Lost Creek Hollow bronca

wren had been tortured. silvertongue neglected. they both found a greenmist healing at the rounding of new life shared between them, each day, each day, for they had conceived down to the very moment. this was not a bond easily achieved, she felt, and it certainly connected she and wren in a cellular design. wren comforted her then, steadying the silvered sharpfang in a way she had not known before; she did not fear birth, nor pain; she feared being abandoned in the midst of it, and felt certain that the woman before her would not — silvertongue must trust in wren as the first immutable testament of her existence, unwavering. "they are ours," she managed to gasp out, before they tangled in tearstained kisses, gravid bellies softly touched together, and no malice now to pierce the sweetpink veil which fell around the wives.