Noctisardor Bypass another world

just one other, please! set for the 28th.

She woke in the first light of dawn to @Prowler tugging on her tail. Fiona blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her wrist and trying to figure out what her charge was getting at. The bandit chittered, pulled on her tail again, then took a few steps away. Alright, alright! Fiona groaned, pulling herself up onto all fours. She'd fallen asleep outside The Pharmacy, although she didn't plan to make a habit of that. She really would need to find a proper spot soon. Maybe she could work on that today, then head back to the hollow tomorrow: an exhausting thought, but a necessary one.

The witch followed the banded-tailed mammal without too much thought... until the smell hit her, and she wrinkled her nose. You little—! but Prowler was already up in a tree, grinning down at her. One of these days, I'm gonna make a snack outta you, she said, but she knew she didn't really mean it. Prowler tended to know what she needed, even if it wasn't always what she wanted. Or the little turd was pranking her. Either way, Fiona was here now, and she knew she couldn't avoid the whelping den forever.

Standing outside, she called softly into the inky dark. Hello? Everybody okay in there? she asked. It wasn't like the cubs could answer, but Fiona presumed there was at least one parent around watching them.

TRIGGER WARNING: HOMICIDAL AND SUICIDAL THOUGHTS.

She didn’t feel much different after talking with @Etienne. He’d given her a few tips and tricks—the den had never smelled so pleasant, thanks to the lavender and lemon balm—but nothing that addressed the underlying issues. Druid wasn’t sure what those were, so she hardly blamed the healer.

It was a quiet morning. @Heda and all six pups slept. Druid might’ve called it peaceful, if her thoughts weren’t running rampant. Every single one took her in a different, horrible direction. Sometimes she fantasized about smothering her children in the lagoon. More often, she thought about hurting herself. She wondered if a jump from Ashtone Cliffs was high enough to kill her.

A voice cut through the stillness, jarring Druid out of her terrible thoughts. Her eyes shot to her sister, who remained asleep. Carefully, the other Den Mother stepped toward the den’s mouth. She was a little annoyed at Fiona’s presence there, though she was also relieved and glad for the distraction.

Can I help you? she asked a little crisply.

Javelina's Druid's head stuck out of the den, and those two-toned eyes greeted her, both the same and different from her own. Fiona couldn't quite decipher the new mother's expression. At least this time the witch managed to keep her own expression neutral, if not friendly.

I was going to ask you the same question. Do you or Heda need anything? she asked. Fiona wasn't sure she could promise anything in particular, but she could at least try... and if she couldn't or didn't know how to get whatever Druid asked for, maybe she could trick Anselm into helping her. Maybe she wouldn't even have to trick him, based on their most recent interactions. For better or worse, Fiona seemed to have found her way into his inner circle.

She now realized there was a second distinct odor coming out of the den, and it was doing its best to mask the smell of childbirth. Fiona didn't think it was doing a very good job, but it was at least trying. Idly, she wondered if somebody else around here had the same aversion to the smell as she did.

Glaukos fed and protected them. Etienne tended to them and provided medicine. She couldn’t have asked for a better support system, particularly with Heda right there beside her through it all. And yet, Druid internally cried for help with a crisis she could not describe, name or understand.

The only thing I can think of is something you probably wouldn’t want to do, she said aloud, her voice toneless. I thought you were here to help Etienne, Druid added with a vaguely quizzical look.

She assumed it was some puppy-related task, but even that she was willing to grit her teeth through if it meant beginning to gain the trust of the Den Mother. Besides, puppies weren't the worst. Sure, they were kind of boring and gross, but she'd much rather deal with them over the actual pregnancy and birthing process any day.

Druid tacked on another quip, and Fiona's flicked an ear back. Not exactly. I'm helping Anselm move Etienne's stores from our old home. Etienne and I have very different training when it comes to what makes a wolf happy and healthy. Was Druid both of those things? Fiona wasn't sure just yet. Anslem and Etienne certainly seemed to lack the first half of the equation.

What is it you think I wouldn't want to do? Fiona inquired, head tilting slightly to one side.

There was a lot to unpack in Fiona’s comment about Etienne’s differing training. It intrigued her enough that Druid momentarily forgot her own problems as she pondered the woman’s words. She wanted to ask for an elaboration, of course, but Fiona posed a question of her own.

Babysitting, she replied dispassionately. What do you mean, about your training? You’re a healer as well?

Perhaps that was an idiotic question. She tried to remember yesterday’s exchange, though all she could recall was that Fiona had come to assist Etienne in some capacity. She hadn’t realized her real purpose here, nor her true intentions. They were becoming a bit clearer now, though there was much left to suss out.

Just as she suspected. Fiona smiled. I'm not opposed to watching after children, she replied. I watched after my own younger siblings last year and managed to keep them from getting into trouble. It was the pregnancy and childbirth she hadn't been able to get anywhere near. Once they were out of the bag, so to speak, they were much easier for her to deal with, even if the smell of the den did make her stomach flip-flop on occasion.

