Heron Lake Plateau sleeping children are still flying

For @Quixote! Set at night/around bedtime.

From where she lay in the soft grass just outside the mouth of her den, Raven winced and took a breath as another lance of pain shot through her midsection. She rolled from one side to the other, unable to find a position that was halfway comfortable for her, before giving up and just pushing herself upright into a sit. While she had always wanted to be a mother to her own pups, the trials and tribulations of advanced pregnancy were beginning to wear on her. Sleep was a thing of the past, and it was difficult for her to remember what it was like to not be cramping, in pain, and nauseated all the time. The wounds she had suffered by Screech recently had only worsened it for her.

She sat there, her eyes lingering somewhere among the stars overhead, listening to the breeze in the trees overhead as the cramps continued to rack her belly and sides. She suppressed the urge to whine, refusing to complain in spite of the prolonged misery.

With Raven mobile and moved over to the den, Quixote felt a little bit better about starting to resume a few of his duties that he'd been severely neglecting.  He'd gone on a few short patrols, not even covering the full edge of the territory, but as long as it got done eventually, that was the thing, right?  There was still the section at the base of the plateau's cliff to do, but that was a longer trip and one he couldn't cut into smaller bits.  Maybe he'd do that one tomorrow.

Before returning to the den, he dug up a squirrel that had recently been placed into one of the caches, bringing it along for a nice evening snack -- it's not like it'd qualify for more than that.  It didn't take long before Raven popped into view, sitting outside the den.  She looked like a different wolf than when they'd first met, now wounded and the size of a blimp.  Okay, part of that wasn't exactly a bad thing and was his fault anyway -- unless she was regretting it now, as Raven did look pretty miserable.  But still.  Stuff had changed.  A lot.

Things had changed, but Raven had become the one he genuinely cared for, which was kind of odd to think of if he got into a particularly introspective mood.  Not that he had much of a chance to do so, as it was hard to do so when he still fretted about her healing and the pups.  He dropped the squirrel at her feet, taking a seat next to her, Still no good ideas on how to get comfortable?  At the very least he wasn't going to just go off and snooze and leave her up alone.  That felt, well, needlessly cruel.  From his understanding the pups were still just under a week off, give or take, but having Raven suffering that long sounded awful.  What else could he do?

It was beautifully clear tonight, and pale moonlight filtered down through the canopy overhead to spangle the forest floor in broken shards of silver. From within the darkness, a living shadow emerged and slid toward her beneath a dappling of white light, electric green eyes glittering with his affection and concern for her. A squirrel dangled from his jaws but she found the sight of it repulsive. So great was her discomfort and discontent that she could barely stand the thought of food at that moment.

As her mate approached, she shook her head in response to his question. For the millionth time that night, she got up and started pacing around. "Everything hurts," she groused, her face drawn with stress and exhaustion. "I can't sleep, can't eat, feel like I'm going to explode." She looked up at him with a pleading look in her eyes, as if begging him to fix everything even though she knew there was nothing he could do.

For a moment his ears flattened.  Yeah, he was pretty useless, wasn't he?  He moved the squirrel out of the way.  At least it'd be around for later.  And if she didn't want it... Well, he was good at playing garbage disposal by now.

He tried to follow along at her side, nosing her shoulder.  Does the walking help?  We could walk to the lake and back or something.  It was the best thing he could think of, and he tried to be positive about it.  Yeah, not exactly Quixote's specialty.  Maybe if we tire you out, you'll just pass out, right?  Probably an attempt at humor, but he was just mentally flailing around.  He was at least recently aware of how if one got tired enough, they could very well just conk out.  Maybe she just needed the same sort of thing, but hopefully with less trauma causing it.  Not ideal, but eh.

He hated feeling useless.

She picked up on his subtle humor, and in spite of her misery, she still grinned weakly at him and leaned over to bump his shoulder lightly. "I'm already tired out, though," she replied, her tail waving behind her. She took another step and was suddenly ripped in half by a searing wave of agony so intense that she saw red stars floating in front of her face. It felt as if every fiber of her body was being pulled apart and twisted like a wet dishrag. She doubled over, pressing her face to the cool grass, and trembled violently -- this time unable to stifle the whine of pain.

