Wheeling Gull Isle if you look away, the stars will know, and they will not be able to help you.

it was not some wild cry that shattered the night, but rather, rasping breath, sharp and discordant enough that it was heard even amid the crashing of the waves. 

one child lay tucked near her breast, small and pale yet living still. yet it was not this one that that collie stared at so intently, rather, the dark red lump that lay twitching still beneath her scrawny side, too light, too thin, to crush the life from the pup quickly and kindly. she ought to move, to shift, but already it was far to difficult to ride out the convulsions that wracked her, let alone shift from her splayed-out position. 

the child beneath her was falling still, and it was with the strength offered by the sharp pain in her heart, coupled with the brief pause in her contractions, that allowed her finally to shift. and yet she knew already that she was far too delayed, and the lump gave one final stir before falling motionless. 

and then came another, and she curled in on herself - careful not to crush the unbelievably precious bundle that would be known as @Mur - repeating the actions that she had performed thrice thus far. this one too she pulled close, hoping that it, unlike the others, would not grow cold once the warmth of her womb had left it. she could not think to check the sexes of her living two, nor could she bring herself to ensure that they well and truly drew breath. 

sunlight reached through the scant cover that the dying brush offered, burning against her half-shut gaze as her convulsions paused, and finally did she drift into pained slumber, unaware of the magnitude of the many things that had gone so terribly wrong.

Something big was happening tonight, she just didn't know what yet.  She first made her way around the borders, making sure they were secure and then danced at the land bridge for some time.  When she returned inland was when she finally caught the sound of her packmate's feeble cries.

She rushed to the densite with haste to check up on her fellow Tauhou, ears pulled back.  The smell of new life filled the dirt and her lips pulled up in a gentle smile.  Something about this girl was familiar — they'd met before, somewhere, but she could scarcely recall how it had gone.

She gave a woof but the mother was already asleep, so she rounded up some of the very flowers that Forrest had bestowed upon her and let the new mother rest, taking it upon herself to guard the den.

Maegi did not sleep well, on the island. It was too loud; the crashing of waves, a gentle murmur to others, was hellish noise to her. Her dreams were more vivid than ever, painting ghastly scenes of things that had happened and things that had not. She woke fitfully each night, several times throughout the evening, gasping and panting.

It was a wonder she didn't hear the girl's ragged breathing.

She strolled through the brush that day, looking for food. She felt no guilt in taking from the caches but not giving--how could she? Mothers were meant to teach their children manners; Potema had taught them nothing. The spiderlings had learned, above all, how to survive--and thievery and deceit were a means to an end.

Before she could snag a plump fish, buried away for later consumption, she noticed faint movement among the brush. The smell of the mother from the Valley, close by. And blood, and. . .something else. Perplexed, Maegi crept in that direction, coming across the brown woman guarding another, a young girl, with two newborns at her belly.

She'd never seen this wolf before. She did not really look like a wolf at all--she had silky fur and large ears. She was sleeping, breathing shallowly. Maegi looked at Reigi, a litany of questions painted over her face.

an hour's rest was all that was allotted to her, before she woke with a soft cry, juxtaposed against the sharp crack of pain in her abdomen. 

and then again began the contractions, fierce and quick, and wide glassy gaze saw only the pale pelt of a stranger, the darker woman escaping her notice. a wide row of fangs, a gasping breath, and a pup spilled into the world in a mess of blood and pain. the collie's maw slipped open, grasping for breath that could not fill her lungs quickly enough. murdock had been right; without the help of others, the collie simply could not survive in the world she had not been made for. it was quite simply wrong for her to exist in this place where she had no claim, no birthright. the wild was for wild things, and nature smoothed out the mistakes and sharp edges always. 

her blood pooled quickly in the dirt, and the collie faded faster still. gaze slipped from the white girl, landing finally on the woman whose presence she'd been oblivious too as she'd purged the final child from her womb.  "mur-"  her final breath faded too quickly, and she could not live to tell the woman her lie, her plea. perhaps, in death, there would be him. perhaps, there would be forgiveness. perhaps, there would be endless plains and a softer time, and he would stand beside her. she would be happy.

yet there was only darkness.

She watched Maegi closely, and as Poppy slept at her back she beckoned the girl over, rolling onto her side so that she might nestle into Reigi's smooth coat.  She wanted to offer the ghost-girl comfort — so recently had Reigi been through this that she did not worry even with the deceased brood.

Whether Maegi took her up on the offer or not, the raven would continue to stand guard until Poppy's labour began again.  Reigi took to pacing, checking in every once and a while and then —

somewhere, outside of her grasp, Poppy had passed.  Innately, Reigi was scared that she was going to be blamed, but she still howled for @Coelacanth / @Stockholm / @Komodo as she gave Maegi a terrified glance.

