Dragoncrest Cliffs so i'm surrounded

i had to-

It wasn’t the quiet, heavensent reprieve that Opalia sought for, nor was it a flaming meteor that disrupted the silence, but it came pretty damn close, all things considered.

An indignant, snarling wail of “JONAMKOJAS!” ripped through the mocking cries of gulls. Her voice cracking with a tearful fury, the skayona hobbled with all of a pregnant female’s dignity (read: not much) through a winter pond, snapping for throats and hearts. She’d only since come away with tailfeathers, rather than retrieve her foraging as she’d meant to.

With a defiant stamp of a hind, Aure abruptly sat with a tearful little ‘plomp’ into the shallows. ”Rose is g-going to kill me—“ Her dewy eyes and cheeks were as red and worn as sequoias, and her breathing was just as ragged-so. As her hecklers winged themselves away, she was left to grumble at her tender belly, which softened with each exhale. The expectant knew it wasn’t the fault of her copii, but this womb dragged her down from being as fleet as she once was.

When’d she gotten so fat?

But then the fur along her delicate neck shivered to life, and for a moment, the cackling of gulls was momentarily forgotten. As if she’d only just felt their presences, and was affrighted of even doing such, she haltingly cast her eyes over a thin, muddied shoulder... to see the gona and cheka. Looked at them, blinking all flustered and dumb and with a quivering, scarred lip; how long had they been there? Mortification roared from her throat to the feathering of her ears; here she was, legs and belly and bum six inches deep in mud, when she’s meant to be anything but inelegant. Oh, now she was pregnant and pathetic!—

Lips thinning with embarrassment, she turned from the pair with a silly little sniffle; instead and took great, scrunched-nose interest in the gulls who’d filched from her. ”W-what? Never had to deal w-with these jomanokas before?” Aure began to tug at burrs and brambles that had tangled themselves in her ivory fur, ensnared from a previous pursuit, whimpering through the little yanks that hurt.