Bearclaw Valley sickness

like drumbeats against her skull.

the caches of ursus in the vicinity had been dug up. the dog suspected those farther out, if not stored so deep they'd been forgotten, had turned inedible. 
her milk had become a thinner stream, and her large, wolf-blooded daughters fought viciously - with all the savagery of fat, toothless things - among themselves for what was left of it.

but one pointedly lacked in might.

that one she'd named after the second coming, the fated return. the name's meaning felt empty. still, it came as a low rumble out the bearwoman as her head rose, turned and lowered to release a puff of air at the milk-coloured child.

"parousia."

it was one of the very, very few words she spoke over the past days.