Stavanger Bay for indeed, I am raising up the Chaldeans

If Solveig were a more emotionally complex wolf, she might have balked when Doe mentioned her task having to do with the pups. Not that she was afraid, or disliked them—on the contrary she adored children, but she didn't trust herself to care for them. The four-year-old hadn't actually given any thought to motherhood, or her role to play in rearing them. It was as if her biological clock was geared towards the traditionally masculine tasks of providing and nurturing mothers. 

But with that said, she was a bit relieved when Doe asked her, not to watch the pups, but to pass along news of the birth to those Doe deemed suitable and trustworthy. The smaller she-wolf moved aside as she spoke, and the hulking Northern woman stole a glance past the Beta female and into the den where small, furry shapes moved about in search of their mother's warmth and milk. She couldn't make out any telling features, just a few nubs of ears, and the occasional plaintive whimper. 

Solveig turned her nose to Doe and touched the tip of her snout to the smaller woman's cheek while she waved her tail, clearly pleased. "Of course," she replied as she pulled away to a more conversational distance. "I would be glad to. Shall I extend an invitation to visit once they are old enough and you are rested?"