Just about the time she began to recover, another pain hit her and this time she crumpled, panting, to the ground. "Holy shit," she hissed through gritted teeth as she wallowed in the dewy grass, feeling very much like a demon was violently trying to claw its way out of her body. "I think it's time."

No, this isn't right, she suddenly thought frantically to herself. It's too early! But then whatever semblance of coherent thought she was capable of was blown away in the wind of renewed pain as another contraction gripped her mercilessly in its fist and she suddenly felt an overpowering urge to push.

Well, obviously not en---RAY!  There went that thought.  As she crumpled, he instantly hovering around yet again, What happened?  What do you need?  Had there been some other effect from Screech's attack?  Some wound he'd missed?  Maybe she should have been resting, still, as uncomfortable as it were.  Maybe they just should have stayed put at their last place, she could have rested for a couple more days...

But well, Raven's reply wasn't what he was expecting.  Quixote froze and his eyes went wide, What.  WHAT -- but you said..!  His mouth gaped like a goldfish, unable to actually finish the sentence.  He'd just been thinking how they had more time only now they weren't supposed to be here yet!  They were supposed to arrive nicely on schedule when things would be fully prepared and, and...!  Something!

Okay so what was he actually supposed to do now?   Common sense ran off and was hiding behind a tree somewhere, as hadn't it been mentioned that he wasn't at all partial to any medical fields, nor was he exactly experienced with dealing with what a birthing mother.  Whatever she'd previously said?  Yeah, that was freakin' gone.  He started trying to nudge her to her feet.  She should be in the den at least, right?  It wasn't like it was far away.  But oh god what the hell was he supposed to do.

Poor Quixote XD XD XD

She was oblivious to his words, his panic... everything was obliterated by the blinding pains that assailed her like storm waves battered a sea cliff. She became dimly aware of him trying to usher her toward the protective shelter of their den but she couldn't find the strength or even the mental coordination required to move herself there. She simply shook her head, managing to pant out the words, "Can't...can't..." Through the haze of agony, she felt a strange pressure from within and she gritted her teeth and pushed. After a moment, she felt a bizarrely welcome rush of relief as the pressure suddenly lifted and the first puppy emerged onto the damp earth.

Immediately she turned and began to nuzzle at it, licking away the birthing sac and cleaning its face of the various fluids that covered its tiny features. She nudged it, pushed at it, urged it to move and cry out...but there was only silence. She had only the briefest of panicked moments to realize what was happening before she was gripped by another tidal wave of red pain, and the process repeated itself again...with the same end result.

She lay in the starlit grass, breathing heavily and staring up at her mate with an entirely different kind of pain etched in her face as she cradled two dead puppies in her arms.

Quixote was feeling too many things to be able to sort them all out into nice little piles.  It was overwhelming.  It was Quixote's turn to pace around uncertainly.  There was zero appreciation for the miracle of birth or whatever the hell.  No, this was not supposed to be happening this way.  But Raven seemed to be doing okay, right?  She at least knew what to do.  At least until reality started to become, until the gravity of how this was currently turning settled in his stomach like something spoiled.

Anguish and panic were written across him in equal parts.  His children lay there, limp, apparently without a chance.  This wasn't allowed to happen.  He stepped forward carefully, crouching down to nuzzle her cheek with a helpless whine.  Why was this even a thing?  Why to them?  He desperately wanted nothing more than to be able to comfort her, to be able to curl up around her as if it would scare away any more foul luck, but at the same time, some buried instinct told him to not to stay close for too long.

What can I do? he whispered shakily, trying to focus on his mate, not the bodies of pups he'd never get to know.

This post was surprisingly heartbreaking to write. But welcome to the world, our beautiful @Vasa! <3

In some distant part of her memory, she recalled the dream she'd had when she danced with death only a week prior -- three dark stars in a cluster of six. Did that mean there were more? As she gazed down at her limp babies, she studied their little faces. One was pale grey, with a dash of white on his chest. Little white feet. The other was white, her tiny black nose and fine little lips the only blemishes on her otherwise perfect palette of snow. Fragile little pink claws. Their tiny ears were folded down on their round little heads, and the soft fuzz of their bodies was beginning to fluff out like cotton as they dried.

They were so perfect.

She tore her gaze away from them to look up at her mate with eyes full of broken anguish, and knew in that moment that she couldn't bear to bring forth any more silent, motionless perfection. Tiny as they were, their tragedy weighed ten thousand pounds in her arms as she hugged them closer to her breast and felt the beginnings of a sob that threatened to destroy her. The pain of labor was but a candle to the inferno of her grief just now.