We trained in different places. We have... disagreed on things in the past, when it comes to taking care of others. She wasn't about to badmouth Etienne in front of somebody she'd just met, that was for sure, but Etienne had insisted on moving that girl with the injured head, and Fiona couldn't shake the image out of her head. If she was still alive, it was likely that she would have been better off dead.

There was another thing that had been tickling the back of her mind since their last encounter. When I arrived, you said you weren't yourself. What did you mean by that? she asked. It had seemed like Druid shifted rather quickly in and out of something yesterday, but since Fiona didn't know her very well at all, it was hard to assess exactly what was going on. She imagined this was also what Anselm had meant when he had further suggested they stay. Something was going on, and Fiona believed she could dig in deep and find out what that was.

Evidently Fiona’s distaste toward Druid’s body—a thought which suddenly made her retreat a step, her back half swallowed by the dimness of the den—did not extend to the pups which had come out of it. Perhaps this stranger might even enjoy her children more than she did, a thought which made her actually cringe.

Fiona said more intriguing things about Etienne, pulling Druid from her thoughts again. She felt a little defensive of the man, seeing as he’d been so selfless. That wasn’t even an apt enough word. It didn’t help to dwell on what Glaukos had done to the healer, so she redirected her own thoughts right as Fiona shone a glaring spotlight on her.

She wasn’t the type to spill her problems to a stranger, though Fiona was an acquaintance—perhaps even a pack mate?—now. And she was a healer. Perhaps she could help Druid, who recognized that she needed it desperately. Something was very wrong. She shouldn’t be feeling these feelings, thinking these thoughts…

Having pups changed me, she answered haltingly, in more ways than I expected. I’m…

Druid trailed off and looked backward into the den. Reluctant as she was to subject her postpartum body to Fiona’s critical eyes, she sighed and padded out into the daylight. She walked toward the other she-wolf, pointing to a spot nearby but not within earshot of the den.

You could say I’m struggling with it, she surmised quietly.

Fiona could agree with her first sentiment, but it was the latter that she did not expect. Apparently there was more to it than just the physical changes. She followed Druid to the small patch of grass in the daylight—careful to keep her expression neutral even when she saw how Druid's belly hung low. She settled into a sit and invited Druid to do the same. The new mother explained that she was struggling with "it," although Fiona wasn't quite sure what "it" was.

When you say 'it,' what do you mean, exactly? she asked, hoping to clarify the answer into something more concrete.

Druid let out a low breath at Fiona’s next question. She didn’t want to unload this on anyone, particularly someone she didn’t know well. But she was beginning to worry that she was actually a danger to herself and others, notably her own helpless, newborn children. The thought alone made her eyes tear up and her lip tremble.

The pregnancy was rough, which was perhaps the understatement of the year, but I thought everything would get better once they were here. Druid took a few shaky breaths before continuing, I’d take round-the-clock vomiting again over this.

But what was this? That’s what Fiona wanted to know. Druid knew she had to explain better. She had to admit these dark, horrible things about herself. Maybe it was better to confess to someone like Fiona. She would surely judge Druid, though she could bear losing the respect of someone like her over just about anyone else in Rivenwood.

I don’t feel attached to them. They just suck… and suck… and suck… Gosh, that description worked on multiple levels, didn’t it? And I just feel terrible all the time. They’ve destroyed my body but it’s so much more than that. And they—I—shit, I’m an absolutely awful mother, Druid confessed through a blur of tears.

Druid began to explain, and Fiona sensed her discomfort. She knew it could be difficult to talk to a near stranger, but Fiona also knew that some things were impossible to talk about with those you knew best. Finally, she caught a glimpse into the new mother's thoughts. She was exasperated, to say the least. Fiona took mental notes, trying to remember anything from her training that might help her gently guide Druid into a happier place.

I promise you're not an awful mother, Fiona assured her in a warm voice. You're here, talking to me, trying to make it better, aren't you? she asked, though the question was rhetorical. The fact that Druid had accepted her offer for help was a step in the right direction. Before you were pregnant, what did you like to do? she asked. If Fiona could find out what made Druid happy before the kids, maybe she could give her some babysitting time so Druid could reclaim some of her old self back.

Fiona’s reassurance didn’t mean much. How would she know, one way or the other? She pointed out that Druid was talking about it, implying her concern meant something. Maybe it did. She sighed and wiped at her face, not sure what to say. But the healer had another question for her.

She thought about it for a minute. Druid cast back to her life before getting injured and finding her way back here, because that moment—when she’d fallen and looked up to see what she thought was a bear looming over her—had changed everything about her. She hadn’t really realized that until recently.

I liked to be on my own, came her answer, her lips pulling into a deep frown. I would go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, without considering anyone else’s needs. Mine took up all my time, since I wasn’t part of a pack up until recently. Every moment of every day was dedicated to learning any and all skills to survive.

