Redhawk Caldera it's a hard whump life for us

Her gaze was locked upon the dead things, though her stare was blank. It was as if her mind had separated from her body, as if she were watching the memory of some other wolf play out— horrified, and yet powerless to change any of the events unfolding before her. It did not seem real; it felt like a nightmare, or faded memory. Magpie felt detached from both her emotions and her physical form. She was sobbing silently, and a throbbing pain continued to radiate in her traumatized body, but it seemed as if it were all happening to someone else below her.

In her silence and distant stare, cold logic prevailed.

This was often how first litters to young mothers went, and given the circumstances, it was the best possible outcome. They were premature. Had they survived birth, they would have died soon after— whether she were alone, or with her sister, it would not have mattered. She would have been unable to support them on her own, and she knew her sister's position on bastards. She should have taken action to prevent their birth as soon as she had known they would have no father, no pack to provide for and protect them.

Magpie's body wept, but she could find no grief for their loss.