Her lower lip wobbled as hot tears filled her eyes, but she didn't know what to say. Kill Screech, perhaps? This was his fault, after all. At least in her mind, it was. "I don't—" she began, before she was abruptly cut off by more agony. Fear and dread overwhelmed her as she braced herself against the pain, burying her face in the soft fuzz of the lifeless children in her arms. Moments later another little form entered the world, and she hesitated, terrified to look.

She felt a movement, though -- a tiny little nudge against the fine hairs on the fringe of her tail. Her heart leapt and she spun quickly to clean the newest arrival: a baby girl of pure sable, just like her parents. She wiggled and cried out at her mother's nuzzling and bathing, and as Raven gently pushed her into place to nurse, the alphess felt a sudden surge of relief and love so profound it made her lightheaded. She glanced up at her mate again, shock and wonder illuminating her face. "Our first daughter," she said in a soft voice, feeling that lip-wobble again for an entirely different reason this time.

<3 <3

Quixote couldn't dwell, it'd end up breaking him, and he was useless enough as it is without crumbling into a pile.  It'd only make things worse than they already were.  But he had the advantage that he could sort of avoid dealing with things for now: just don't look.  Raven's answer was interrupted again by another pup, which sent Quixote pacing yet again.  Just please, good news.

And good news it was!  He let out a loud whoosh of a breath and practically fell backwards onto his haunches.  Not all was lost.  He did have to mentally shove that little voice that said 'something could go wrong' out of a window, though.  Nah, it was totally time for him to wrap himself up in a cloak of hope.  Quixote had never been so happy to see such a little critter and he looked back to Raven his tail thumping against the ground.  He still couldn't bring himself to give more than a very peripheral glance to the first two, but now the one who lived was the focus of his attention.  Can you make it into the den?  I... Just it's gotta be colder out here.  Protect her, protect them.

A little bit of Quixote's anxiety had been soothed.  This was more like what it was supposed to be like, right?  He got back up, slipping around to Raven's other side so he could take a look at the nursing newborn pup -- one of the advantages of them not being hidden away underground.  She was so small, so very much alive -- she had a future.  He leaned forward, sniffing at the little girl with a sense of curiosity and wonder that very well could get him bitten -- a good chunk of the logic section of his brain was still not responding.  That was his daughter.   Un-freaking-real.

Welcome, @Owen and @Kite! <333

As Quixote leaned in to sniff at the baby girl, she felt an almost involuntarily upswell of instinct that made her want to growl at him, snap and drive him away. It was an ancient terror, woven deep into the fabric of every she-wolf -- that primordial fear of the father who killed his own progeny. But she resisted, instead finding a degree of comfort in his presence and closeness. And so heartbreaking had the arrivals of their two firstborn been that Raven couldn't dare drive him away from the one who'd made it. She smiled weakly at the wonder on his face, sharing his emotions and daring to hope that there might be more healthy children behind this one.

The next labor pain came but she was ready for it. She almost refused when Quixote suggested she get into the den, but when he mentioned that it might be too cold for the newborns, she suddenly found the strength to get there. Her eyes lingered heavily on the two lost children -- she hated to leave them -- but she had to think of the ones who might live. Carefully picking up the ebony girl, her whimpers and squalls protesting the disturbance with a vigor that heartened the worried mother, Raven managed through the pain to pull herself on her belly into the den. Rolling onto her side, she placed her daughter back at her belly to continue nursing and resumed the struggle of bringing forth more life into the world.

This time, two came in rapid succession, a little boy and another girl. She tended to them both quickly, relishing their tiny squeaks and blind, fumbling movements. The boy was large, strong, and wrapped in colors of warm earth. In stark contrast to the previous two, the girl was glacier-white with a dusty cape of silver on her shoulders and back. Raven noticed she was tiny -- very tiny -- and weak. Could this have been her third star? Dim but not dark, at least, and she resolved to do everything in her power to make sure this child lived. She took her time cleaning up the tiny girl, making sure she was safe and warm, before placing her beside her brother and sister to eat.

