Jade Fern Grove I thought that I heard you sing

she leaves the territory while she still can, attempting to move with the same ease as before the pregnancy and succeeding only partly. her first hunt ends in an easy failure, and leaves her more winded than she ought to be. she considers what she's feared before; with the burden of these children she bears, she will lose her own identity. and despite the selfishness of it all, she is unwilling to give that up for the benefit of her young.

the sunlight dances through the canopy above, and the ground is warm beneath her paws. a breeze stirs a conifer, and clouds of yellow are sent through the copse, dancing in the light before dissipating a moment later. here, she is content. swiftcurrent doesn't feel like a home, though she's always known that homes are people, not places. she considered once she might find some semblance of that with her pups, and Adi. but they are not family, and that is to big a burden for them to bear. she exhales between clamped jaws as a ripple of pain moves down her abdomen, something that seems to occur more and more often, now. ignoring it, she presses on.