Noctisardor Bypass jusdreinen

welcome ezra & gideon!! <3 this is AW to everyone, would love if other pups made an appearance tho i did not tag! players may decide birth order based on thread events!

outside the den beneath dawnleaf's twined branches, heda stooped over chamomile she had gathered herself, separating stem from flower. the newest children of rivenwood were growing rounder; each day their auntie crooned into small ears and patted soft bellies and helped to clean the soft hides upon which they lay. she even hunted, here and there, though more often than not in the past week her efforts had been in vain. to @Glaukos and @Anselm then, she would leave such exploits, at least for now. heda then turned her focus to assisting @Etienne when he came to visit them, trying to learn as much as she could. she urged ava and @Dinah to keep close as much as possible, wanting them at least somewhere near when her own time came.
motherhood came easily to heda in such smoothness that it felt unfair to @Druid. something was rather wrong with her sister, she had decided. she did not stifle the notion, only considered that the new mother had been through an absolute ordeal and ended up with several pups, each with their own demands to add to her body.
still, she would keep an eye on her sister.
dizzy bouts of sickness paled the reservoir of strength she had been preserving, a nausea unexpected but so fierce it often drove her to sleep for long stretches of time. heda often found herself light-headed and disoriented, a disappointing, worrisome end to a pregnancy that had started harshly but smoothed.
the days wore to warm, though winterbreath still held in the darkened hours and the early morning, even through sunrise. her senses said soon.
dinah's voice, asking if her prayers continued. her breath wavered over the chamomile and she began to gather it back into a small scrap of fur, turning for the denmouth.
the first cramp caught heda high and sharp in the ribcage, a shifting. she stood as she was, eyes fixed ahead while mind raced through the inventory of her sensations. another step, another — and the second pain was a dull ache that bent her hard against the ground, provoking a gasp from her mouth.
a moment later, heda stumbled into the den and subsequently druid's arms; "oh, it's —" happening.

cold rain misted beyond the denmouth. her labour had stopped, for now, and heda insisted on using the moment of energy to help druid with whatever was needed. it was not long thereafter that her attention was pulled again, to pain, to ground, to focus; she leant one shoulder against the lintel of the entry and grunted with another contraction.
heda was visible for these moments to those outside the protected circle of the birthing site; for a moment she raised her head and looked through the icy sheet to the one who stood just beyond her line of sight.
and then she crept back to druid's side, and laid down in a quiet shambling of anguish quite palpable to those gathered. but she did not cry out, only tensed her jaw and let the dragon's snorting of scalded nostrils speak for itself of the agonies endured.

when heda returned to herself, the stars shone above dawnleaf, clear in the stark cold sky. by now she was near insensate with pain, her jaw girded against any outcry, and for what reason? she did not know? but in these moments, one's mind is cleverly guided from consciousness and suspended spiderlike above, and so heda found herself thinking of anselm and — his face above their cradle.
her vision blurred; if voices sounded, she scarcely heard them, twisted upright in a sudden urge to bear down, to — she was not aware of her voice, crying out;
god, please, god
it was so much harder than the first time. then she had been hale even in exhaustion after four to tend —
then eight —
oh, a breath, and heda was sobbing for caracal, his name floating weakly to hover at the doorline; and then she at last gave in;
surrender
i surrender
clay yields and is molded, and so did heda bow before the will ordained by creation and its progenitor.
a boy entered the world, greyscale and sleek; she sighed in relief to see him, and cleaned his small mouth swiftly, her heart already turning to a silken mush to see his tiny eyelids, his small ears;
but if there was anything overlooked, she did not see it, for god did not spare heda another moment before he led her into the last tribulation. and somehow, in a way she did not understand, heda knew it was the last.
it was on prayer she knelt now, incantative as they blurred and blended with her moans, the guttural sounds of a primeval world and an even older pain, that of the earth splitting its first joints and mountains and rivers;
and the second child came into rivenwood, another darkshadow boy; heda felt herself glowing with the same incandescence, and swept him forward. his face was the last thing she beheld before she blinked and the sky seemed to whirl.
but the strain of such trials overtook her as fast as those last sunderings; the golden eyes closed; the slim head on the thin neck lolled, and heda slipped into a soft-breathing silence, a blackness that would last for several hours.
only after she emerged would she speak names as if she had gleaned them from a vision.

Anselm had never seen childbirth -- nor the rituals that precluded it. As Heda sped to the den, he noticed a thickening of scent in the air; adrenaline, and some other hormone he could not name that pierced beyond the heavy veil of rain.

He understood it was not his place to hover in the den. While Heda fought the pains of childbirth, Anselm hung restlessly outside. He could not piece together -- not yet -- if these children were his or someone else's. It'd caught him off guard to see Heda's form rounded when he came back to Rivenwood - but he'd told herself that she'd taken care of it.

