Swiftcurrent Creek Don't call Marian, she's my alibi

She'd expected a lot from the birth of her cubs. First, she'd expected there to be more of them, but was thankful there was only What The Fuck to contend with. Had there been more, they likely would have suffocated by the time she managed to get them all to safety, she'd taken so long figuring out what to do with just the one. She'd expected to feel nothing but revulsion. It was there somewhere under layers of stronger emotions—this particular What The Fuck belonged to Who The Fuck on the beach, after all—but it was underwhelming compared with everything else she'd felt. She'd expected something kind of magical but actually the whole affair was rather disgusting.

The new mother wasn't keen on repeating it, ever. Too bad so sad for your big sis aspirations, baby boo.

She also had kind of expected that kids would be able to, I don't know, eat meat like normal wolves. Could you blame her? Wylla didn't exactly remember her early childhood and Lusca hadn't been very forthcoming with important information like that. Instead, Tiercel latched onto something on her belly—I mean, those bumps had always been there but why were they so droopy now, ew?—and the most unpleasant sensation shivered through her. Wylla wrenched herself to her feet with a gasp and the beginnings of a growl, depositing her child none-too-pleasantly on the earth. "Did you just...?"

Wow, what the fuck. Apt name, kiddo. Wylla squinted at her newborn daughter, tail swishing impatiently, but the Sandman's hands were quick to rise from the earth, wrap themselves around her middle, and drag her earthward once more. Did you know giving birth was actually exhausting, even when you didn't really know you were doing it? Imagine that. Wylla's head hit the ground and she was fast asleep in seconds, leaving her exposed teats for Tiercel's uninterrupted perusal.