Northstar Vale can't talk got a beat in my headphones

It was hot—the sun beat down from above, and the silver she-wolf let out a small huff. Still, she worked, nudging at plants, observing them before she began to pluck at some of the herbs. She wished to set them aside to dry them, and placing them delicately upon the large fern she carried, she folded the larger leaf over them to a makeshift pouch before gathering it to her jaws and ambling toward one of the many water ways in their stunning home.

She only stopped when she reached the waters edge—placing her prize to the ground and giving a small cringe as a tiny paw kicked from within—the life she grew growing more and more restless each day. “Simmer down in there,” she mumbled quietly to herself—and when the faint throb of pain gave way to stillness once more, she bent down, quenching her thirst from the vale’s stream.

Only a few more weeks to go—and she had found herself growing more and more worried with each passing day.