Lost Creek Hollow i think my blood is passing me by

shadowpup's voice was the only thing which brought silvertongue's head sharply up. her daughter, her child; a small shadow of crowfeather as she had wanted. but there was accusation in her tone, anger. silvertongue found herself considering the mark on her daughter's — yes — her daughter's forehead — seven months; "ella me ayudó," the sharpfang assured as she dragged herself up onto one elbow. her thin flanks rose and fell a few times before her exhaustion-smeared eyes rested on ash paw. "i am so sorry," she whispered in a voice threatened by defeated tears. "but — i am home now, ash paw. this is wren. she is here to stay." her head hung, breath coming with effort now.