Swiftcurrent Creek Blinded by the light

She's exhausted, honestly. There should be some sort of overwhelming love and joy blooming within her, she's certain, but these first weeks have been a numb blur to her. She has, at least, found no shortage of protective instinct; sleep has been scarce, discarded in favor of tending and watching her sickly children every moment she can keep her eyes open. She talks to them often, too, though she knows they won't respond for some time. They seem to be growing stronger, if slowly, though the smallest of her daughters still worries her. Most mornings, she half-expects to wake to find the pale child cold and still. It feels like such a cruel thought.
This morning, though, none of those thoughts have time to plague her before Helios's squeaking cuts through her thoughts in her first waking moments. She sucks in a breath, willing herself not to flinch or move too quickly, and turns to inspect the pup. She's just in time to watch his eyes flutter shut, and it happens so quickly that for a moment she's certain she'd imagined it. But he's still making noise — so perhaps not. She leans forward to nose him gently, licking his scruff a few times in an attempt to comfort him. I know it's terribly inconvenient sometimes, but you can't hate your namesake, She murmurs a little teasingly, latching desperately to the thread of warmth she feels for her firstborn. It's the first thing she's felt in weeks. And I won't raise you in a cave, so you'll just have to get used to it.