Turtle Island salt whispering

recovery was a blessing bestowed with far too much slowness on chani.
terrified, alone, and exposed, the birth had been tormenting, remembered only as waves of terrified pain punctuated by rolling black.
pain she had expected. chani had heard and witnessed family in childbed. sapphique did not make their daughters strangers to such natural reality. but the rest; "oh, maman," chani choked in hoarsened voice.
her first forays had been for water, and water alone. the next had been on patrol for any small predators, of which she found only mice and the guano of bats. it was hard to leave the pups, and went against every instinct the young mother possessed, but she had little choice.
bird's nests fed her again, and a collection of voles it cost too much to hunt. chani was trembling when she returned to the little den tucked into shadows of rosethorn, and spent the next day licking rainwater from stones, considering that this was too, too much.
her crying was frequent. she was happy in between, which confused her mind more, and stared often into the sea until it blurred or she fell asleep or one of the babies roused her.
how sustainable is this?
she didn't know.