Coconut Grove You're My Downfall, You're My Muse, My Worst Distraction, My Rhythm And Blues.

Halfway through. Or something close to that, Giana knew. Much as the ivory woman tried to track the days, it was obvious to all by sight now that she was pregnant. As if it hadn't been enough for her to smell different and act oddly, now the pouch she'd developed -- okay, it was more than a pouch, even the vain female had to admit -- was a tell-all sign to the world. 

Somedays, she wished Giancarlo would appear. This didn't always mean she wished him close, however: half of those days she only wanted to see him to rip out his throat for abandoning her, taking her kindness and passion with him. For breaking her apart, allowing her to fall into the paws of those heartless bastards. 
Other nights, even she couldn't help but crumble beneath the weight on her shoulders. She would howl to the wind as if she could call him back, sobbing only beneath the comfort of the stars.

Now was the latter such night, but she wandered further from her god-blessed home as the sun set, venturing off into the night at a stalk. At first, it was aimless wandering, shoulders hunched and ears slicked back as if anger could keep her sadness at bay. For a while, in truth, the shell would hold. 

By the time she passed through the Twisted Slough, it broke. Her once strong frame limp and defeated under the final rays of the sun. Sobs shook her softly as she trudged on through the muck, but the storm-eyed female didn't stop. Her internal destination led her forward to the grove she met the father -- @Hadraniel Abernathy -- in that day last month. He often slipped into her mind, making her wonder where he was, where he lived. Did he already have a mate? He hadn't smelled of a pack or specific person when she'd met him, but perhaps something had changed. Or maybe he'd simply been away from them long, even covered their scents on purpose? Would he do that? Gia hadn't ever been good at chosing social -- or romantic, it seemed -- partners, and it wouldn't surprise her if the Abernathy didn't seem turn out good. 

The moon was up high by the time she passed under the palms, and the soft whooshing of the waves were a comfort she wouldn't be able visit for possibly many months. For now, she took solace in it, slumping to her belly and sobbing freely for a long while.