Emberwood the black hills, the bad lands, the calloused east

they lay for a while, silently, cortez murmuring words of comfort to his sister every so often. things began to seem. . .better. olive's face grew less agonized, and the weight upon them—like a heavy, humid day—began to ease. he was wary, waiting for it all to go belly-up. but olive was a seasoned midwife, and when she rose to her paws and smiled, he did as well.

it would be okay. they'd get back to the willows, go to seabreeze. the pups would be born. everything—

the whine cut his thoughts short; at the same time, the iron-tang of blood tickled his nostrils. his countenance grew horrified once more as he saw scarlet billow out over her pelt, between her legs. he felt suddenly nauseous, and ducked his head, retching a little, fear and shock and helplessness overwhelming him all at once.

i think you should lay down again, cortez suggested quietly, and then pivoted to vomit up the remains of a lunch long forgotten with the day's troubles.