Sun Mote Copse Your body is a wonderland

Wildfire's ears folded when Niamh mentioned that she and Colt had dug a den. Her attention had drifted to a raven alighting on a nearby limb, though it cut sharply back to the Tradesman. Her lips began to form a question, though she pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth. Just because the two of them were making a den didn't mean it was a whelping den; it was entirely possible the pair just enjoyed having a home base. But that made the Sovereign think of something that had been in the back of her mind lately, mostly since their joint hunt.

Niamh's latter remark suddenly distracted her, prompting her to query, "Oh? I never pegged Colt for an interior designer." She snickered. "But that reminds me. I'm really glad the both of you have worked your way into the Entourage." Colt in particular had gone from none to two trades in a very short time span, which led Wildfire to believe he really took his shot at fatherhood very seriously.

"I've been thinking about what he asked me a month back," Wildfire revealed, her chestnut gaze glimmering now almost impishly as she gave the other woman a speculative look. Surely Niamh knew what she was talking about. "The pack isn't huge but we're a tightly-knit family. Plus we have so many skills between the lot of us." She paused, tail snapping audibly against the blasted log's interior. "I do think we could support a third litter, so you and Colt have my blessing."

The pups inside her own belly seemed to bounce with the good news, causing Wildfire's lips to twitch into a smile. She sensed that they were few—two, maybe three—which was part of her decision, even if she was counting her chickens before they hatched. It seemed unlikely that either she or Finley would have notably large litters at their ages, so it was a pretty safe bet that another batch of Blackthorns wouldn't strain the resources beyond the Firebirds' capabilities.