Herbalists' Cache a mad thought

the morning was still and heavy with the weight of new life.
star eater stirred, her limbs stiff with the toll of birth, yet her body—her body—was healing. where once pain had gnawed, leaving her raw and exposed, there was now a quiet ache, the kind that whispered of recovery. the scent of blood, once thick in the air, had faded, replaced by the warm, rich musk of milk, the steady rhythm of her children suckling at her belly. their tiny bodies pressed into her, soft whimpers escaping between breaths as they latched and drank deeply.
even her littlest one—fa’liya, she had named her—fought with all the strength her tiny frame could muster. and she would thrive. by her mother’s will, she would live.
with gentle insistence, star eater groomed them, her tongue rasping over soft, downy fur. the protests came, weak and mewling, but she did not relent. they must be clean. they were hers, her blood, her legacy. no part of them would go untended.
and for a time, it was just them. she had sent the women away. no watchful eyes, no hands reaching to aid her—just the steady rise and fall of her breath, the warmth of her children curled against her. they were all that mattered.
but there was another.
tilting her head toward the dim, rising light, she parted her lips and let her voice carry into the morning air, a low, keening summons.
@Sun Eater.
time to meet his children.