Nova Peak dearly

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silatuyok had smelled the blood before she heard the cries.
but now, within the half-lit stone of the birthing den, she saw—and what she saw rooted her breath in her chest.
she gasped aloud, not meaning to, voice cracking like ice. spirits, you lose much blood.
the words slipped from her as her paws raced forward, chest already heaving with the sharp presence of spiritual fury. the very walls echoed with it—the shriek of ancestors clawing at the veil, demanding why. the air hung thick with copper and sorrow.
she called low but urgently, slipping to her side, pale fur stark against the dark, earthen floor. elowen. her womb—! ah, ah, we must stop bleeding, she said, her teeth already tearing open the bundle she'd carried on her back. moss. powdered yarrow. tightly-wrapped leaves soaked in cold rainwater. she pressed them gently but firmly to the place she feared might tear further, her every movement trembling with care.
but her gaze shot to skorpa once—only once—and in it was nothing but blistering disbelief, sorrow, and a quiet, soul-deep fury held on a leash of grace.
and then to ayovi, she turned back, breathing through her nose.
she did not lift her head again. her body bent low in service, in sacred duty.

one post from me, can be assumed sila is attending to ayovi's bleeding!