Wheeling Gull Isle Some feathers I stole from the birds

The sight of her blood-spattered husband may have made her own veins run cold, but she wasn't focused on him right now. Two babies down, and one to go—no, Mou was working on that one, and soon, all three were gathered to her belly. And when the one-eyed man departed to dig a hole—

Please, please, she repeated, staring at her swollen teats. They were rooting, searching; god, they must be so hungry. . .

And a selfish thought came to her mind—what if they drained her, and her own pups had nothing left? No good deed went unpunished, after all, and it was all too stark now. Life given, life taken away. And if she starved her own for the sake of being a Good Samaritan? 

The gush came a second afterwards.

She let out a sigh of relief as the pressure eased, though felt the familiar sting and tug of babies latching on. It must be flowing into their little mouths now, and while they weren't out of the woods quite yet, food would go a long way in making them strong. Maegi's prior uncharitable feelings began to fade as she craned her head and looked down at them.

Alive. They were alive, and she would keep them so—for their own sake, and for their mother's, too.