girl, fierce in her motion, and her son, strong and healthy, she whispered to them fondly. "Keoni. Nikai. Grow up strong, little ones."

But then another bolt of pain seized her, and she tensed, now becoming used to these sensations. She whimpered again, a small sound, and then there were three. She repeated her duty diligently, bathing the third, discovering it male. And small. Very, very, small. Her gut clenched with worry when it failed to react as strongly as the first two, murmuring worriedly to it as she lapped the bundle. But it reacted, and she pulled it close, looking upon it with tenderness. A uniform brown, save for a dark tail and muzzle.

What the mother failed to notice, was the way that it's foreleg was shrunken, a twisted and deformed version of the strong right limb. It hid the deformity well in it's movement, latching onto a teat quickly and growing with milk. Again, the pain abated, and after a few moments, the mother begun to relax, looking up her three with tenderness, wondering about a name for the third one. But sorrow, an emotion not welcome here, now, made it's entrance, and for a moment the weight of the tough, dark, father-less life these three would lead threatened to crush her, and her gaze moistened a moment.

And then there were four. A sudden, unexpected surge and a yowl later, number four made it's entrance into the world. The lastborn was of average size, marking the third as the runt of the litter, and as her motherly actions were repeated a fourth and final time, discovering the girl's gender much more quickly. The pale and rust coloured pup was obviously one of Harley's. She nudged the girl close, and named the final two with a few clipped words. "Todd." her gaze fell open the girl. "Witchhazel."

She curled her small body around them, offering them all she could, gradually relaxing as she realized the ordeal was over, body falling limp as she sought joy in this moment, choosing to delay the sorrow of an absent father and a dark future for now, and be here, with her four. Thinking could come later. Now was simply for now, for the four new lives she had brought into this world, and the responsibility she felt for them. She would not let them down, her four.

No more than a dark blob he was, unaware of his heritage or what paths life might carry him, as he came into the world silent, trapped. Soon released and brought to live, gasps for air and cries for help on this strange new path of life began. Soon they died down as he was placed by a source of food by his mother, and contently he started to suckle, soon joined by others, falling into peace while he tried to make logic of this world. Little grunts escaped him as he suckled, contently, difficultly, waiting until the world would start to make sense.

She was unaware,  that there was anything else then now, darkness and the absence of sensation. But then there was life, a messy, upsetting affair was her introduction to it. Something shoved her, she felt something below her, and things around her. She was aware, and things were terribly confusing. She let this be known by a screech, a yowl, as such was all she was capable of creating at the moment. She thrashed and rolled, movement, as contrasted too life in the womb, now sending her in directions, creating sensation and so much more. But there was but one thought within her, and when she latched onto a teat, growing with milk, she knew that she had accomplished all she could and would that day. Soon, the girl was asleep, ignorant to the life that would follow this messy entrance into now.

To say that the span of time Witchhazel had technically been alive was, well, life, was a major understatement. Hell, there wasn't-still isn't- any consciousness to really experience things, but there was one thing that the little girl knew: Mom. It wasn't so much a word as an instinct, the comfort of being where she was. Everything was perfect for a very long time, seeing as she was always warm, wrapped (possibly too literally) in her mothers love, and never even knew what hunger or sadness-or any emotions- were. Nothing showed signs of change, little as she felt and knew of her dark home, other than the undeniable fact that it was getting very, very tight, cramped. It happened so slowly, though, that the being- even if she had the ability to actually notice anything at all-didn't care.
One day, though, something seemed VERY different, and not in a good way. She kept being moved, shifted, bothered, and it was rising in her something else new: irritation. She barely even realized that though she was still constricted to herself, it was becoming less and less cramped. However, she was being moved even more now, but there was no time to even react before she was REALLY moving, down and out into.... More nothing? The youngest Quinzel child was silent as Althaia brought her into the world, with naught but a flurry of breathing that cleared her lungs of birthing fluid.
It seemed as though her surroundings hadn't changed, but that just couldn't be right. The tiny girl was no longer a part of her mother, her protector and provider, and a NEED overcame her with a ferocity Witch couldn't ever understand. It pulled her, literally, in one direction, towards the warmth and familiarity of her mother. The girl found that she wasn't happy about what was happening here, not at all: It was COLD, and bright, and very, very LOUD.... Despite the glen being mostly quiet. Her siblings fussed, moved, made unbearable noises, but the last born girl only waited patiently for... Well, something. It was swift, the attention she got, being cleaned completely and gently before being shoved off again. For the first time, a cry readied in the chest of the newborn, but her mother was quick enough to place her daughter by a teat and it was quelled. Once again, instinct took over, and Witch suckled till full in the curve of her mothers stomach.

Although it might not have seemed that way, Damien had been expecting the day Althaia whelped impatiently. Just her presence was making Damien anxious, she was a burden, a dead weight, and was only there because she was lucky enough to be Nemesis' sister. And because of her pups.

