Blackfeather Woods lavender

Nothing comes from the other. The woman that helped care for her wounds had no words and perhaps, if this is her child, it is the same too. Her lips part to ask but not a sound comes out and she closes her mouth, allowing herself to shrink a little more. Her legs stay close to the ground, tucked beneath her lying form, and she lowers her head to the ground. Any measure she can prove she is no throat is taken and gently, her tail thumps against the ground. Her own body has started to swell with children she does not want but that does not erase the fondness she has for others not sired by monsters.