tales of a hilarious pregnancy: origins

One week in, Bazi was ready to leave her body behind and exit the world of the living.

Every morning, she woke up feeling either sick, angry, exhausted, or all three at once. Without fail, she inhaled six times the normal amount of breakfast despite knowing that she would be greeting its half-digested future self within the hour, all while trying not to pee herself. And man alive, the peeing. Even without a brood of pups pressing on her bladder, it was relentless - and it smelled. So as not to offend the rest of the pack, Bazi had to retreat into the mountains to relieve herself, matching the speed and volume of the Bitcurrent even when she hadn't ingested water in over eight hours.

Today, she lay sprawled in the middle of the forest, muzzle hanging over the river's edge. It purled pleasantly next to her lolling tongue, its sun-dappled beauty standing in stark contrast to the bitter taste in Bazi's mouth. Pregnancy was awful, she decided, staring at the opposite bank whilst she waited for the next wave of nausea to hit. And Scimitar's weiner was the devil.