Stone Circle Standing here in front of you.

It had been a month since her children had been born. A month of living in a perilous, touch-and-go situation within the earth. Had she died? No; but when Sanja woke to find herself within the bosom of the earth, she thought for a moment that she'd perished.

The little bodies - her children - mewled as she roused, and she set her focus upon them. She was disoriented but alive, and tended to their needs in a lethargic manner, going through the motions: cleaning, feeding, burping. When she was finished with the trio, she felt a touch more invigorated than in previous weeks and chose to extricate herself from their company.

The woman emerged from the makeshift den among the aspen trees, observing the threadbare smoke that lingered everywhere, and breathing in the scent of autumn as if the taste was somehow new.

A month of endless questions, and worry and running a pace around the den site. The old man had done his best. He owed her nothing, she owed him nothing, but a part of him wanted to take care of her and the little ones. Be what ever they may need, friend, hunter etc. Though, he had left early in the chill to hunt.

So it was with surprise and a weasel in his jaw that he found her standing outside. He dropped the meat, his fathers language curling from his mouth.

Sanja? Are you well?

The old man trailed through the mist. She heard something move in the underbrush (it was only the weasel, dropping); as she canted her head towards him she saw the incredulous look on his face, and then caught his words.

I am... Better, but, I am weak. She sank backwards and sat there with her shoulder leaning against a young aspen sapling, and it shuddered from her sudden movement.

She felt very much closer to the weasel between them, rather than anything lively.

How is home? How are the people faring.

Gunnar wanted to move closer make sure she was okay. However, he kept his position, only moving a paw-step forward to hear better and sunk to his own haunches.

It was touch and go for a bit, but I'd rather have you weak than dead.

He watched the tree shudder beneath her and for a moment worried she'd fall, but it held.

We are doing as well as we can. Shoring up for winter. Filling caches watching borders. We still have the numbers we started with.

She had nearly died, then? It felt that way when she had awakened - dulled to everything, dizzy, unable to find anything solid or real as she'd drifted between being awake and asleep; perhaps that was all death was: a deeper and more profound sleep that one did not wake from. Sanja was grateful that she'd survived.

To hear of Kvarsheim, they had not lost a single person. How surprising! It had been a shock that anyone would choose to live here with her, or to follow her, but to hear they had not abandoned her either? The people of the circle were loyal and most beloved.

Good. That is good. It was also baffling, and heart-warming, and filled her with a tendril of dread, all at once. She looked over her shoulder to the den mouth where she expected to see one of her roaming children - but they were asleep still, and likely not big enough to be such trouble.

And I am a mother now. I do not remember it. She turned again to look upon the elder man, but soon her eyes averted to the dirt. I suppose it is their fault that I nearly... That I was almost gone, forever? I do not blame them, though. She did not voice how she truly felt for them either.

Gunnsr could not boast a knowledge of death. He had never been close to the door. Though his mother and his father had both gone without fear and he hoped to do the same. There was feasting and hunting in Valhalla.

Sanja had done well with choosing her pack members. Most of them were steadfast and true. Perhaps they would disperse someday, but for now all stayed. In part because she gave them a home, at least that was his take on it.

Gunnar smiled at her kindly. Not their fault no, just a random chance. Sometimes it happens. Mother used to tell me one birth could be fine and the next season worse and vice versa. That is probably hard to take. You didn't get to bond with them right away.

The bare truth of it: she had not seen them until their eyes had opened, and afterwards imagined herself in dire sleep while they feasted upon her day after day, as a wolf feasts on a kill, and it had chilled her so deeply that she could not somehow love them.

They were her blood, they were the future; yet they were beasts, more-so than anything Sanja had ever encountered before.

These thoughts she held tightly to herself. She swallowed them down as they emerged in the twisting of her gut. Her heart felt strangled for it.

Yes, I am sure things will change as I recover. As they get older. She nods and gives a small sigh.

That, your kill. Was that your breakfast? I do not mean to keep you from it. Come, eat. She lifts her shoulder from against the bark of the tree and turns to escort Gunnar along, so that he may rest beside the den mouth. There is a telltale cleared spot approximately his size already there, which Sanja catches sight of, and she smiles down upon it.

Gunnar wouldn't have judged her had she told him how she felt. Sometimes mother's didn't bond with children. It was the way of the world however unpleasant.

And to true it was that babies were not for everyone.
Gunnar nodded. It should.

Gunnar shook his head. You can have it if you're hungry. I was going to bury it nearby.

Guns gave a sheepish smile. i can move further away now if you'd like. I wanted to be near in case you needed something.

The woman smiled, her eyes lit with surprise. She then shook her head. No, no, it is alright. Thank you. I do not have an appetite, though I should I suppose? The children eat constantly. I... Almost feel like they're eating me away, some moments. That thought is grim and she knows it. It has broken through and leaked from her mouth, and immediately Sanja tries to downplay the sentiment.

I think I should return to them. Her attention shifts over her shoulder, and she traces the shapes within the forest that have become so familiar to her. A tall yellow-leaf birch leaning askew from its moorings in the dirt, the fallen logs beneath it, the shadow that corridors to her babies.

Gunnar frowned in thought and wet his muzzle as he thought of what to say. Pink tongue swirling along masked lips, and grey guard hairs. Steel gray eyes tracing over her and then beyond to the little ones.

They do in a way. I do not know much of babies. But my mother said, that children consume everything you are and if you are not careful you don't have yourself, when they are grown enough to not need you. She said sometimes, you lose yourself.

He bowed his head. What is one of your favorite meals? I will try and find one if I can for you to piece at. Simply to heal yourself, not necessarily so you can simply feed the children. You have been through an ordeal.

He waited on sandy paws, the gloves reaching to his elbows, a small smile upon his maw and no judgement in his eyes. She had lived through much. And not everyone was ready for motherhood when sprung upon you, but the fact was she was trying at least to keep them alive. That was more than most would have done in her situation.

Her favorite meals? He was too kind. How had a man such as himself survived so long with such a heart? He was a blessing to Kvarsheim - of that Sanja was certain. How much longer would they benefit from having Gunnar around? As her thoughts turned to this, and then inward, she had to banish the sentiment with a shake of her head.

That is not necessary, really. I miss the foods of my home, but they are not things to be found here. Soon my babies will be eating red meat and if it pleases you, you can bring things for them instead. She smiled at that thought, though the feeling did not extend to her eyes. A pantomime of motherhood.

With a small dismissive nod to him, Sanja moved away and sought the hidden darkness of her den, where her babies waited. The slinking of her steps proved to be reluctance, as she took a moment to gather herself before ducking through the opening and squirming to where they slept.