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

skipping atwood and cortez with permission :) so basically don’t worry about posting order, just go for it

At last, the new mother felt a sense of calmness return to her body and soul. With three pups in her arms, Olive knew this tumultuous experience of becoming a mother thrice was coming to a close. She only ever had broods of three, and here it was again, proving that the universe did have a small sense of humor after all. The pale druid continued to stare at the three children squalling in her arms, letting her mind swim for a moment — but her body ached, and she laid her head across Cortez’s forearms, black nose pointed towards her babies. They were already active, three little boys, and they instinctively reached and called out to be fed. She would help them along in a moment, but for just these thirty seconds, she wanted to rest. 

Honestly, she wasn’t even sure that her milk had come in, seeing as it was a week and a half before they were due; but that was a problem to face in their near future. Now was time to languish in the fact that she was still alive, and all her babies were alive, and they truly did not seem any worse for wear.

Olive breathed heavily, listening to Cortez and his wonderful voice commemorate the moment the way that Cortez did best — with beautiful words and lovely sentiments. Eventually the heaving of her chest stilled. She felt weak in a way she had never experiences before, though she no longer felt as though she was going to die. It would be a little while before she could move to Elysium, she figured; as unideal as that fact was. But, that too was a matter for the future. Now, she wanted to look at her boys again.

With Cortez’s assistance, she lifted herself to her elbows. She strained to lift her head, but when she did, her gaze immediately fell upon him. Olive froze, forgetting almost everything she had just experienced, so eternally grateful was she that Stigmata was here as well. Her immediate feeling was that of safety, for as noble and strong as her brother was, he was only one wolf [and Stigmata was a man especially fearsome]. The second was of surprise: the druid had almost managed to convince herself, along with both her wives, that her children were that of Ariel’s, and of Elysium, but it was something she would never be certain of. It was a secret that she would take to her grave. 

The third emotion she felt was pleasure, as if this was a reward the gods had bestowed upon her for a job well done. How lovely was it that the General got to meet his son — or, sons? 

 “Stigmata—” she welcomed weakly, blinking her moon-ivy eyes heavily. She felt her brother sense beside her, possibly ready for this birth to go 100% wrong [everything up to this point had only gone like 70% wrong]. He radiated a tense, apprehensive energy, as if he wasn’t sure if he needed to jump into action; but her brother was like she, a lover and not a fighter, so she was quick to try to soothe him.

 “Brother, all is well,” the woman said, glancing at Cortez beside her.   “He is…” Her gaze then fell to the ground, then looked up at Stigmata from behind a line of thick lashes.  “…of Diaspora.” That he was, but to these three cubs — she noted as she looked down at them mewling to find a teat — he was so much more.