It seemed that Quixote and Raven’s second living daughter came into the world laughing, as if a very funny joke told in utero still had her in stitches. Her cries, weak and feeble at first, grew in pitch and volume, only to be interrupted by tiny, burbling hiccups. She trembled like the last leaf of autumn, quaking as if from cold, and when a warm, solid swoosh of sensation enveloped her, the wibbling and the wobbling seemed only to increase. She scrabbled for a spot at the milk bar, her movements not as strong or steady at her siblings, but her will blazing like a beacon. Blunt puppy muzzle bumped blindly against the curve of Raven’s abdomen as she instinctively sought sustenance, but she couldn’t seem to get her head steady enough to feed. This was disappointing, and the once-indomitable snow bunting was easily conquered.

With a trilling coo of defeat, she rested her muzzle on her paws and huffed.

So the next round can start whenevars. :P

Okay, the one problem was now Raven was safely tucked away in there with their daughter, but he was still out here, along with the two stillborn pups.  Though Quixote ogled the den entrance for a bit, he didn't enter.  They'd definitely made a mess of their doorstep, though.  He looked over the mess, moving to try to scratch away some of the blood left behind.  Even he, fool as he was, knew that having other predators being drawn over here was probably not a good idea.  At least some of the dirt that had been excavated could cover some of it.

His eyes slowly drifted back to the left behind pups who lay there in just slightly awkward positions that would have been righted if they were alive.  He stared.   Time probably passed and he didn't much notice, broken from this only from some distant noises of a pup somewhere in the earthen den.  His ear rotated back that way, then his eyes, but damned if he'd be able to see anything from where he was.  Back to the first two.  He didn't want to just leave them there -- that seemed wrong as well -- but maybe he should do something.  Bury them somewhere?  But not here.  That would mean leaving Raven.  He tried to implore the den entrance to tell him what to do with a desperate look, but as if that'd work.

Well, Quixote had to do something.  He headed over to the two pups, and seemed almost skittish about touching them.  They'd cooled and obviously couldn't complain, but he was still gentle-if-awkward about moving them, nestling them together just to the side of the entrance, where at least they didn't look completely forgotten.  He gave them a final sad look before crawling partially inside the tunnel to investigate the squeaks, Ray?  How's it going in there?

Aaaand a loving welcome to our beautiful @Phoebe!

It was getting slightly easier with each delivery, so by the time the final wave of pain gripped her, it was only a matter of minutes before she was methodically cleaning her youngest arrival. A girl, inky-black with a smear of snow on her underside, wiggled and mewled restlessly as she blindly sought her mother's breast. Raven nudged her toward her three siblings, and that was when she noticed that the littlest girl seemed to be having difficulty remaining latched on. She felt a flutter of anxiety; she didn't want that tiny light to flicker out. More than anything else in the world, she wanted that little candle to blaze up into a roaring fire, so she gently pushed the child closer to her belly and repositioned herself so it was easier for them all to access her teats.

Quixote's form filled the mouth of her den and again, she felt that aggressive fear rise up inside her. She pushed it away, though, chiding herself for being paranoid, and her voice was exhausted and drained when she answered him. "Three girls and one boy. Come in and meet them." There was plenty of room in the little shelter he had dug her, and after the heart-wrenching arrival of the first two, she thought her mate could use a little joy.

The world had been just fine, she had been content with things only being the sister of her womb-mates and of course, all the atoms and molecules that came together. Blissfully unaware of all that had been and all that would come to be, Phoebe had nary a care in the world.

Until her world was turned upside down, and inside out. The unseen reaction she made was timely to the chaos around her and in what seemed a quick amount of time, things were exceptionally more roomy, and lonely. But soon, that changed too, and by all accounts to be forgotten it was violent in comparison to the first thoughts she had ever had.

The world became much larger and colder, though she had not the words to describe her expulsion into it. She protested this but it fell on deaf ears figuratively and literally but her running mouth found something to hush her temporarily. Then it wasn't so bad really, a new experience less scary than simply surviving being born. Contentness flooded her swiftly and she thought less of what had been and what was to come.

Life had found a way for Raven and Quioxte's third-born child; Vasa had persevered, despite the odds. She emerged from her phlegm-coated chrysalis with a wail—the evidence of her existence to those who were within earshot. 

