Sun Mote Copse Maybe we can make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere

One minute, she was alive, tracing the aged lines of a face reflected in water with rheumy eyes.

The next, she was gone.

The transition happened very quickly: memories swept away, locked behind the door of her mind where unfathomable things lived; hurts and past illness healed; soul plucked gingerly from its previous body and rubbed clean before being introduced to the next one. A tiny wolf cub nestled warmly in a womb alongside two others, jet black save for the smattering of silver and bronze on her ruff. Healthy. Perfect.

Alyx was thereafter born without a single complication, unless you counted her twin sister jostling her on the way down the birth canal. When Niamh plucked away the sac containing her, Alyx expelled fluid with a cough, just as expected, and began whimpering right on cue. She curled her tiny bulbous body in on itself exactly like she was supposed to when the cool air from outside touched her back. When placed alongside Niamh, where body heat quickly chased the chill away, she latched onto a teat and nursed greedily the way that instinct dictated she should.

Yep, she was the poster child for a flawless birth. After drinking her fill of rich colostrum, the newborn babe rolled sluggishly onto her side, stretched out her sausage-esque legs, and fell immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.