Moonspear smallest wingless

Still she cradled her “sleeping” son, memorizing his face, his smell, the way dark gray speckled an otherwise pale coat. His fur was so soft, his nose and the pads of his paws even softer. His tiny tail was as small as a mouse’s and was the first part of him to begin stiffening with rigor mortis.

Meerkat knew it was time to bury him. But even as the dead puppy grew cold and rigid in her arms, she fretted. Was he truly dead? Beyond hope? She wanted one of Moonspear’s healers to come and make certain. Only then would she let @Njord take him away for burial.

She was afraid to move, herself, and desperate for answers. She wasn’t in any pain now and the bleeding had stopped. Meerkat was certain she wasn’t in labor. Was the dead babe in her arms the only thing she had to show for this season? Had the stress of losing her home and her elder son caused her to lose her litter, despite finding such wonderful refuge in their new village?

Tightening her forelegs around her child, Meerkat tipped her head toward the ulaq’s ceiling and sent up a mournful cry for help.

This is set a few hours after this. All are welcome.