Whitefish River Someone Tell Me Something Comforting

The fathers would never be graced with seeing their children’s faces.

Stress brought the birth early to the new mother. Tantrums and turmoil kicked up by the children, until the pale golden hued boy became the first to emerge into the world. Still, he does not hungrily engulf breathes of air. Instead, he remained quiet, unmoving. It would be another loss, had maternal instincts not kicked in as his mother tended to his needs.

With her urging, the boy opened his mouth. He gasped for breath with a pop of liquid that still surrounded his face. A squeal came next—his presence known and echoed across the den that his fathers specifically picked for this occasion. The sorrow hung heavy, and though the boy could not hear or see, he felt it.

Weakly, he lifted a paw as Ira’s face neared him to place him towards her stomach. It was a tap to her muzzle, light and perhaps meaningless to others, but it was his first attempt at comforting. One track mind, however, took over. Hunger drew him instinctively towards Ira’s belly, and once he found his target, the boy began to knead, showing his contentment with soft noises of appreciation.

One by one, his siblings joined him.