Sequoia Coast cantaloupe

It was warm beneath the snow. Being together with the scarred man made her feel more at-ease despite not knowing him, at least not really, and then he offered more of himself in a way that Wilwarin found shocking. She gasped, and then probed with her sharp snout at his furs, as if physical contact might be the remedy for such a dark thought. Nose-nuzzles, tiny flickering tongue-kisses, emphatic bids of affection as if to say, you worry me, and let me fix you.

She had helped him all that she could; somehow, he had survived. Now that they were together it felt fitting that he repay the debt of her attention with some guardianship of his own; but it was not right, offering his own flesh like this! Offering his pelt as bed for her unborn! She was afraid of what was to come, certainly—but she also trusted that the land would provide.

Inside her belly the cubs churned, and one struck hard from within, making Wilwarin pause momentarily to check herself and gasp for air, briefly winded. Had he felt that too? There was life wiithin her!