Two Rivers Isle They tell [M]e think with my head, not that thing in my chest

Ulrich was shocked that Adylaide wanted him near her during her labor. He had never gotten a woman with-child before, but, even so, he was not ignorant to the fact that most women wanted the male--and anyone else--far away while they gave birth. Staying here, in the birthing den with her, he felt so useless and afraid. Afraid that Adylaide would die from the strain, or that the children would die. As she paced and whined and cried and slobbered from the pain and difficulty, it took everything in him not to completely panic. That would not help either of them, and he tried to do all he could to ease her labor.

If she wanted to lean on him, he let her. If she wanted him to speak to her, he did. He tried to keep his voice calm, though it shook. In fact, his whole body shook, his teeth chattering, ears pressed to his skull. He had no idea if he was succeeding in keeping his voice calm or not, but he tried. And he tried not to think the worst, tried not to imagine his wife and children lying dead in a pool of blood from a botched delivery.

He watched in amazement as four pups were slowly born throughout the night. Morning light crept into the birthing den by the time it was all done. Ulrich smelled sweat and blood and amniotic fluid and milk, and the sweet scent underneath of his children. Adylaide lay exhausted, covered in all manner of things, as their children nursed at her belly. She was clearly too exhausted to move.

All right, he murmured, and kissed her brow. It's done now. It's over. Rest. Let me clean you up. And he did his best to clean away the blood and fluid, though he could not reach all the places, and did not want to jostle her or the pups. When he had done all he could, he settled beside her, staring down at his children in the grey morning light, so overwhelmed that he could not even think. It took a long time for him to register that he was now a father.