Hideaway Strath you are, and always have been, a revolution

The midwife blanched, withholding the agitated tic that wanted to course through her. Perhaps she should have held her tongue better. "Vell...it is vhen ze pups...perish before they are born," the marble doe admitted with a distressed flutter of her papillion auds. There was real pain echoing beneath the mask that concealed past tragedies as she recalled the younglings she had lost. "I'm sure ye 'ave nothing to vorry about, Simmik. There vould be concerning signs beforehand: belly cramps, pain in ze spine, bleeding. Some vomen fall into a listless state of despair before suffering a miscarriage."

"Ye seem quite 'ealthy," the midwife promised, scanning the woman's lustrous pelt of winterwhite, her clear eyes. She had been active around the territory as far as Aerin knew, just to a lesser degree which was within the norm. "I am sure ye vill be fine."

"It sounds like morning sickness. It differs from volf to volf but some vomen do experience nausea an' a sensitivity to certain smells. Vhen I vas pregnant vith my first litter, I could nae stand ze smell of fish," she chuckled lightly, attempting to lighten the mood a bit. 

"Ye are right. Perhaps I should try to reconcile vith Vhrist an' see if we can get along," Aerin mused, nodding absently as her gaze fell aside in thought. It could only go one of two ways and if the darkling wanted nothing to do with her, then that was that.