Herbalists' Cache the promise

star eater had never felt so raw.
the pain had dulled, her body healing, but in its place remained something deeper—something that would never leave her. this was war. the battle for life had raged through her, and here, in the aftermath, she looked upon her fallen stars, scattered and small at her belly. four of them. two sons, two daughters. and the last, the smallest, black as night, the twin to her father.
she breathed, deeply, as the runt whined against her teat, too small, too frail, but living. she would live. star eater willed it, and the world would bend to her will.
her tongue swept over each of them, rasping and insistent, their tiny protests ignored. they were hers to protect, hers to keep, hers to forge into the future. and she would keep them safe. she had kept them safe. and the first step in ensuring that…
she turned to other shore, her voice calm, steady, yet firm with an authority that would not waver.
tell the chieftain he has four healthy children. two sons, two daughters. a pause. then, colder, sharper—he is not allowed to see them until i allow it.
these were her children. not his. not yet. they were the heirs to her legacy, the only things in this world untouched by failure. she would not let him lay claim to them so easily.

will archive this in a few days!