Ouroboros Spine paniktak

Lótë couldn't be sure what her daughter was thinking but she hoped she had eased some of the pale sylph's fear. Perhaps it was a normal part of growing up. There had been a time when the cloudberry was young that the cries of whelping dens had terrified her to no end and she had sworn she would never be a mother. Perhaps it was something all young she-wolves feared -- and rightly so. 

The herd-stalker let it rest for now, knowing there wasn't much else that could be said to soothe Wilwarin's nerves -- things would be alright in time and hopefully the arrival of new siblings would overshadow any fear that struck her older cubs when she went into labor. The totem of the bear was strong, Lótë had carried many hard things. And it would do her no good to fall into fear over the future herself. 

Instead, she curled her head over Wil's own -- resting her cheek atop the butterfly's ivory crown -- and breathed the sweet smell of her in once more, trying very had not to think of the day when they would be the same height.