Swiftcurrent Creek cause tonight it's just fire alarms and losing you [m]

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BIRTH TIME
Date: 03/12/2019 @ 4:25pm
Setting: Kavik's den (set into the mountainside at Swiftcurrent Creek's western border)
paging @Rosalie & @Kavik but all welcome! kids, you'll be tagged as you're born and are welcome to pop in a birth post if you want <3

There's something off about the morning, and though she's felt more lively since her reunion with Rosalie, something tells her to stay within the den today. She's been restless in the strangest way lately, overcome by the need to prepare herself, her den, everything — and, big as she's gotten, she doesn't need a midwife to tell her what that means. It's only a matter of waiting now. Not that she has to wait very long; the first tell-tale ripples of discomfort start rather early in the day, faint but notably different from the cramps she has experienced throughout her pregnancy, and her pulse begins to race as she realizes it will be today.
By afternoon, the contractions are overwhelming. Her small frame shudders with each surge, and bile rises in her throat each time she glances to her flank and notes the way the flesh ripples when the sensations are strongest. She's tucked up against the far wall of the den, breath coming fast and heavy, half-reclined in a rather awkward position — the only one that provides any relief, really. Kavik's sudden arrival startles her back to her feet, and she's snarling before she can even think about it, snapping at him to get out —
And then he's gone, and she's sinking back down, whining softly as her abdomen tightens again. This time she allows herself to fall limp against the ground, focusing on her breathing as she takes in the brief moment of respite between contractions. It is painfully fleeting. Not half a beat later, the sensation returns tenfold, and she grits her teeth to keep from crying out as her body tenses and trembles with the force of it. The pauses are brief now, hardly time for a breath, and an eternity seems to pass like this; all she can do is breathe, and try not to scream. She doesn't even notice the murky mix of birth fluids and blood pooling at her hind end — not until she feels the arrival of the first puppy. Her first child. Her tiny body strains to expel the child, and this time she cries out, voice dying into an agonized whine as her firstborn finally slips from her, dark and limp in a way that seems wrong.
Her muzzle finds the pup automatically, but there is no resistance as she tears the sac from it and noses it a little desperately. Nothing. She swallows, eyes heating with tears before she can even register the thought, and chokes back a sudden sob as she noses the corpse and its afterbirth as far from her as she can. There is no time to mourn, however. Her body quickly begins the process again, but she is already exhausted. She leans back again, eyes closing and jaw tightening as she prepares herself for the next... however long it takes. Each minute feels like an eternity as she suffocates under the intense feeling; she can't say how much time passes before she feels the stirring of another pup, this time accompanied by a particularly sharp pain in her belly.
Her cry is choked, and this time her heart drops into her stomach as the pup slides from her, too-small in a way that sends a cold chill through her veins. Bile races up her throat again, and she fights the urge to vomit as her horrified gaze settles on what should have been her child. But it isn't a child. Even through the sac she can see clearly the half-formed features; the bulging eyes and misshapen skull, dark entrails spilling from an imperfectly-formed abdomen, hind end shriveled and twisted as if it hadn't quite developed. It feels like a cruel joke. Rosalie — Kavik, Their names slip from her before she can stop them, voice halting as she fights the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She closes her eyes, struggling to stifle her sobs even as the contractions begin to intensify again. She can't even look at them; she can't do this — not if all of her children will arrive this way, dead or horribly deformed.