Vasa's bath, initial tummy time, and relocation were all short-lived, and the alluring aroma of her eventual compensation allowed her to forget all about the traumatizing move. Once they were both settled within the birthing den, Vasa blindly steered herself forward and bounced her muzzle along her mother's underbelly until she felt a nipple. Once she was successful in her search, Vasa fastened her mouth around the delicate flesh and nursed with little regard to the siblings that eventually surrounded her.

*flails!* MOM U STOLE A MARCH ON US, HOW DARE.  XD
Hai fambly! <3 <3 Very much looking forward to RPing with you all, squee! And sorry if this post is shite; I'm not at my best but didn't want to hold anything up.  ;)  Also, fyi, all of y'all may feel free to PP bitsy Owen here as much as you'd like!

He was surrounded, and then suddenly he was not. The wolf-red potato came tumbling out of his mother and straight onto his back, which was already pretty mud-colored admittedly but didn't do much to improve his looks, to be certain. He wallowed about in confusion, bewildered by the blind fumblings and bumping of multiple figures all about him, some of these by much larger and more self-assured creatures than him by far. What was all this? Who were these people? Why was there a big pointy rock of some sort that had lodged itself beneath his spine in the most uncomfortable possible place, right between his shoulderblades? The little boy was tumbled upright by one of the impacts, but remained completely confused, until his instinctive figuring out of the working of his jaw gave him something productive to do instead, all of a sudden.

...Well, sort of. Oblivious to the tragedy his parents had just been suffering through, as well as their joy as the living remainder of the litter arrived, the boy opened his mouth and started in with weak little warbling protests that began to slowly grow in strength and confidence. He wanted to complain not only about his change of venue and the unreasonable accomodations in this den, entirely uncomfortable and unsuitable of course, but also about the sheer strangeness of it all, the way his overburdened nose apparently quite suddenly expected him to sort out all these different scents, though after a few wailing moments his brain did pick out first the telltale scent of his mother (though she had smelled rather different on the inside) and then his sisters (okay, maybe he remembered one or two of them kicking him once or twice or fifteen times while they'd been crowded inside, after all, or stealing that most-comfortable spot atop Mom's bladder) and finally, one large male stranger that he didn't recongize at all. Was that why the womb had suddenly been widened out into this strange, dirty place— to fit that oversized and strange-smelling weirdo in with them? The infant increased his volume a little more in protest. He tried to raise his head and tell this big stranger that he didn't belong here, that he ought to go find his own place because this pup wasn't interested in sharing right now please and thank you.

Mother's smell had other things layered and mixed in with it too, some of it like the dirt he now laid on top of, some of it the foreign tang of blood, and the last and most important intermixing that came more strongly as forces beyond his control urged him forward. The youngster hiccupped once in surprise as the tantalizing scent came closer and stronger and then a teat was popped into his mouth quite suddenly, and he finally shut up as he discovered to his surprise that this shit was delicious. Who knew! He suckled with increasing greed and vigor, only occasionally awkwardly shoving a paw out toward one of his littermates as here and there they continued to kick him. Well, some things never changed.

He didn't need too much more encouragement to finish scrambling into the den.  His first target was to head straight to Raven, taking a brief look over the four definitely alive pups before turning back to practically attack her with kisses.  Quixote's whole rear end was wagging, a mix of joy and relief -- what had started awfully had apparently ended way better than it started.  As one who had assumed this was going to be end up the worst of all possible options, this was amazing.  Or something.  He wasn't sure he had the right vocabulary to express it.

She was here, they were here.  The fact that he was actually a dad now hadn't entirely set in yet.  Quixote finally turned to take a closer look at them.  Two little inkblots and two oddballs, and then there was one more of each outside that hadn't made it.  Not a bad haul, right?  And yet these little wolf-beans would turn into adults in how long?  

They're all so small and just -- I don't even have the words.  Just.  Yeah.  He fumbled it and looked back to Raven, smiling.  This was the best it could have gone, wasn't it?   Even though there were still the two bodies outside that would have to be dealt with, he'd focus on the ones here.  Trying to keep to the positive.  Maybe they just had something against plans.  It wasn't like their conception had been the apex of some drawn-out courtship, after all.  Quixote had no regrets about any of it given where they were now, even if the last week or whatever up through tonight hadn't been too pleasant.  It should have just been happy, but he'd take mostly instead.  But now, he had to wonder if the attack had cost the lives of two of their children, but there were still four here in a nice little row at Raven's belly.  This was his family.

