Ocean's Breath Plateau [b] anuqłiqł̣uk

u can come out now @Ghelan

red leaf had not wanted to give birth alone.
that was the reason they were here, was it not? the sharadoii were always firm believers in raising children together, in the men caring tenfold for women during the birthing season. when she was a young girl, she had always imagined this life for herself, her babes. a husband that smiled as he brought her meat, friends that wrapped her in pelts and guided her through the labor; her parents' silvered faces, watching in awe of the new life.
but the universe was not so kind as to lend red leaf such a grace.
instead, red leaf was still very much alone with strangers whose tongue she did not understand. a refugee, an alien, a ghost within moontide's borders. she knew it was coming long before it actually had, the labor, and so she had resigned herself to her quiet whelping den in a far, secluded corner of the plateau. one can hear the sea crashing and frothing just beyond its edge, and the woman took comfort in this.
she did not ask for help when the pain began. she did not know how.
it was terrifying, that first jolt that ricocheted from her pelvis to her knees, and she feels herself buckle with a quiet groan of unease. was it supposed to feel like this? her eyes glaze with panic as she checks herself for blood, as if something was catastrophically wrong; but there is no problem, and it has only just begun.
the second wave sends her to the ground in entire, a shout echoing for nobody in particular. a woman should want her husband in this time, and yet red leaf did not call for him. if @Cen was to come to her aid, it would be of his volition. she could do this. she could, she could.
the white-cloaked girl did as much as instinct would allow, standing, pacing, clenching her knuckles in the sand. she soaked her feet in seawater, clutched her belly as the hammer of thunder struck her again and again. it was endless. every time it got better, it returned worse than the last, and soon she could no longer bring herself to walk.
the tears were soon to flow, and when they did, red leaf cried first for aaka. a mother that was not here. a mother that did not know where her daughter was. the spirits were next, a garbled bargaining with them to keep her suffering short. morning turned to noon turned to night, and red leaf still labored; nothing came of it save for a strained voice and puffy eyes. there were so many hours of this, unrelenting, wave after wave until the young mother began to wonder if she may die here. please, spirits above, she cries; don't take my children with me.
but, once exhaustion stole away the adrenaline from the bird with clipped wings, as the star-twinkle dwindles in the sky above and shades of sun arrive, one tiny, ruddy pup is pulled from the ashes of a sundered body.
a son.
when she lays her eyes upon him for the first time, red leaf is in shock. she sniffles as she pulls him to her chest, wiping his face; a string of incomprehensible sharadoii whispered to him. a son. her son! she guides him carefully to a breast, gentle with her touch as if she may break him, and she begins to weep tearlessly. not for sadness or fear or disappointment, but relief.
for the first time in a long time, red leaf feels a lot less alone.