Neverwinter Forest where is your sanctuary? where is your rest?

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@Ondine looked like she was about to pop any day and Kjalarr knew within the marrow of his bones that the birth of their children would be any day now. Despite Floki's reassurances the knowledge was just as daunting and as terrifying as it had ever been to Kjalarr. Yet, apprehension and fear was not the only thing he felt. He'd noticed about a week or so ago as he considered with a restlessness that any day now the children that they'd made would be born there was a tickle of ...excitement for it, along with a curiosity. During the night as he wrapped himself around his mate's body to offer her his warmth he could sometimes feel them kick from within her. The first time, it had startled the living Hel out of him. It was the first time that Kjalarr truly grasped that the children carried within her womb were really, truly alive. It was the first time that the new father-to-be felt true excitement regarding his own children. As he worked to drift off to sleep night after night he lulled himself to sleep by trying to imagine what they might look like. Would they look like him? Or Ondine? Or Thistle? Or one of his other siblings? Perhaps they might look like one of Ragnar's siblings. The possibilities were endless and it made his head swim a bit at the overwhelming possibilities of it all.

The groundhog that hung limp from betwixt his jaws, his grip firm upon the stiffening corpse that he carried to the birthing den was a fat thing. Almost a struggle for Kjalarr to work around where to grasp it without looking too much like he tried to take a decent chunk out of it. The morning was cold, the fresh snow fall from the night before crunching under his heavy footfalls as he followed the sweet, saccharine scent of Ondine's mother's milk though he knew the way to the birthing den by heart now. He dropped it at the mouth of the den wondering if Ondine was awake or if she'd want him to bring it to her or if she'd pop out and stretch her legs. She wasn't overly active these days but she was swollen from her flanks to her teats which had begun to express milk at some point. So, he tried to do what he could for her: getting her what she needed and making sure she was far from hungry even if it was hours after until he had restored enough energy to hunt for himself (not that he would tell her that).

“Ondine?” He called tentatively, softly into the darkness of the birthing den. “I brought breakfast.” He informed her, taking a step back as his salmon pink tongue drew across his lips in an attempt to clean up any blood that might have been left behind.

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