Puppy players: Y'all are welcome to continue posting, but I know how weird it can be playing a blind, deaf, nursing newborn. Don't feel obligated to make a post every round if you don't feel like it! <3

She smiled at his words, thinking his opinion wasn't far off the mark. Everything about the past few months had gone differently than expected, hadn't it? Not only with regards to their relationship, but in every other aspect of pack life as well. It only made sense than their children would have ideas of their own as well, even if Raven still held to the dark belief that Screech was to blame for the loss of nearly half their litter and their premature delivery. The thought made her simmer, and she swore that if she ever laid eyes on her disowned brother again, she wouldn't be the one on her back with teeth at her throat. That was, of course, if Towhee didn't wipe him from the face of the earth first.

"What should we call them?" she asked him softly, her heart warmed by his excited wiggles and wags. Her eyes fell to the elder two girls, and she smiled. "You might have noticed my family has this tradition of naming kids after birds they look like. We might have a vasa and a little white kite here," she murmured, touching the tops of the children's heads with her nose.

Oh god, making the very uncreative dude name stuff?  That could be a disaster if he thought about it too long (or maybe if he took too short of a time?).  Uhhh.  People in my birth pack were all named after people from stories, even if I didn't know all the background.  When I was a pup, there was a guy named Owen.  He was nice.  And at some point he'd disappeared.  At the time, Quixote probably hadn't understood why or thought it was too out of the ordinary.  At least it's got some good history.  What little there was -- he had a few good memories buried here and there, but most of that part of his history was pretty dark in comparison to this.   Still, there was one girl left.  Hm.  Phoebes are birds too, right?  Think Phoebe kinda sounds good with Owen also.  Especially if he happened to be wrong and there were not birds called phoebes.

There was so much shuffling going on that she felt like screaming. Not a good scream either, the sort where it erupted out of them in a relatively moment of quiet and disturbed anyone in earshot. A total sensory overload, the apex of frustration and anxiety coupled together. She considered this greatly, this idea to scream and scream until things were just in the world... but it was relatively difficult to do with something in her mouth.

Phoebe was not that inclined to let it go, and therefore had to endure the mixed bag of shaking, flailing, and other disorderly manners going on. At least she felt warmer, the air quick to dry her cleaned body and the downy coat of her mother's underside serving a bed of sorts. Though content and growing ever all right with her predicament, she fought the return of rest as she pressed a tiny paw against Raven.

Then someone's foot met her face and pushed.

Had she open eyes, she may have narrowed them in contempt at the offender and seethed. If she had teeth, she probably would have nipped at them in warning. But she was not the firecracker of the quartet—so she screamed in her best tones for lack of other options. It was muffled because hey, mouthful here, and resigned to distressed mewling and squeaking as she pawed back at whatever—whoever—she could reach.

The big stinky stranger had paid no attention to the small boy's noises, which was just as well as his son had pretty much forgotten about his initial discontent right now—now that the milk bar was open and the nectar of heaven was being shoveled down into his belly just as fast as he could slurp it down. This was what his life had been missing, all along, and he'd never known it until just now!

The newly-christened Owen was startled into dropping his drink for just a moment, however, as he realized he could suddenly feel vibrations, very strange new vibrations from the garbled noise trying to explode out of his sister's throat, under the paw with which he had most recently been trying to joust at his siblings. He opened his mouth in a surprised "o" and gave his head a quick dismissing shake as he ineptly tried to jerk that poky-paw back, but his muscles weren't quite coordinated enough yet. The leg halfheartedly withdrew for a moment, only to flop back out afresh atop some other nearby patch of fuzzy infant. Owen was concerned that this bit of some-sister-or-other might start its weird rumbly vibrating in a moment too, but now his attention was being pulled away again. Owen's confusion and distress increased as his little brain was smothered in a growing dark panicky blanket as he noted that his mouth was once again empty. And no matter how he craned it about and opened and shut it, very like the begging baby birds' whose nomenclature was now hung upon his littermates, he started to whimper because he couldn't find the milk again. No! Noooo, oh no! This was terrible—the very worst disaster that could ever have befallen any pup anywhere, surely! What if he couldn't ever find the right spot on mom's belly again?! What if he starved?!

