Dragoncrest Cliffs A million stars

There has been a comfort knowing Portia and Dio are not too far off in their own den with their own children. Hougeda is not terribly far from them, either, and it gives her a peace of mind each night they get closer to the birth. Thuringwethil keeps Wildfire fed when she wants and she delivers to the other new mother as well, knowing that her brood is only a matter of days away. There isn’t going to be much that pulls her away in the days to come, stuck to her mate’s side until she knows everything is going to be okay. But then again, is she ever going to know that?

Wildfire slips past her in the middle of the night and she allows her eyes to lazily follow her. She stays in the mouth of the den where it is wider so she can lay flat on her side. The pain had begun to subside over the last several times and she doesn’t want to revisit Portia for another lecture on her stupidity. It is only when Wildfire rushes back, herding her out of the way that she winces as she’s forced to get up and back out. She thinks back to the conversation they had about whether or not she would be nearby and she feels the urge to get closer, to see what is going on, but her legs remain in one place for several seconds. With a forceful shake, she steps back and circles the front of the tree. Her head turns to peer through the protecting redwood giants in the direction of the healer’s den, wondering if she needs to go get him. Perhaps Melchior or Kendra, or…

Thuringwethil swallows the lump in her throat when she’s finally pulled back to reality by the sounds of soft movement and cries from not one, but several, and she loses all focus on what she should be doing. Her ear cup forward to try and catch the next set of sounds in anticipation for what’s to come, worried by the silence of her made. She’s tired, she tells herself with a thick, sickly feeling in the back of her throat.

After what feels like hours, she hears the tired voice of her mate. The words are barely audible and they are enough to react to, slipping inside the tree trunk, biting back the pain coming from her chest. All of it at once is overwhelming. Five puppies. Five. She swallows the lump, turning to the one Wildfire has pointed out that something is wrong with him but in the dark, she cannot see the extent. The smell of him isn’t right, either, and Wildfire doesn’t need any prompting as she puts the child out of his memory and asks for a name.

Slowly, Thuringwethil lowers to the ground and puts her nose close by the lifeless body. His blood stings her nose and she closes her eyes, breathing in the scent of his hours-old life is over. She mourns, albeit quietly, as she whispers a singular, “Antler,” onto his chilling form.