Maybe she hadn't.

He grit his teeth as the sound of struggle sounded from within the den. Chamomile and blood wafted out; Anselm wanted to stick his head in, but he knew he could only listen, wondering if Etienne or Glaukos would show, and if so, when.

Sodden and tired, the hours wore on. An abundantly cold night sky opened itself up to Anselm. He counted stars and watched clouds move past.

At last, stillness. The quiet sound of mewling. Anselm knew if he poked his head in the den, he might lose it -- and so waited outside, wondering how many, and if Heda had made it through the ordeal.

Thank fucking god he didn't have a uterus.

mama's contractions started as the world opened up in spitting rain.

ava wordlessly brushed aside the man in the den. the scent of chamomile assaulted her nostrils, but her gaze was held in silence upon the pained features of her mama.

dinah would know what to do; dinah would pray.

ava had no such faith in god. she tried to remain visually reassuring, gut twisting as if a knife pierced it each time she looked upon her mama and saw agony.

it would be over soon, she wanted to croon - to press paw to fevered head and kiss away the struggles.

sobbing; mama sobbing -- the name of her dead mate slipping out. ava's ears pinned and she held the gaze of dinah knowingly.

hours passed before heda's shivering crucible came to end. as heda slumped alongside druid, ava looked upon the two forms in quiet wonder. had she been that small?

their caul was pierced and pulled away, their fur licked clean and life lapped into them by strong, warm strokes of urgent tongues.

heda slipped away, but it was okay mama -- ava and dinah were here, guided by instinct to see their bloodline borne anew.

He came to watch over things, and as he lumbered to where Heda struggled, he chose not to see Anselm there. It had been said that the man would live here, that he came as a package deal with Etienne the healer, and while Glaukos vehemently dispised being thwarted by anyone he had to choose obeisance when Druid was involved. They needed the healer, even if Glaukos had made his violent decree.

So, as his gaze passed over the figure that was Anselm, no it did not.

Heda was the priority, for now. Children born to her, which he would claim ownership of the same way he did for Druid's. They would be safe and sound with Glaukos keeping watch.

She told herself she wasn’t a bad mother. She tended to her children’s every need. It all became routine rather quickly, really. It made it easier if not less exhausting. Even if Druid didn’t love them, she looked after them with utmost attention and care.

And Heda’s support meant everything. Druid tried to repay the favor, give her sister every bit of attention she could spare when her labor began. If there was something she couldn’t fetch personally, she asked Ava, Dinah or the men standing guard outside. Mainly she just kept Heda company, tried to comfort and console.

The hours wore on and the four pups at her own breast demanded so much of her. Druid wished Glaukos would just take them away for a few minutes so she could properly focus on her sister. Before she could do anything rash, Heda finally bore her young: two boys.

Good job, mama, Druid said, clutching at a pale paw and pressing her nose to Heda’s forehead.

Two more cries joined the cacophony in the den. Druid gathered her four closer to herself, giving Heda and her children a moment to bond. She envied the way her sister looked at them, her own mismatched eyes going glassy before fixing on a spot on the den wall.

Etienne moved into the light. He had been near the laboring mouth den. Had heard the cries and the pleas. He had kept his herbs nearby and he waited quietly. And another piece of him fell, torn asunder. As he too wondered if the babes belonged to Anselm or Glaukos and he despised them all. At least this moment in time.

There was deep deep pain in his spirit and he was so angry. Angry at Anselm for keeping him nearby for giving him hope over and over and removing it just as quickly. He was mad at Glaukos for the new wounds on his spirit, his body, and his heart he was furious at Druid for being sick and demanding his care. And he was angry at Heda for stealing Anselm, for begging him to stay. But he hated no one more than he absolutely loathed himself.

Weak Etienne, bleeding heart Etienne, spineless Etienne. He had been unable to save his family, he had been unable to put his uncle back together. He had been unable to keep himself and Anselm safe and he had been unable to block Heda and Druid both from pain.

At the first cries of the babies and when he knew they would be fine. He dropped his herbs at the feet of Glaukos. Golden gaze burning into the mans face and hide. Then he turned away. Back to the shadows and overhanging trees. Let the Mon Fou fight over each other.

His time on earth had been spent rolling and wriggling, suckling and kneading, yips, whines, and little barks—if they could be called that at his age. He had been content since birthed into this world, but something about today felt off. Not scary, no—his sisters and Mother were well, as much as his little baby brain could tell, anyway—but different.

