Hideaway Strath before the song dies

Hypoglycemia, the silent killer.

Eirlys’ awareness had begun to broaden, themes and figments coalescing and sharpening into a solid, though malleable, reality. A difference could now be drawn between her soft, tumbling littermates and the wide-reaching others. For Eirlys, it was all about proximity: Mallaidh, Roarke, and Ceallach were next to, while Lotte, Arturo, Chusi, Dagfinn, and Hemlock were, by contrast, above. She learned to root around blindly when she wanted attention from her littermates — Roarke in particular, for he was irrevocably, inexplicably part of her in a way she’d always have a hard time trying to explain — and to tip her muzzle and direct her cries upward when she wanted reassurance. She’d made such developmental progress lately that Lotte had been able to stop panicking about her, and the smoke-and-shadow soturi was finally able to enjoy her little bear cubs’ infancy with absolute gusto. Despite Sirius’ presence, which reminded the colorpoint queen that things weren’t exactly as they should’ve been, Lotte relaxed — and that was always a gamble.

Eirlys had never been a voracious eater, but for the past twenty-four hours she’d been nursing a surprising amount. Lotte didn’t leave the den often, relying on Arturo, Dagfinn, and Chusi to provide her with food and company, but with Eirlys’ progress fresh in her mind she left Ceannasach in charge and went for a long, meandering walk in the forest to stretch her legs — and when she returned, and the little girl continued to sleep soundly in her father’s arms, Lotte didn’t have the heart to wake her. Even when Arturo was called away on his duties and care of the little snowdrop was transferred from his arms to Lotte’s, the young mother didn’t feel any prolonged distress. She reasoned that Eirlys had nursed for a good long time that day, and the fact that her sides were still lean wasn’t really a new thing for the spindly blossom.

What Lotte didn’t know was how little Eirlys had actually been consuming. Her tenacity at the teat could be attributed to the familiarity of the sensation or the pressure in her gums, but in truth she hadn’t eaten enough to sustain her growing body. What Lotte didn’t know wouldn’t kill her — but it could kill Eirlys.

“Eirlys?” the young mother said now, the niggling feeling of concern growing into something greater. The snowdrop lay flat on her side, breathing shallowly, looking somehow deflated — as if all the vitality she’d shown over the past few days was utterly for naught. “Eirlys!” Lotte’s cries grew high pitched and panicked when the tiny cub failed to respond. “@Hemlock! @Arturo!” she howled desperately at last, fearing the worst.