Hideaway Strath one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan

Despite the kneejerk protest that she ought to fight her own battles and dig her own den, Lotte finds that she is relieved at Arturo’s offer to put in the grunt work. She tries to find a place to take her ease but at this point, it is next to impossible to get comfortable. A cramp pulls at her, low and long, and she grits her teeth against it as she stretches out on her side like a bloated seal — but she has to admit that the bunching and shifting of Arturo’s muscles beneath his earthen-hued fur is a sight well worth watching. To pass the time and soothe them both, she sings her modified version of an old Irish lullaby, turning her muzzle toward her swollen abdomen so that her children — if they still live; who can say? — will know her love.