Lost Creek Hollow garden song

change came to wren's body slowly, and then all at once.
in the weeks following the wives' return to riverclan, wren did her best to settle. menial tasks of marking borders and hunting eased her worries, gave her something to do; until the sickness inevitably set in.
she and silvertongue spent many mornings, noons and nights in the throes of it together, and in a way, wren found it funny. she wiped tears from her wife's cheeks, preened her fur and held her when it finally subsided, only for her to descend into the same spells of nausea and fatigue; sometimes only hours later.
and while silvertongue glowed in pregnancy, the soft curves of her figure only highlighted and made even more appealing in the eyes of the devoted wife, wren may as well have been a medieval wivestale gone horribly wrong. for the first few weeks there was nothing, until one day she woke on the wrong side of the bed. her belly began to distend in weird ways, her face and feet swelled, and her fur thinned into splotchy patches of ugly beige-brown tufts.
but worst of all was the sinking, dismal fear that began to plague her. what if they grow to hate her with the same disdain she holds for their grandparents? what if the cycle is not broken with her? how could a parent even do such a thing to their own child? is she capable of that?
what if she does not love them?
there were many moments spent weeping beneath the shade of the hollow's oaks, and then soaking in the pools to rid herself of the stains. now, in fact, was one of those; staring down at her bloodshot reflection and the slight, but noticeable plumpness to her torso, and wondering if she will see him again in the eyes of her children.