Again, Druid began to explain pieces of herself. She had been—much like Fiona currently was—unattached. If she really wanted to, the witch knew she could duck out of any situation she needed to. Nobody was truly counting on her, and while she had some affinity for Anselm, she did not think he would think long about her if she vanished. She would simply be forgotten, a mere blip of time spent due to circumstance alone.

What she wanted to ask was why Druid would choose to have children at all if she enjoyed doing all those things alone, but it was an insensitive question, so Fiona withheld it. They were getting somewhere, and Fiona didn't want that to come to an abrupt halt due to her own insensitivity. She thrummed her toes on the ground pensively, trying to conceive a solution—or at least stop-gap—for Druid's conundrum.

Have you been able to spend any time alone at all, or have you been bound to the den since they were born? she asked. She queued up other questions as well, but she would only present one a time, giving the Den Mother plenty of time to digest and process the question and its answer.

An ugly laugh blurted out of her in reply to Fiona’s latest query. It quickly turned into another bout of crying, which she tried to do in silence. She hated doing it at all, particularly in front of someone, but she couldn’t control it any more than she could seemingly control anything in her life at present.

I was den-bound most of the pregnancy due to being sick, she explained in a choked voice, very sick. I think I came close to dying, and now she sometimes wished she had. Even though I survived, they still stole my life from me, Druid said in a wretched whisper.

She couldn’t know that Fiona was thinking the same question she kept asking herself: why had she done any of this? Why had she seduced Glaukos? Why hadn’t she thought any of this through at all? She’d just gone with the flow, like always, but this time it had bitten her hard in the ass.

She wiped at her face again, this time a bit more angrily, and remarked, I’m sure hormones play a big part in this and, boy, they really are a bitch.

It was even worse than Druid had let on. Not only had the children stolen her time since they were born, but also the time she had been pregnant. All of Fiona's training went into keeping her expression neutral and not showing the shock and horror she truly wanted to express. This meant that Druid had been kept away from things that brought her joy for no less than two months and some change. No wonder she hadn't felt like herself lately.

Hormones are only part of the equation. You've been unable to do the things that bring you joy for months, so no wonder you don't feel like yourself. How's your sleep? she asked. Fiona knew that sleep had been hard to come by for her own mother when her younger siblings were born. They were constantly waking her for food, or to be cleaned, or merely because they were restless and had slept while she was awake. It certainly didn't help when there were multiple sleep schedules, none of them synced up in any meaningful way.

Fiona raised another good point, one that made the tears brim hotter and thicker. Along with them came a strong wave of resentment. Her watery gaze cut toward the den and she savagely wished they would simply die of their own accord. It was a downright wretched thought and Druid didn’t know if it was better or worse than imagining herself actively culling her own children.

Sleep? What’s that? she remarked throatily, eyes slowly finding their way back to Fiona’s face.

She couldn’t look at her long. Druid’s eyes dropped, tears sliding down the length of her silver snout. She stared at her own black feet until they blurred. Fiona’s questions were helping her root out some of her problems, though she still didn’t feel like there was any resolution to be found.

I don’t know how to move forward. This situation is—it’s untenable, Druid whispered to her own blurry toes.

feel free to fade w/your next post! <3

Druid answered in her own way, and Fiona nodded solemnly. I agree. Why don't you start by taking a good long nap, somewhere else, nice and quiet. I'll help keep an eye on the kids, and there's another mother in there too, right? She can feed them for a short while at least. I can stay until tomorrow morning, which gives you a whole day to do whatever you want to do. Fiona had her own matters to attend to, which felt even more urgent after hearing about Druid's problems. Now was not the time, of course, but she certainly planned to share her recipe for keeping mother nature at bay with the woman before  too long. At the very least, Druid could prevent this from happening again next year.

A day wouldn't fix the problem, but it might alleviate some of the worst of it for a little while. Then again, it was possible that Druid wouldn't return at all. If she really hated her whole situation, Fiona imagined it would be difficult not to just leave all together and never return. That, however, was not Fiona's problem. Right now she wanted Druid out of this den and doing something for herself rather than anybody else.

The healer suggested she go somewhere and take a nap. Druid opened her mouth to say something, though she clapped it shut to let Fiona finish. If only it were that easy, she thought.

No, she refuted when she could. No offense, but there’s no way I’m leaving you alone with my sister and our children. I don’t know you well at all. Has she even met you yet? You probably mean well, but…

It was confusing to feel so protective of the very same little ones she sometimes fantasized about murdering in cold blood. But she did. At the same time, she didn’t want to just shoot down Fiona’s offer.

I can hang on for a few more days, she said after a pensive beat of silence, during which I’d love for you to come by so both Heda and I can get to know you. Once she okays it, I’ll take you up on that break.

In the meantime, she would have something to look forward to, which made Druid feel very slightly better. She sniffled and wiped at her face a third time, glad to note the tears weren’t falling quite so fast now. She could even face the den—and the idea of going back inside it—without dying inside.