Ouroboros Spine xlvv. before he gets there

backdated for 08/12/2021, was having some issues with the board when I originally tried to post this so we’re giving it another shot lol. I’ll be posting with Wil when she’s approved and all. :) We out here taggin’ e’erybody. Women’s circle will be allowed in the den/to assist: @Kukutux, @Sialuk, @Keyni, @Shikoba, @Lunaria. Men’s circle will be welcome to come and remain outside, or to help keep away evil spirits: @Aiolos, @Lómëvása, @Zane, @Kiliutak/Kigipigak and @Alduin is allowed wherever because he’s a bb and precious. :3 (babies are tagged by order of birth but may not arrive until after Lótë’s second post: @Lómion, @Inkalorë, @Vairë)

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The tugging and pulling of her abdominal muscles tensing rhythmically beneath her skin drove the morning dove into seclusion as her swollen sides grew ever firmer and the time to birth her children into this world drew near. When the practice movements of her womb gave way to the dull ache of her labor’s beginning, it found Lótë pacing the length of the Baptistes’ ulaq, threatening to wear grooves in the packed earth of the floor beneath her feet from the continuous motion spurred by her agitation. 

Her lip was bleeding from the effort of holding in her pained cries, though she was long past the point of noticing the dull sting or the copper taste of her own blood. The heavy smell of blood and birth cloaked the air, doubling her mounting anxiety as her path pressed closer along the back wall of the den, desperate to keep the others in her village from taking notice.

As thrilled as she had been to become a mother, as eager as she was to meet her unborn cubs, the greenpaw struggled against the inevitability of nature — hoping her pups could hold off just a bit longer, wait just a bit more until their father came home.

A fierce contraction stopped her in her tracks, a gasp sucking through her lips which parted in shock. Lótë couldn’t stifle the low groan that escaped her throat, though she tried to bury the sound against her forelegs as the pain ripped through her. Panic flared to life in her chest like lightning striking a dry plain. 

She wasn’t ready.

shikoba has been spending her time doing extra patrols and hunting after the birth of kukutux's children. it is incredibly important that the new generation of moonglow is provided all of its needs, whether that is with love or with nourishment. today, shikoba's hunt is promising as a large hare hangs from her teeth. her intent is to put it in a nearby cache by the ulax, but she notices something.

as she approaches, she sees one of the other woman of moonglow pushing herself deeper into what must be her own den. at first, shikoba would simply walk away to let the woman have her own privacy. however, the scent that clings to the air warns shikoba that something is wrong, or different at least. thankfully with kukutux's litter being born so soon, shikoba does not forget what birth smells like. with a small sense of familiarity, the native can now try and figure out how she can help this woman.

her pace is a quick trot towards Löté as a choppy bark is offered, to let her know that she is no longer alone. she stands at the mouth of the den, dropping the heavy rabbit from her jaws. concern is written over her scarred face. "need help?" a simple question that some may call stupid considering the circumstances, but shikoba is always wary of others she does not truly know well. besides, pregnancy means hormones, and hormones can cause strange behavior. the last thing shikoba wanted was to be chased away and cause further damage to the expecting mother.

a cameo!

kukutux lifted from fitful sleep. 

while she could not truly know that her cloudberry sister had entered the trials of first motherhood, her exhausted gaze was soft with concern. 

careful not to jostle their daughters, who nursed in downy silence at her side, kukutux chuffed for @Sialuk and @Aiolos to hear her.

"go to lótë," moonwoman urged, her voice faint from the eight days of tending kausiut and samani, the healing that seemed to linger in red even now.

She had been resting when anaa's voice woke her. The sun had risen many times since the birth of her sisters, and Sialuk had spent most of her time with them, leaving only briefly for food, water, or gathering of more plants that they used. When her mother's voice urged her to Lote, Sialuk hesitated only a moment. She did not wish to leave her two new sistraas, but she knew that Lote would need help, too. She was heavy with children of her own.

The girl arrived to find Shikoba outside Lote's den, and there was a rush of familiar scents on the air. Sialuk was less in tune with the timing of Lote's pregnancy, so she was not sure if the woman was early, late, or simply on time. What she did know was that it did not matter. Sialuk touched her nose gently to Shikoba, thanking her for her presence here.

Lote? she then said, turning her attention to the mother-to-be. Lote, you must breathe. Do not fight the sensations. The Ostrega knew this was easier said than done, but words of comfort were exactly what the Gamma needed right now.

He did not know what all the commotion was about. There was a soft call from Kukutux for the red man and someone he had not yet met, and then everyone was on the move. The women banded together and drew towards the ulaq where Kukutux lay with her daughters, only to be redirected. The men gathered also, but they kept out of the way. He followed them and milled in the open space before the ulax, oblivious to the nature of the goings-on.

Outside the den he was perched, keeping guard and also simply relaxing, with the sun to soak into the red hairs of his back, burning and brightening them.

When Kukutux speaks, both he and Sialuk stir and Aiolos wastes no time to heed her command with a silent nod.

