Dragoncrest Cliffs It's the last song I'll ever write for you

Grief welled up and broke like a cold, dark wave over her head. Not only did she mourn the tiny pup(s?) she'd just buried but the fact that her pregnancy had been confirmed and evidently terminated in one fell swoop. A sob clawed its way up her throat and burst from her as she realized there would be no pups this spring after all. There might be no pups ever again, in fact, now that Wildfire had now twice produced deformed offspring.

She thought of Antler and decided she should name this unfortunate soul(s?) too. She supposed she should be grateful that the pup(s?) had died naturally so she hadn't been forced to cull it (them?) like she had with her firstborn. Another noise boiled up from her belly, something between a sigh and a sob. Since the conjoined twins had been dark in color, she decided to name them after their grandfather; she would henceforth think of them as Falcon and Hawk, one moniker for each perfect, tiny, still face.

Speaking of wolves who resembled Peregrine, Wildfire hiccuped when Bobby appeared. He was such a sight for sore eyes. She wanted to rush to him and bury her head in his neck. But she also didn't want to burden him with this tragedy. After a moment's deliberation, the Feisripa decided she would tell her mate and family about the miscarriage but keep the gory details to herself, at least for now.

"Bobby," she said in a soft, sniffling voice. "C'mere." She motioned him closer, knowing he would immediately notice her distress, if he hadn't already. "I have some bad news," Wildfire said quietly. "I just miscarried." It occurred to her that he may not know what that meant, so after swallowing against a catch in her throat, she explained, "I lost the pregnancy."