If Phoebe's smothered screeches didn't catch any adult ears' attention, Owen's wailing almost certainly would as it grew louder and louder. Help, heeelllp! Starving puppy, here! Don't make me resort to cannibalizing my kicking siblings here, I beg you!

srsly thought about posting some traumatizing Watership Down gifs here (Zorn! O zorn!), but...refrained. :P Yer welcome. Besides, this thread has had enough genuine trauma in it already, gyah!  OOCly I am holding all the feels for poor Raven especially, just so's you know...!)

Bryn, your posts with him are perfect! All you kids are perf, ahhh <333

"Phoebe, Owen, Vasa, and Kite," she murmured with an affectionate smile, gently touching each child's head with her lips. It seemed strange to have one child not named the same tradition as the rest, but she really liked the ring of "Owen," and thus happily accepted the suggestion. It looked like Owen was going to be one of the more vociferously opinionated kids in the litter too, for he soon set up to crying even louder than the already obnoxious Phoebe was. She sighed softly and nudged the two kids gently, attempting to put some space between them and the others so they wouldn't be jostled around quite so much. After guiding Owen's tiny mouth back to the milk, she settled back again and looked at Quixote, "Could you do me a favor?" she asked, an oddly sad note in her voice. "Could you please...bury the two outside? And then howl to announce to the pack that the puppies are here?" She wanted to do it herself, but obviously there was no escaping the ravenous little piranhas feasting at her midsection. And while it was getting to be rather late, she knew there were several members of the pack who would want to know of the arrival of the newest generation of Redhawks.

And now I believe the thread should be open to everyone! :P

Three birds and one being honored.  The variety of names didn't bug him at all.  But hey, he could just not be thinking about how it might seem later on.  Then, what a reminder.  His voice was equally a bit off, quiet, Yeah.  He started to head out to do so when he stopped and looked back, If some show up here, what do I do?  Just tell them everything outside?  About.. 'them too.'  Pause.  Or what.  He wanted Raven to be comfortable, but if she wanted to talk to anyone directly, it was harder to do with them outside.  And it wasn't like he exactly knew what a new mom would be comfortable with  -- hell, they probably could have even talked about it but that was then and this was now.

Whatever her instructions, it was time to do the things assigned to him.  He gave the two pups a look before he headed off to find a place to bury them -- not going hideously far, but far enough.  Just a nice little out of the way spot with what he wasn't sure whether was a bush or a small sapling.  Either way, if Raven wanted to know where they were buried, it'd be easy enough to find later.  A hole was dug, then the two pups retrieved, placed delicately inside.  A final glance and consideration for futures that weren't to be and Quixote covered them over and returned to the den.

At a cursory glance, you couldn't tell what had happened outside.  The scents betrayed it, but he'd done his best in the short term to do something about it.  Maybe in a few hours they'd be faded enough that it wouldn't pique any interest.  At least this time there was some good with the bad, and he swiveled an ear to see if he could pick up any noises of the pups within.  Just a little bit so he could maybe sound a bit more enthusiastic.  ... Oh yeah, and that squirrel was still there too.  Well, still a snack for later, probably?

Finally he tilted back his head to howl, The pups are here!  You know what? That howl probably gave him more anxiety just by being a thing.  Now he'd have to talk to people.  Well, maybe.  If he didn't have to explain his slightly hit-or-miss mood, he wouldn't complain, but for now he positioned himself sphinx-like and slightly blocking the den entrance, trying to steal a look down into the darkness of the den to remind him of the good.

With X out searching for Screech, Towhee was out of tune with pack-wide communication. It suited her just fine, though. She kept to herself most of the time, still trying to sort out her seemingly hundreds of tangled emotions about recent developments. She still experienced flashes of deep anger, which she tried to carefully bottle so she could unleash them on her brother when the time came.

Naturally, she didn't hear the Alpha male's celebratory howl. And she wasn't magically headed in the right direction either (despite a niggling urge to show Raven her second apparent testicle). Actually, she had just arrived at the Blackthorns' den, eager to catch up with her godparents and little brothers, and was pleased to see that @Clover and @Fiadh were there as well.

She noticed right away when the two yearlings perked up in response to the unheard call. @Finley's head popped out of the den too. Clover quickly signed an interpretation to Towhee. The Beta didn't even bother checking to wait on the others. As soon as the news processed, she pivoted on an inky heel and galloped to the den site.

"Deets?" she barked eagerly to Quixote, who stood sentinel near the mouth.