Aiolos follows and as the two women are gathered at the opening of Lote's den, the red wolf takes his place a distance outside of it to stand guard as he had done time and time again. His backside to the den opening, his gingered ears are tilted back to listen to the women's words and listen for direction as needed... Whilst eyes to the front.

The northerner comes, curious, unknowing. Lote is ready to give birth. He informs.

Keyni was keeping an extra tight vigil around the denning areas of Kukutux and Lote, the former having recently given birth. In her had risen a new, quiet streak of protectiveness. Of not over just the mothers, but of the tiny lives as well. 
Arriving after Sialuk and Kigipigak, she positioned herself outside, close to the women. Near enough to glimpse inside or be of any help should she be asked. She hummed pleasantly at Sialuk's coaching. The men, she kept an eye on.

I cannot express to y’all how very sorry I am for the wait on Lótë’s replies. :( I’ve been in and out of the hospital all week since I just found out I have a sorta rare heart condition and nearly went into cardiac arrest last Monday, I’ve been hemorrhaging blood as a result, etc. And I also had to move and get my wifi figured out this past weekend but I’m back now, doing much better, and should be able to get caught up soon. :)

Shikoba was the one to find her, trembling and hunched over her own body’s turmoil with a sheen of tears in her eyes. 

Her lips parted to speak but another contraction stole her breath and she nearly fell forward as she cried out, the loss of balance sending her sprawling against the warrior woman’s chest. She caught herself, but only by leaning on her village-sister. Normally, the mother would’ve been embarrassed but she was too far gone to care at this point. Lótë practically clung to the scarred she-wolf, panting in her effort to breathe through the pain.

When she could finally straighten and untangle herself from Shikoba’s personal space, Sialuk had arrived — offering advice that Lótë tried to follow as she allowed the women of their tribe to join her within the den, hardly noticing the men who gathered outside. 

“He’s not here,” she rasped brokenly to the Beta, over and over again,  as she tried to stifle the wave of despair crashing through her heaving chest until the words would come no more. Their place was taken by the sounds of suffering and strife as her children came without fail. 

Lómion, whose charcoal coat she would not allow to instill dread in her heart; she pulled her firstborn close to free him and whisper a name of stars against his damp pelt of night.

Vairë, an eldest daughter who met the world with a warbling cry full of wordless emotion. Already she seemed to have important things to say, inspiring her name of story-weaver. Lótë cooed breathlessly in response to the girl as she tucked her in beside her brother before the pain consumed her again.

Inkalorë, whose ambiguous scent confused her but was pulled close to her heart regardless. She didn’t need to understand; they were hers and she loved them even if she didn’t yet know the golden babe entirely. (Wasn’t sure if Ink’s gender was undefined from the get go or if they would grow to realize they’re intersex but lmk if this needs changing.) 

Wilwarin, tiny and shivering — silent and gasping as she clung desperately to life like a damp butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. There was grave concern etched into the dove’s features as she rearranged her litter to make room for all of the children to nurse — even the smallest of them. 

She wasn’t entirely sure who lingered and departed when all was said and done, only that she thanked them all quietly as she curled around her cubs protectively. Everything seemed distant, muted. In her last waking moments, she knew only a chaotic, jilted state — heart half broken, half soaring. 

It was too much. She gave into the bliss of sleep just as the newborns did — auds and closed lids flickering lightly, listening to the soft breaths of her children as they dozed against her cream underbelly. 

happy to hear you’re doing better <3

a diamond he’d wish to be. had he more time — much more time — to morph and form just beyond mother’s wall of honeyed pelt and flesh, maybe then he’d become a diamond. radiant. beautiful.
he comes into the world not as this wondrous gem, but a barely developed coal. so unremarkable. ugly. so very ugly. 
lómion baptiste. firstborn. he knows not of his ugliness. no one does. not yet. they’ll all know one day, but not today
he lay betwix his dame and the litter for now, nearly silent.

Im sorry to hear about that omg! I’m glad you’re doing alright though <3

Sometimes, between death and life, something gets tangled. A celestial bureaucratic issue, if you would. Some spirits come up eligible for new life, others instead were shipped off to wherever it was they went among the stars.

Across a thousand miles of plain and prairie and forest and desert, a white tailed doe lowered her head to the ground. The matriarch of her herd, the lead doe until her age got the best of her. Her buck had moved on, her fellows leaving her behind. It was alright, she understood perfectly what her role was to be, watching fawns stumble behind their mothers with their too long limbs and spotted coats. She was to be a distraction so her sisters could run. And it was a role she was happy to fulfill, knowing this finality wouldn’t be her swan song. The matriarch gave a wet sounding noise, taken over by the consistent cough that had spelled her downfall, as the coyotes that had been harassing the fawns finally made it to her. Liquid browns closed as ivory flashed, and the matriarch knew no more.

At the same time as she died, something else was living for the first time. In a mistake that would bring about a lifetime of red tape, an overworked celestial paper pusher pushed the wrong paper. Instead of inhabiting another of her kind, the matriarch was born again into something else. Doe became fawn became wolf became cub. Prey settling into predator’s skin, the only sign of what she had been shifting color and settling across her face, ink splotches on beige.