For all intents and purposes, Althaia's litter belonged to Damien and Blackfeather Woods. That was what she had offered upon requesting a place among them, and Damien had given her the safety of a place to give birth in return. So when the moment came -and it was evident by the loudness of it- for Althaia to deliver, Damien alerted @Potema, requesting her presence to inspect the pups, and he lingered outside the den, protecting his property while it was the most vulnerable and respecting the mother's privacy while it was prudent. Until it was no more and he disrupted the tranquility of the birthing room with his presence. She was done, four pups had been birthed and they were safely nested against their mother.

Damien watched the female with cold eyes, there had been no interaction between them since her arrival. He didn't know her, not one bit, but still she was subdued to his will. Potema would have to take a look at the pups, and Damien would watch over. He would take no less than what he'd been promised, and he needed to know the pups were healthy before extending the mother's residence any longer.

Potema was away from the tunnels and the Glen when Althaia's pups began to arrive. She was worried for Seff — where was the small boy? She wanted to prove Damien wrong; he would stay. He would stay, wouldn't he?

Damien's call tore her away from the worried thoughts. She quickened her pace, heading to the Glen, slowly sliding down the slope to Damien. She nudged him softly, then pushed her way into the den, smelling the blood of birth. How are you? She asked Althaia. She had no herbs on hand, but she could quickly slip into the tunnels of Mephala's Web if she needed. She sniffed the pups, two girls and two boys. They were healthy, mindlessly suckling on Althaia's teats, as good newborns did.

As she nudged through the pups, she found something. One of the boys, a twisted leg. She grasped the boy gently, isolating the young pup from his mother and siblings. His leg, she murmured to Damien and Althaia, wondering what the Dark Master's verdict would be.

Damien. His entrance was silent, and he watched her with eyes like twin, frozen lakes. His cold gaze unnerved her, and she wrapped herself around her children, heartbeat rising and body language ill at ease. He would not do anything, would he? For a moment, she tried to ignore him, staring at the children the had borne, but Potema soon made her entrance. Feeling more at ease with the pale woman here, she answered her query softly. "I am well. Tired. But..they live." she murmured, watching her children as a mother's fierce love and protectiveness began to blossom. 

Potema made a move that made her gasp, pulling on of the children from her. Her eyes widened, flickering at the sight and the words. Deformed. His leg shrunken, twisted. Her mouth fell open wordlessly, stretching her neck out toward him but mindful of the others. He begun to cry, dragged away from the warmth, and squirmed on the earth. "He-he's fine. L-lot's of wolves live with three legs. He'll be s-strong" she stuttered, eyes panicked. She shifted, but dared not disturb the children nestled at her side. "G-give him b-back. P-please." she said, utterly dismayed at the boy's unhappiness. He'd be fine.

He gave space for his sister to do what she must, and stood beside her as she sniffed at the pups nested on Althaia's embrace. She did look tired, and the pups healthy, but Damien couldn't have confirmed it himself. And he would have never realized that one of them was deformed if the witch had not pulled him away from Althaia's teat.

Potema looked up at him, awaiting a verdict, and Althaia pleaded for her son's life. "How are the others?" asked the dark prince with a straight face, counting three still attached to Althaia's teats. Three pups were easier to feed than four, and in the long run those three could grow stronger without the burden that would be their cripple brother.

The babe squealed, protesting being away from its mother and sibling. But Potema ignored Althaia's pleas, her attention firmly on her brother as he spoke. He asked of the others — Fine, so far as I can tell, She made a point not to look at Althaia's torn face, knowing how harsh a sentence this must be.

He is to die. She can see that, how Damien ignores her, Potema turns her gaze away. They speak of her pups, but she does not hear. She is truly but a commodity, her pups nothing but investments ensuring a stronger future for the pack. She does not plea. The boy's squeals suddenly fall on death ears as she gives up, lets her form slump across the earth in defeat and exhaustion, her gaze turned away from the boy. Her form is small, she does not attempt to fight for him. She should. She will regret this pathetic display of submissive meekness, and yet she can not find it within her now to do more.

The witch confirms that the rest are fine, which was all that Damien needed to take action against the rotten one in the basket. Althaia too knows that her pup's fate has been sealed and protests no more when Damien reaches down to take the pup without wasting delicacy. The Dark Brotherhood could not waste time focusing on keeping a cripple.

He exits the den with the child and the temperature change makes him squirm and squeal still held by Damien's jaws. The crows, who had been revolting around the den as they always did when the smell of blood and birth reached their hungry beaks, followed Damien from above, cawing fervently as they battled to get the best spot to watch the dark master drop the child upon the red mantle of redgrove. And they waste no time to dive in and circle around the pup when Damien leaves, entitling the murder to decide the small one's early fate.

And it was done. The child was sentenced to death, a cruel thing, but necessary. She would not waste precious time and resources on a child unable to fend for himself in the future. Perhaps, with training, he might have grown to compensate for his twisted leg, but the Dark Brotherhood had not the resources or energy to do so through the winter. He would have to die.

Potema could hear the cawing of the crows and ravens long before the child was found, twisted and mangled. She knew what would happen to his flesh, and perhaps what would happen to his weak bones. She wondered what she could do with what skeleton remained, letting such dark thoughts cloud her mind to push away Althaia's sadness. She slipped past the woman into the hidden tunnel, fading into the Web and leaving the grieving mother alone.