Wheeling Gull Isle little star, tonight

Posting this early, because I work on Tuesday. ♥
Welcome to the world, @Grayling, @Thresher, @Sixgill, and Koi.

The sheepdog labored in silence.

Her pains thrust her from the den she shared with @Stockholm, @Moorhen, @Fern, and @Mur. She sought water, cool and clean and singing, and huddled in a corner of the Labyrinth far away from Komodo’s collection of bones, stones, feathers, and driftwood. This corner was bowl-shaped and blanketed with plush moss, but she plucked from her feathered breast and swollen flank tufts of her own fur to insulate it more fully, preening fussily as agony wracked her tiny body. The harsh pant of her breath, interspersed with low, undulating moans that sounded more like the thumbed pages of old books or the purring of nervous cats, was lost in the symphony of falling, flowing water that surrounded her. Rainsong Labyrinth was womblike in its crepuscular glory, and although it had been a selfish choice and not at all for the puppies’ sake that she’d sojourned here, she would soon be grateful for it. @Hemlock had offered her aid and expertise as the Aralez’s time had drawn near, but Seelie wanted to be alone. She did not even long for her mate as she bore down and brought their firstborn son into the world, a sharp, shrill expulsion of breath whistling from her nose and mouth.

Tender teeth and tongue combed over the pale-and-dark blur that would one day be known as Grayling — a name to honor Morningside’s fallen patriarch — and she nudged him eagerly toward the mound of her belly to nurse. It was his latched mouth and gentle suckling that soothed her nerves and would ease the way for his siblings, though inevitably, her travail would dislodge him.

The next puppy was smaller — thank the stars! — and bore stark contrast to her brother. She was more finely drawn, with fur that appeared merely silvery in the semidarkness of the Labyrinth, aside from a black smudge on her blunt puppy muzzle that Seelie at first tried to lick off. Whoops! Her shorter spine and narrower skull hinted at a build resembling the Groenendael, not the Gampr, but Seelie was pleased at the resemblance to Stockholm in terms of coloration.

Coelacanth, despite her small stature, was made for mothering. Though there was a brief lull between her firstborn daughter and her secondborn son, the waiting time felt minimal — especially since there was so much to do in between: counting heads, cleaning bodies, and ensuring that both babies were nursing. She repeated these three steps an immeasurable amount of times, her obsessive sheepdog’s nature not allowing her to rest until the pain came a third time and ebbed with the birth of a patchy, asymmetrical little male that surprised and delighted her. The piebald puppy didn’t seem to look like either parent and in fact slightly resembled Mur.

Last to be born, almost directly on the heels of the blond-and-white male, was a curious looking girl, nearly as tiny as Fern had been. Her fur looked blue in the perpetual twilight of the Labyrinth, but diluted and faded out to a milky silver at her hindquarters. When she curled into a ball, nursing voraciously, she resembled a grayscale taegeuk, reminding Coelacanth of her twin — and her mate. She longed to call for him, but she could not, and so she spent the first few precious moments alone with her children in the prettiest place she knew. Like a dragon guarding her treasure, she outstretched her muzzle across her babies, a soft, thrumming purr undulating in her throat. She crooked her forelimb and hind leg, coiling her inkbrush plume, to ring them in warmth.