Greatwater Lake buck moon

They're crying. He hears them and their feeble cries birth anew, and feels as though they are at his feet as he stares upon each toe embedded in the mud. Zharille keeps him at bay, and he does not pry. Stationed not far, waiting every moment and every hour that has passed with his wife's discomfort. They are here now, can one believe? Mesen-ka can not.

If he looks at them now, will he change? Why, he is not sure why it feels so impossible to lift head. Guarding as a soldier, as a warrior, kingsguard to his wedded queen, but left unwanted in these hours. The act of birth must have been painful if it aches ones chest so to hear it. Be alive!

They are still crying. He is a soldier. None would be allowed near, less they face the clash of teeth and be ripped to bone. Still, the man has not looked. Mesen-ka was never supposed to make it this far, and so perhaps that is why his face feels numb and heart lights alive when both eyes raise as the morning sun to see three children nestled into a mother. Burning, and heart racing its every beat. Sitting like a beaten dog at the door with cold feet, he sees now– he is a father. And they are beautiful.