Ouroboros Spine chugutul ⦕

The greenpaw straightened, bent over a juvenile bloom of chervile, fallow-skin crown swiveling across the green and brown blur of her thriving garden as she turned in the direction the call had come from. There was no mistaking Kukutux's voice, nor the meaning of her message, and so it was with little prompt that the dove jolted into a steady trot -- grimacing as the movement caused nausea to blossom in the pits of her stomach. Thankfully, she hadn't been suffering from morning sickness too dreadfully; Lótë had only lost her stomach once, shortly after realizing she was pregnant. She accounted that to nerves. Even so, the feeling plagued her, springing up any time the herbologist attempted to eat or even just smelled food. It seemed even the movement of flitting about the Spine as she usually did churned her queasy stomach. 

The duck was at least partially right in assuming that the village was aware of her condition -- as they were surely becoming aware of the bird-watcher's own. Lótë had a hunch as to what the wisewoman wished to discuss, having been given no indication that the Alpha had changed her mind about deciding to have more children this year. It could not be coincidence that Kukutux had called for her after both moonwolves had emerged from the sides of their chosen men. 

Though she had no reason to be, the artisan found herself growing nervous as she broke from the dark pines and spotted the prone form of her pale confidante. It only worsened the ache tearing at her swollen stomach so the cloudberry tried (and failed) to bury the sensation as she padded to the Ostrega's side, wuffing softly in greeting. Her tail gave a faint, friendly swish as she reached to touch her dusk-rose nose against Kukutux's ivory chin before settling herself aside of the northerner -- perhaps made more submissive by her nerves, an instinctual need to ensure that there would be no conflict between the two expecting mothers and their unborn children. 

"I greet you, sister," the doe demurred with a small tic of her lips, not so reserved about adopting the former Moonspearians' customs. Kukutux hadn't seemed offended by her intrigue so far, and Aiwë figured at this point the matchmaker would be comfortable enough in her company to correct her on any missteps. "Are you alright?"