Honeyed Pasture bol, radha, bol

dear god, he'd done it again.

(now sing that to the tune of britney spears.)

aditya stared at tytonidae with jaw slightly agape, a look of horror in his gaze that wouldn't help the awkwardness of the situation in the least. after all, she was the pregnant one; he'd just—

haaye, bhagwaan!

aditya, he corrected, voice hollow. since. . . he shook his head slowly, gesturing toward one of her distended sides with his muzzle. any. . .others? he croaked. 

this couldn't be happening. not now. not again.