Dragoncrest Cliffs A million stars

She slept roughly 23½ hours a day now. She used that spare half hour today to visit Portia and the newborn Sirio and Dalia; nibble at some food @Thuringwethil had brought her; and empty her aching bladder. Wildfire then dropped back into a dead sleep inside the cozy log, waking much later that night when she felt a cramp and telling pressure in her gut. Yawning and smacking her lips, the Bandrona eased out of the den, slipped behind it and squatted. Her chestnut eyes rolled up to the black sky smeared with stars as she relaxed her muscles. Instead of moving her bowels, however, she felt a sharp pain and cried out in surprise. Inhaling sharply, she looked down and saw a white blob on the grass between her legs, glowing dimly in the starlight.

Wildfire stared for a beat, sleepily wondering, Did I just lay an egg? Am I dreaming? Another intense pain throbbed between her legs and that seemed to properly rouse her. She gasped loudly when she realized she had actually just given birth. A second later, her instincts kicked in and she plucked the newborn off the ground. Quickly, she carried the tiny whelp into the safety of the fallen tree, silently but urgently nudging Thuringwethil out of the way. Cradling him—him! they had a son!—between her forelegs, she began to clean the damp, pale cub. But the joy that bloomed in her chest turned to horror when she slowly realized there was something very wrong with him; he was badly disfigured.

Wildfire didn't have much time for dismay, however, as a wave of painful contractions heralded the imminent birth of a second puppy (@Artaax). Gently, she plucked him up and tucked him against her chest. He looked exactly like the firstborn, sans the pitiable deformities. The new mother quickly cleaned him, heartened by his normalcy, and then carefully tucked both twins against her flank in the hopes they would suckle. Her heart sank when she saw the slightly older of the two barely moving, much less latching. She looked helplessly upward, as if seeking answers, yet the unseen stars stayed silent.

The contractions became regular after that, though a long time passed—midnight slipped by, the last day of winter giving way to the first day of spring—before Wildfire pushed another baby (@Blixen) into the world. The first and only girl was tiny but perfect, her fur a blazing red. The Bandrona immediately knew what they would call her. A smile curled her lips as she cleaned and dried her daughter, then nudged her in beside her brothers just in time to deliver a fourth pup into the world. He looked just like his sister, only he was easily twice her size. He immediately loosed his bowels on her. Wildfire snorted and hastily cleaned up the tarry, black mess, just the first of many more to come.

Moments later, there was one last wave of pain and a final push. Her fourth son immediately reminded Wildfire of her parents: he was Peregrine (black) on the top and Fox (red) on the bottom. She felt a bolt of fear when he proved less responsive than his litter mates, even his eldest brother. There was a moment of terrible dread when he lay limp, apparently not breathing. But Wildfire's warm, wet tongue eventually coaxed a robust cry from him and he began to fidget and fuss. Relieved by these signs of life, the young mother made certain he was warm and dry, then mouthed him, placing him beside the other four pups.

During the labor and delivery, Wildfire had become rather oblivious to her surroundings and that included whether or not her mate had stayed inside the den. She looked for Thuringwethil now, woofing softly. "There's five: four boys and a girl," she whispered, joy mixed in with a touch of sorrow. "Thur..." she continued a little heart-brokenly in the next breath, "something's the matter with him." She nosed at their eldest, who had yet to start suckling. She loved him no less than the others, though it was almost unbearable to look at him and impossible to do so without picturing a life of pain and suffering.

Without any warning whatsoever, the Bandrona grasped her firstborn son in her jaws and put him out of his misery with a single, swift bite. She knew that it must be done and did it before she could second-guess her instincts. "Can you bury him for us, nomi?" she breathed quietly to the Heda, heart heavier in that moment than it had ever been. "But first," she added, reaching out a paw to touch the commander's, "I'd like to give him a name." They would not bury him without one; that was one of the Redhawks' traditions she would not be upholding.