Redhawk Caldera And my cuts have healed with time

Although it was arguably perfectly normal for a puppy to happily slurp up another wolf's vomit, Towhee swiftly pushed Caracal away from the mess. What if Fennec was sick? She didn't want him to catch it. Of course, pregnancy wasn't contagious, so when Caracal made a second bid for his sister's soup, she didn't bother trying to stop him.

Towhee didn't do much of anything for a moment, oblivious to it when her son paused to lick his sloppy lips and ask, "WASSA PAGNANT?" It wasn't like she would've been able to understand his baby speak anyway. Speaking of babies... wait, what?

She couldn't help but remember the time Raven had come to her with this very same news, nor how she'd responded to it. Towhee could do the same thing now and foist leadership onto her daughter, her brain helpfully suggested. But, of course, that was like Fennec comparing herself to Figment. The circumstances were so utterly different. She discarded the idea out of hand.

And though Towhee had a thousand questions, like "when did you even go into heat?" and "how did you let this happen?" and "WHO PUT HIS DICK IN YOU?"—not to mention the issue of permission—she let them all flash through her mind without voicing any of them.

The only question she found herself asking was, "I'm gonna be a grandma?"