Ouroboros Spine xlvv. before he gets there

I cannot express to y’all how very sorry I am for the wait on Lótë’s replies. :( I’ve been in and out of the hospital all week since I just found out I have a sorta rare heart condition and nearly went into cardiac arrest last Monday, I’ve been hemorrhaging blood as a result, etc. And I also had to move and get my wifi figured out this past weekend but I’m back now, doing much better, and should be able to get caught up soon. :)

Shikoba was the one to find her, trembling and hunched over her own body’s turmoil with a sheen of tears in her eyes. 

Her lips parted to speak but another contraction stole her breath and she nearly fell forward as she cried out, the loss of balance sending her sprawling against the warrior woman’s chest. She caught herself, but only by leaning on her village-sister. Normally, the mother would’ve been embarrassed but she was too far gone to care at this point. Lótë practically clung to the scarred she-wolf, panting in her effort to breathe through the pain.

When she could finally straighten and untangle herself from Shikoba’s personal space, Sialuk had arrived — offering advice that Lótë tried to follow as she allowed the women of their tribe to join her within the den, hardly noticing the men who gathered outside. 

“He’s not here,” she rasped brokenly to the Beta, over and over again,  as she tried to stifle the wave of despair crashing through her heaving chest until the words would come no more. Their place was taken by the sounds of suffering and strife as her children came without fail. 

Lómion, whose charcoal coat she would not allow to instill dread in her heart; she pulled her firstborn close to free him and whisper a name of stars against his damp pelt of night.

Vairë, an eldest daughter who met the world with a warbling cry full of wordless emotion. Already she seemed to have important things to say, inspiring her name of story-weaver. Lótë cooed breathlessly in response to the girl as she tucked her in beside her brother before the pain consumed her again.

Inkalorë, whose ambiguous scent confused her but was pulled close to her heart regardless. She didn’t need to understand; they were hers and she loved them even if she didn’t yet know the golden babe entirely. (Wasn’t sure if Ink’s gender was undefined from the get go or if they would grow to realize they’re intersex but lmk if this needs changing.) 

Wilwarin, tiny and shivering — silent and gasping as she clung desperately to life like a damp butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. There was grave concern etched into the dove’s features as she rearranged her litter to make room for all of the children to nurse — even the smallest of them. 

She wasn’t entirely sure who lingered and departed when all was said and done, only that she thanked them all quietly as she curled around her cubs protectively. Everything seemed distant, muted. In her last waking moments, she knew only a chaotic, jilted state — heart half broken, half soaring. 

It was too much. She gave into the bliss of sleep just as the newborns did — auds and closed lids flickering lightly, listening to the soft breaths of her children as they dozed against her cream underbelly.