Hushed Willows [festival] remember what you were made to be. remember your words.

Another hushing, this from Below, has her spirit tautening and easing as a half-known shiver kneads the delicate shoulders, the svelte spine. A featherlight ear crescents back of its own decision —

The astronomess knows the words, hears them, and yet her mind is adrift in orbit, numb to the Below. Her body, however, beholds more knowing of the Below than her mind ever could in this moment. The spirit of Aurëwen sears outwards, murmuring through Elysian dim; heralding her bones to follow: Tiria, Undimming.

What re-tethers her once more is the rest of the soliloquy, and she returns to herself with a stuttering, soft gasp and a fluttering of lashes. Her own voice had since faltered, and remained so as Olive introduced herself and went at length to bless the mother-to-be and her yet-delivered children.

”I see you no longer need fertility’s blessing.” Truthfully, she pinked a bit, and took a sudden study in her snowshoe paws. No, her womb was well, as far as childing was concerned; but she could almost feel Verx’s dark simper at her quickening pulse as she thought of how much she still needed him. But—jealousy? Her slim brow furrowed with confusion, but before she could wonder further, the other pale one continued.

The white tuft lisping along her eyes, she huffed it from them as they settled on the... divine? with argent appreciation and modest dip of her head. ”Multumesc, doamna. If they are anything like their father, valiance will come to them naturally.” At the notion of delivery, though, she fell quiet once more. Despite being a new mother, she actually hadn’t thought to, well, think of what to expect... when expecting. ”How, er... ah, um... is there anything I.... anything I should know for ze months to come?” Eloquence achieved.