Firefly Ravine no one wearing a crown comes in the name of peace

Her paws were a flurry beneath her, and she barely registered the iron grip on her dove's ruff as she was plucked from the air and yanked towards the crags — for heartbeats that would remain frenzied, stifled by fear and adrenaline. Ivory talons continued to scrape, to scrabble, her fur blown and her tail wisping like a whip through the blue; it seemed, for several strained, teetering moments, that she would find no purchase.

But then she thought of the waiting waters and the Dread-wolf in the same moment leverage was found; and it was this thought that made her straggle and shoulder her way up the ravine’s face. She allowed Jagtooth to drag her the rest of the way — she didn’t really weigh much, exertion aside — and once returned to safe-ish ground, there she collapsed, splaying out long-limbed and lean along the earth.

Aure had no breath in her to thank him, much less the will to rise at this moment; but rise she did, with a sudden, searing thought that this belly-less incident had, in fact, brought harm to the soft swell. ”Copiii mei! Steaua mea mică, oh, ești rănit?” With her words she curved into herself, as if trying to nose at her womb; wrought with worry for her children yet to come.

The expected did this for some time, her words tripping into gentle, foreign urgency as she pranced every which way to inspect herself. God— she soon returned her attention to Jagtooth, wide eyes putting full moons to shame. ”Th-thank you, Jagtooth. I’m so sorry, oh—!” Tail feathering at her own stupidity, she cast another crestfallen, self-loathing look to her tummy, almost whimpering, ”All my life I have been so thoughtless, even now!”