Whitebark Stream I'll unwrap my fingers, free my foot and run away

in an airport and on mobile - please excuse any errors until I can get home and correct them! <3

The pains had been ignored much of the morning. They were nothing like she remembered, and knew that the later stages of her pregnancy would not be without discomfort. But suddenly, starkly, things changed. The surge, the pain became familiar, strengthened and sent her back toward the den. The woman wavered a moment at the entrance, suddenly overcome by uncertainty. She ought to call for @Artyom -- and yet, she remembered the horrors, the failurea of her first birth. And she loved him, cared for him too deeply to fail him in this. 

In the end, another surge of pain sent her into the dark comfort of the den. In this, she would be alone. She remembers clearly the blood, the hurt, those tiny bodies. Sharp fear burns along her spine, and somewhere in her mind she wonders if this comes to soon.

Minutes pass, and hour. The she-wolf labours, and though the pain is familiar, as is the fear, the adrenaline, that ripping pain does not come, nor the blood and bile. When the first child comes, rather, it is with sureity that she draws the boy toward her, clearing away the birth sac and waiting, breathlessly, for the first draw of his tiny lungs. And he breathes, and her fear crests and breaks.

The others come quickly then -- those that will one day be named @Frost, @Storm and @Juniper. And each draws breath, and is perfect, and her racing heart slows. Four -- she draws them close, curling tightly around her perfect children, and with wavering, tired howl calls for their father.