Hideaway Strath [m] no shortage of sordid, no protest from me

we could go ahead and wrap up soon if you'd like?

Aerin only nodded, knowing there was no way to be certain that she was truly pregnant until her body began to change, when the gods saw fit to enlighten her to the tiny gifts she'd been given with signs and symptoms of motherhood. "I vould like to 'elp ye vith those zings..zings about ze gods..or our babies. Just both really. I'd like to be involved in any ceremonies regarding our children an' I'd really like to learn more about ze gods in general.." Aerin trailed off, rambling nervously. Suppose she wasn't allowed to learn for some reason: because she was an outsider where it concerned his culture, because she was a woman, or because of her halfblood. 

"Vell...she vas born early. Very small she vas, an' covered in soft 'airs like me. She looked a lot like me," the halfling admitted, almost ashamedly as her gaze fell. "A little baby bird all dressed in vhite." Such pain would never leave her, this she knew in heart. Often, her thoughts wandered to the daughter of Aliroth and who she might have been but she had long ago accepted that the babe was just simply not meant to be. Or maybe she just told herself that -- it was easier to swallow than grief.

For the first time in a long time, the sighthound relaxed into her mate's embrace and lowered her walls. In soft, composed tones they would murmur of his gods and of the ones that had once belonged to the druid named Awenfen. In whispers, she told him of all the sordid stories from Awenfen's life, and of the lives of the slave girl that came before her -- all of it laid naked before him, every shred of filthy truth and every ribbon of unadulterated detail that haunted the milkmother's dreams.