Fox's Glade ab iniquitate [m]ea

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this could be a conception thread, but is open to literally anyone

her breeding blood was late a week, then two, then her time had passed and a soft desperation began to grow harder and sharper in the placid scholar's chest. 

surely, she would not be denied her body's right. surely, the powers would not be so cruel. so displeased by she, so devout and studious.

to force upon herself what should have come naturally, the bear-dog fed upon bitter roots and vile growths, in such quantities that she couldn't sleep a pair of hours without awakening shivering and sick within the confines of the soft earth den she dug within the woods of the valley. 

in her dreams to her came gods and mages and spirits and her own dead children, and she would have thought them all an omen, were it not that they followed her into the waking word, solid and real as warm flesh.

on a starless night the bear dog finally emerged from her den, clad in the thick scent of pungent plants and followed by the miasma of blessed heat.

never leaving the safety to the woods, she called out into the darkness with desirous whimpers and whines, her whole self aching for a man.