Swiftcurrent Creek fold out your hands; give me a sign [birth]

something was wrong. aditya and dawn no longer shared the same den, but with her labor so imminent, he slept close, waiting for the time to come. most days passed without incident. but this evening, something was wrong. a rustling that wasn't there before; a disturbance in the air. the sound of panicked pawsteps. . .

adi stretched and stepped out of his den, like a cat from a nap, spying a hunched gray figure nearby. it was dark, but not so dark as to recognize—

dawn, he gasped, a strangled cry. he broke into a run toward her, but the fetus brought him short, skiddering to a halt. he stared at it for a long moment, eyes wide with horror. he'd seen dead(?) pups before, sure. . .but they had never, never been his own.

he felt the pang of loss for only a second before his worry for his mate—no, not any more. the mother of his children, but not his mate—anyway. his worry for dawn rose higher than all other concerns in this moment, and aditya stumbled toward her, stooping low, nosing softly at her temple.

dawn, he whispered, forcing himself to at least sound calm. usha. we should get you back to your den, so you can have these babies somewhere safe, somewhere peaceful. it was too dangerous out here. too much open space around them. he needed his pups to be—

with a hitched intake of breath, he rushed toward the little lump on the ground, the stillborn babe. as quickly but gently as he could, he ripped the membrane from the pup and began to lick it furiously, tears welling up as it did not stir. please, adi breathed, desperate. please. . .mere liye saans lo, mere bachche.

a single teardrop fell and blotted on the child's sleek, damp fur, before aditya returned to dawn's side for whatever came next.