Hideaway Strath To each their own

Kyn awakes in the middle of the night, a feeling welling in the pit of his stomach. Not necessarily a bad one, but just a feeling — one he cannot ignore. He rises from his den, dark auds shifting back on his skull. He gives his little ones and @Simmik a short glance before he allows his paws to draw him further and further away from the den.

Something's happening. He paces around the territory — wondering. Then he smells blood. Blood mixed in with Whrist’s scent. He freezes in his place and sniffs the air and ground once more. Has someone hurt Whrist? He feels his veins light up with a furious fire. There’s another scent in there — one he can’t quite put a name to. 

Needless to say, he follows it, moving into a brisk gallop. Worry creeps into his mind as he urges himself faster and faster. It leads further to the borders. There’s no other scents besides hers. What is happening?

He finds her, lying beside a tree, the musk of copper tainting his senses the closer her gets. He rushes over with a whisper of her name on his tongue, concern lacing into his glowing, canary orbs. Standing before her, he rushes to her side and just looks at her. 

She’s panting heavily, hocks soaked in blood that shines sickly in the sullen night light against her dark fur. That scent. Birth. He remembers it from Simmik’s own bearing. His blood runs cold and he lowers himself close to her.

“Whrist-“ He begins almost panicked. Nudging her head with a thick muzzle. “Whrist, darling, are you — are you okay?” He asks dumbly, trying to comfort her even though he’s sure it won’t do much good. She seems panicked — primal. 

He rasps a dark tongue over her muzzle and tastes the blood on her. It’s so fresh. There’s so much of it. He looks down and sees the remains of tiny bits of gristle — meat and bone. His mind tries to catch up. Had she already had one? If so, what happened?