Swiftcurrent Creek I make mountains out of stones

His heart seemed to tug to see the mother in this way. Dejected was how he'd describe it. He wasn't a counselor. Helping her with the depression of having children wasn't what he did. He was a Toxicologist and Medic. 
It hurts.
""What hurts?"
He wanted to help her, but couldn't if he didn't know what was wrong. To get closer would invade her space. He wanted to stay as a whole wolf. 

His head tilted. He didn't want to give her poppies. "No." That would be wrong. It would make her worse. She had to look after her children.
He hadn't even realised he'd denied her request.
He stood, "I'll get you something better."

Then he was away, assured she wasn't about to move. He moved to a cache, picking out borage leaves and ragwort leaves. It would help her sleep and not so potent as poppy seeds. Instead of plunging her into darkness, it would gently lull her to sleep and keep her aware. He didn't want to take her senses away when she had pups.

He returned to her with the leaves, gently passing them to her.
"You need to chew and swallow them." He was certain he'd given her the right amounts. All he had to do was make sure she did.