Bearclaw Valley pickin' me a bouquet of dogwood flowers

it was dirty and difficult work, but they managed it together.  her companion's mood seemed to lift considerably and it put her at ease, the methodical digging giving her mind something to focus on other than paranoia.

there was no trap here, no game or ploy.  he cared about her, she realized, although she had yet to discover how deep his affections ran.  her own obsession with the alpha had been crushed during her absence and in its place had stirred something more dangerous and genuine.

she had never seen his pristine coat so dirty before and as their digging came to an end and he pushed himself inside the earth she could not help but laugh.  surely he would want to get cleaned up soon.

he motions at her to come inside the den with him and she succumbs to his will (as she always would), comforted by its close walls.  maybe, for some time, she would make her bed here instead of at the boulder.

she presses a paw against the distending of her abdomen as a cramp ripples through her body — their children were growing larger, her already short fur beginning to thin.  once it has subsided she looks to him again with a breathy smile, and from the deepest recesses of her mind comes two words.  us, she says, motioning between herself and her companion, rewarding his efforts with a peppering of kisses.  she  looks to her abdomen and then back at his dual toned eyes, and with a slow but excited wag of her tail, she breathes we.