Hideaway Strath where secrets lie in the border fires

As Teaghlaigh took up her cry, Lotte dropped the proud cant of her head and let them sing. She tried very hard to arrange her black-masked features into something resembling contentment, but the line of her mouth was taut and drawn and her small, bearlike ears were clamped painfully against her crown as she panted. Argent eyes flashed as she looked intently at each wolf present, and her heart swelled with a fierce sense of purpose that had admittedly cooled to a lukewarm ennui since her time beneath Donnelaith’s hallowed boughs. This was her pack — this strath would be their home — and she was their Banríon. The journey to reach this point, this place, had been grueling and miserable, but it had also solidified her place in the Family. Her wolves were ragtag and imperfect, a little worse for wear, but she felt her spirits lift despite her pitifully gravid state and went round to each member — exchanging scents. Among them was @Hemlock, who had lost so much and sacrificed more, and Lotte shared a particularly poignant embrace with her. “I thank you for your aid, liekkikukka,” she murmured as their necks crossed, ash blurring into flame, and her lips caressed the bulb of the Kali’s ear. Her whisper was strained and rough around the edges.

“Rakeet!”

“Dagfinn — Dagfinn!” The smoke-and-shadow rogue whipped around so fast her head spun as her kaksonen stampeded through the pack to collapse at her side. Her coal-capped tail whipped wildly as she tried to maneuver her cumbersome body into something resembling a cuddle, but she couldn’t relax. The pains were too sporadic. Whimpers and whines of joy and excitement tangled in her throat between garbled half-sentences in Common and Tundran as she bathed his face in kisses and raised her paw in a halfhearted attempt to hoist him up and smother him lovingly in her décolletage. “This is my twin!” she boasted to anyone who would listen. “@Chusi, come and meet your Uncle Dagfinn. Turo — you were right! My kaksonen has found us after all!” Everything was just about perfect, aside from the infernal cramping.

Somewhat jerkily — she was normally a surefooted creature, but she was barely keeping afloat now — Lotte turned to @Arturo with as saucy a wink as she could muster. “Say it,” she demanded of him playfully, striving for levity to bury the thickness in her throat and the threat of tears that stung her eyes. “An amendment to Teaghlaigh’s first tenet: Ceannasach’s word is law but Banríon’s song is louder.” It might not have been a great idea to joke about Teaghlaigh’s cardinal rules, but Lotte was Lotte. She managed a smile, though it froze upon her face as another forceful cramp contorted her spine; she hid her discomfort gracefully by gradually curving herself into a sitting position and addressed @August in a quiet murmur. Here was Kaniini in the flesh. “Your voice is lovely,” she said, as gently and as kindly as she could. “You do not need to tiptoe — this is your home and you are sheltered here. You are among Family.” Lotte, ever sensitive to sound, had picked up on the sorrow in the older female’s voice — and although she would not tolerate insubordination from any wolf, particularly the pack’s females, she wasn’t a tyrant.