Northstar Vale I wake up in the night to watch you breathe.

Akavir paced. The grass and foliage in his path long since trampled. Ibis had become reclusive in the ending days of her pregnancy, and even crankier in moments. The dutiful husband had tended to her as best he could—a grouse for any hunger that might come to her, whispered words of comfort.

When she had retreated to the den, he had remained close. The dark wolf had never witnessed Durnehviir during these moments, but he knew instinctually enough that it was time. Casual small talk had been given to Viinturuth, but his champagne eyes flitted to the entrance, his steps pausing every so often as he strained for any knowledge of what occurred in the depths of Ibis’ nest.

When Viinturuth spoke, Akavir grunted in response. There were shuffles—the fresh scent of blood, and a tang of something more in the air—promising, though only later would he learn that death had come to three of their brood.

Resting his muzzle against the edge of the den wall, he withheld a complacent whine, his eyes closing and a frustrated sigh escaping him. He then took a tentative step closer—alert, prepared for Ibis’ greeting of his presence given in a flash of fangs or a relieved sigh.