Vairë was brought into the world with her first breath smelling of doe’s last, third born and first daughter, a tiny grub that would one day become more. Doe matriarch faded into the recesses of the young mind, and Vairë simply squeaked, long and loud, bleating like the fawn her spirit should have settled in, before calming at the touch of the rest of her siblings, content in the pile of pups.

the weight upon his back barely registers before his legs collapse, and he crashes to the ground without time for conscious thought, head striking a rock with a horrific crack. blackness consumes him, and he does not feel the piercing sting of claws against him. he doesn't feel his skin splitting, entrails freed, throat lacerated and spitting warm life into the grass...

instead he feels the warmth of golden light seeping through places torn asunder, the buzz of healing flesh knitting itself back to unity. he feels a great pulse all around him, a steady staccato drum, a song that thrums through his veins and lulls all the thought from him, until reality bends and warps to the shape of it.
cortland, the song whispers, and it knows him. it knows his secrets, his sorrows, the deepest desires he holds close to his chest. it knows his loves and his losses, all the feelings that had defined him in life.
and gently, steadily, it takes each of them. soul stripped bare and wrought anew, the child developing within lotë becomes something else, something more. the song of cortland tobias mayfair does not end, but changes; a new chorus set over a melody as old as time itself. the soul knows, for a fleeting instant, that this is not the first time it has been rewritten.
and then that fades away too. the whispered song blurs and blends, death knoll turned siren song to lure the ancient weary soul to new life, the promise of eternal youth.
inkalorë, the song whispers, and it knows them.

inkalorë baptiste begins as they'd ended: quiet, peaceful despite the chaos of circumstance, drifting slowly back from the vastness that had swallowed them as if waking from a deep sleep.

the native is quick to come to löté's aid, catching the gentle woman against her own body and stiffening up to maintain the weight. a look of concern over her face before the cream wolfess pulls herself away and goes to settle as the beta soon enters with calm words of advice.

shikoba remains on hand for only a moment, watching as the other women of the circle enter as the men remain outside. sadly, the native is more accustomed to being the harbinger  of death, not life. she almost feels out of place being in such a sacred moment of a mother breathing life into her children. 

she steps away, closer to the mouth of ulaq to ensure no man is to enter, unless löté says so. wavering sulfur passes over the faces of the other men. thankfully for the woman, in the near future, she would bring more than death and birth. she would be the bringer of good news for the new mother, hopefully news that would rid her heart of regret of loss for the new brood's father. but until then, shikoba awaits silently.

Wilwarin did not begin — nor did she end — as any of her siblings did. Perhaps she was newly minted soul or perhaps it was just that the runty pup expended all of her energy upon forming and growing, to the extent that she could not afford to retain any previous memories or experience any sensation beyond the muffled silence of floating within her mother’s womb, occasionally brushing against her littermates. 

She was as silent as her elder brother, though not by choice. Her pink lips opened wide in a wordless expression of horror and discomfort, her first moments blind and dark with panic as her lungs heaved for their first breath.

 She settled only when Lótë had nested her in by Inkalorë, whom she shivered against in familiarity — having curled and batted against them within Amil when she had the energy — and offered her the comfort of colostrum. 

Sleep came just as blissfully to the exhausted newborn as it did to her mother.

Sialuk soothed Lote as best as she knew how. The murmurings of the mother were painful on her ears, but there was nothing Sialuk could do to will Adrastus here. The children came, one after another after another after another. Four mewling bundles that Adrastus was not here to witness.

The five of them slept now, the family with no taataa to bring meat, yet Sialuk knew the wolves of Moonglow would make the children feel welcome. They would not go hungry.

When the star was certain that they were safe and sound, she emerged from the den, weary.

Four, she said. Two girls, and two boys, and yet there was something... different about one of the boys. Sialuk could not put it into words. She would ask the bones when time allowed.

Shikoba, will you stay and guard them? she asked. The strange-speaking woman had been here first, and she had helped a great deal. With Adrastus gone... Sialuk did not trust the other men with Lote in such a state.

Much transpired; Kigipigak did heed the words of AIolos, learning that this was a time of birth for one of the women of the village, and so he kept watch and tried to stay out of the way. It was not an event he had ever been privy to. He did not know what to expect or what was expected of himself, only that Aiolos stood watch and so he would as well. The women flit in and out of the mother's space as things progressed - until Sialuk emerged, the smell of new life upon her and the sounds of mewling behind her.

Kigipigak listened. It felt wrong for him to be there, though. He wondered if Aiolos was the father and that was why he had come, or if someone else was meant to be there; by then Sialuk was asking one of the women to stay and protect the mother and this brought Kigipigak a new thought: two mothers? Perhaps that was the way of things.

He would linger if asked to, but showed a distinct apprehension once the events had concluded. He watched Aiolos for social prompts; if he was needed somewhere, to do a particular task, or to be dismissed. His attention drifted as he thought of his own mother and the village that he had left behind, a year ago at least, by now.