Blackfoot Forest wicked little goblins

Ramona chortle-wheezed and shook her head. The motion was stiff and jerky, like rusted farm equipment put to work. She didn't move when Tuwawi approached, but surely sensed it - stubby, kinked whiskers twitched around a nose that sniffed the air with keen interest.

"And they are midwives, are they? the geriatric fox queried, brows rising over unseeing eyes. The movement created a ladder of thin, crusty rolls on her forehead. "They'll know what to do if pup gets stuck, or comes out sideways?" Unlikely in a healthy pregnancy, and there was nothing obviously wrong with this one - but Ramona had swapped senility for brusque thoughtlessness today, and she would have her fill before descending back into the fog.