Though he could not see—yet—he could still feel, and what he felt was disruption in his contented state. His mother had left him suddenly, the warmth of her had receded swiftly yet still near, her scent drifting to him. He let out a long whine before squirming restlessly. He did not like this sudden stutter in life—he felt more helpless than he already was, wishing he could bring his mother back to him and his sisters.

One day, if he ever remembered or told of this moment, he would know that his cousins had entered the world; his mother’s disappearance was to his Aunt Heda’s side as she gave birth, caring for her as she cared for her own children. But, right now, he rolled to find solace in his sisters before finally being tucked back into his mother’s belly. 

Content once more.

dinah hated them.
in some way, she knew that she did long before they'd even been born. she watched the changes to — heda's body, the way she bloated and fattened and swelled in all the strange, but natural ways. perhaps in another life, she would have been happy — excited, even, to know that she was to be a big sister again. instead, she was faced with a brutal, wretched disgust.
it was wrong. all of this was wrong, wasn't it?
daddy was supposed to be here. she wished he was, desperately; her throat closes as she picks budding herbs from her garden, passes them curtly to her mother while avoiding her eyes. aunt druid, at least, she could tend to without feeling bile bubble in her throat; she could turn off her brain, switch into a sing-song tone as she plays nursing student and tries not to think of the soft, gently aged hazel eyes.
as heda's labor neared, dinah grew more and more distant. snapping, unwittingly, an iciness to the sapphire gaze thick with shards of a resentment that had been building up and spreading like a silent cancer. she watches as her mother buckles and falls into druid's arms and only ogles with a closed-off, swallowed panic thudding through her body.
ava looks to her as heda's grunts turn to shouts and then to mortifying sobs, and all dinah can do is wrap a steely arm around her sister's shoulder, reticent and hardened with a tongue that bleeds from how hard she bites down upon it. the men crowd the dawnleaf, and all the girl wants to do is holler for them to leave. they did not have a place here. they did not know heda. they were not —
and she was strong, she was good, until she heard the name shattering in heda's throat: caracal.
and it was in that moment that dinah knew she hated these children not for their heresy, but their bastardy. they were not caracal's. they were not daddy's and he was not here they were not her brothers he's dead he's DEAD where did he — go
all at once she is transported back to the heavy autumn air and the clouds that danced overhead and the way his skin sat so weirdly upon his bones and she can hear the weeping and see her brothers' horrified faces and little ava with her beautiful rounded eyes and
dinah is still that little girl, and she was so little, so so young and scared and she feels as if the earth is crumbling beneath her feet and her throat and chest and legs hurt in all the same places
when she sees the children for the first time and does not see her daddy in their tiny faces, she feels nothing for them. if allowed, she gathers ava and ushers her to the edge of the bypass walls as fast as she can with not a word to anyone.
because now, ava is all that is left.

Gideon was the second to come earth-side, dark as the clouds that weeped over the bypass in the early stages of Heda's labour. His birth was as mundane and ordinary as they came: he followed on his brother's heels, Ezra having opened the way for him, and tumbled gently to the earth. He was cleaned, warmed, placed alongside his mother's flank; all regular, ordinary things, and anything strange or untoward happening beyond his tiny warm bubble was beyond his capacity to comprehend.

But Gideon's arrival was not so ordinary after all. The soul that came to roost in his body was full of potential, already called toward a purpose that would shape his every moment from here on out. He was surrounded by more parents than any puppy could wish for, more playmates than he would later know what to do with. He was, as wolf pups went, born under very fortunate and favorable circumstances.

It was neither the glimmer of potential nor the glut of doting family that made his birth remarkable.

What made Gideon so remarkable was that when his little tail began to wriggle, there was a second one wriggling right alongside it.

ezra is labored into the world first, a cardinal virtue given flesh. this vessel he is given is tiny and weak and blind and deaf and utterly helpless. disappointing. not strong and large and imposing. no, this small vessel was a mewling newborn freshly birthed into the world. but he is bound to it, to the flesh, to the bones still soft. a swipe of something wet and warm cleans him and the cold air of a cruel world rushes to greet him.

a first breath is taken.

and as heda labors with his brother, her guttural noises are joined by his holy fury as he lets out a bellow; unheard by him. in reality, it did not hold the weight he imagined it did. it, like the vessel, was small. weak.

ezra's burst of energy is waning and his small whimpers quiet, giving into the very basic but primal urge to feed.

exhaustion creeps closer within ezra as another body is joined beside his, pushing closer to heda's flank. he suckles clumsily for a few moments, unaware of the activity 'round him as he is quickly lulled to sleep.

A week after having need forced into a new existence, there came another disturbance. This one, however, did not affect little Kikimora - who mostly slept right through.

When hunger roused her, she gave a little mewl. She squirmed among the bundle of siblings she'd been nestled among, pug nose rooting for milk from the provider that wasn't present.