Lion Head Mesa she is broken and won't ask for help

About a half-moon had passed since birthing the pair of pests. Maegi's body was well on its way to recovery, but her mind was not. Poppy-addled and trembling, she rose to her paws one morning and meandered into the depths of Akashingo, where she knew they were being nursed by some fellahin or another.

The scent of milk touched her nostrils, sweet-sour. Their eyes should be open by now, she thought. Were they close to weaning, too? Speaking?

She should have had them outside the mesa, and cast them aside before they had a chance to breathe.

I'm here to see the pups, she called into the muted light, gaze not yet adjusted to the darkness. My pups. But she couldn't bring herself to say that.

Two of them, curled up at Jawahir's breast. Tiny, pale, pathetic.

Midas Sanguine Melonii, she dubbed the boy, suckling at the teat. She turned to the girl, and her lips curled in a silent snarl. Medusa Vaermina Melonii, for what was this child if not the spirit of her cursed mother, born again.

Thus named—and Jakoul instructed to call them so—she departed after only a few minutes, unable to look at them any longer.