Swiftcurrent Creek Together we're lost in a dream.

Set for April 28th.

"Constantine," she mustered softly, when she felt the first stage of her pregnancy's end bring discomfort in the form of gentle cramping in the pit of her belly, "it's time."

Durnehviir stayed close to her mate for several hours following this realisation, letting herself bask alongside him in the excited anticipation that soon, they would welcome their litter into the world. She leaned heavily against him for support, knowing her body would require the rest, and appreciated the swarthy Alphas company all through the morning until the increasing discomfort in her abdomen forced her to her paws. She circled the den and paced the clearing beyond it, waddling awkwardly in attempt to ease what felt like strengthening constriction around her waist.

When evening fell and the dull throb turned almost constant, she asked for privacy. Her pale, pain-filled eyes pleaded with @Constantine that he let her be and regardless of whether he complied or not, the russet Frostfur slipped into the darkness of her burrow - though she would not have hesitated to clack her teeth in his direction should he decide to follow. On the ground she curled close to herself, willing her muscles to slacken but finding they could not. Her own mother had wished to whelp in peace, as had her grandmother before them. Unknown to her, it was the way of Samarkand females - do it alone, or die trying.

She squirmed, twisting her small frame awkwardly to hoist a rear limb into the air and investigate her soon-to-be-assaulted nether region, to find her thighs slick with fluid. This is normal, Durnehviir urged herself to believe, even though she had zero experience in delivering pups. She desired Constantine's soothing tone in that moment as anxiety quickened her heart but instead of barking for attention, she gritted her teeth and steeled herself against another contraction. 

Finally, as time ticked beyond midnight, the first of Swiftcurrent Creek's newest additions came writhing into existence. Durnehviir gathered him to her, severing their physical connection with a careful nip and freeing him from the membrane that surrounded his tiny body. Her tongue swept over his little face, clearing his airway to make way for the sound of his voice, then along the length of his back in firm strokes. Beneath the moisture his pelt was downy-soft and, curiously, as white as untouched snow. "Viinturuth," she crooned, her voice a delicate whisper that threatened to crack beneath the weight of her emotion. Durnehviir had known the name of her first-born son long before she'd even dared to dream up children of her own, for she felt it to be the most fitting tribute to the wolf who had raised her.