Her gaze softened as Reigi beckoned her forward. Finally, finally, someone wanted to touch her. To care for. Heart swelling, she was about to take her up on the offer when Poppy cried out, body writhing in pain.

Alarmed, Maegi held the woman's gaze as another pup was born. Blood pooled quickly, smelling hot and sweet, and the heaving body began to go still. 

But blood could be halted, injuries aided! Maegi knew how. She wanted -- she needed -- to help. She swung her head toward Reigi, eyes wide. "She needs moss!" the girl exclaimed, voice a bit shaky. Frantically, she looked and paced around, trying to find a patch of the greenery. It took a few moments, but she finally returned with a bundle in her mouth. 

Bending, Maegi pressed the moss to where the blood was flowing, holding it tight with her nose. But the blood was slowing, and the girl's body was growing cold. After a few moments, it stopped altogether.

Maegi sat back, thinking that her efforts had helped, that the moss had staunched the bleeding and the girl had fallen asleep. But she was still as a stone, rigor mortis setting in, and Maegi, muzzle smeared with moss and blood, looked over at Reigi, her eyes hollow.

Miraak had gone still like this, too. She was dead.

and yet the last-born girl was not.

as her mother's life faded so was life breathed into the girl, who, within her fast-cooling sac, stirred once. tethered still was she to her mother's still-warm body, knowing not of the events outside her slim awareness. she knew only that her lungs demanded air, and yet air she could not provide them.

The summons came on a rather placid day, and caught Komodo by surprise. It did not come from the strand, as so many calls for leadership did, but from within the island’s confines. Thus, the earthstalker made haste.

Thick paws thundered against the earth as he quickly made his entrace. A cursory survey of the area proved to be, if anything, disconcerting. A deceased mother, and two newborn babes. His heart thudded and clamored in his throat, and his blood began to run hot. It was only in these moments — when the world seems so unfair of innocents — that he ever doubted his gods. “Whut ‘appened?” he interrogated the two women in a strong, rollicking tone that conveyed the gravity of the situation. 

— then, without waiting for an explanation, he turned to Reigi. “Clean ‘em off ’n keep ‘em warm,” he catechized to the silent one, who he knew to also be a recent mother. It was a sad situation, and one he did not know how to remedy, as he was surrounded by wolves he did not know very well, with two newborn children’s lives in the throes of instability — so soon after they were born! They did not deserve to wallow in their mothers blood, when they had taken no more than their first breaths. At the moment, that must be their priority.  

She stared at Maegi with her mouth half-ajar, almost dumbly as panic roiled within her gut.

It was the Earthstalker's words commanded her into action.  Quickly, she moved to the pups, tearing the soft membrane from around the girl's head so she could breathe and stimulating them both with her tongue to get them to move, to drink her sweet mother's milk, to not be cold.  She pulled them away from Poppy's body so the Blondines of Undersea could begin their work.

Coelacanth arrived on the scene moments too late, but she was quick to sort out what needed to be done. “Mur — ” the little dog gasped out before her heaving side stilled unnaturally, and the Groenendael shot a pained glance at Maegi and a slightly panicked one at the winter raven. “You have done this before!” bespoke her desperate plea, a whine that winnowed through the chocolate-and-white fur that was shot through now with crimson and purplish grime. It was at this point that Komodo made an appearance and took charge of the situation — and the Groenendael could only look at him gratefully, the follies of their past buried beneath the weight of this tragedy.

Leaving the puppies to the island’s guardians, Seelie turned her attention fully upon Poppy. With her tongue, she swept the other female’s mouth clean, an intimate kiss revealing the utter lack of any obstruction; she crushed a handful of berries and raspberry leaves in her muzzle and with another tender kiss applied them unto the paling tongue. She feared her efforts were in vain, but could not stop trying, morbid as it probably seemed. “No! Bad dog!” she choked out in a broken whisper, cocking her head to place her cheek to the other female’s chest. Nothing. Rearing back on her hindquarters, she made her forelimbs ramrod straight and thumped the other female’s chest, one catlike paw placed over the other. “Come back,” she begged, repeating the motion. She alternated between these odd thumping motions and bathing her small friend’s face.

Utterly unaware of the tears that had filled her eyes and now spilled down freely her cheeks, she nudged fiercely at the woman’s chest. “Come back?” she wheedled unhappily, shaking her head in denial even as something within her rolled over and surrendered. If love alone could have saved the collie, Poppy would live into her twenties — but Seelie knew innately that there was a window of time in which you could fight death, and it had closed. Relentlessly, she began to beat herself against it. She redoubled her efforts, bathing Poppy’s face, trying to stimulate her heart and lungs, resting catlike along her spine to warm her, knowing it was all for nothing — and she knew, too, that this was somehow her fault. She should have arrived faster. She should have kept a closer eye on her patient. She should have loved her better. Should have, should have, should have…

“Doe,” she wept, still halfheartedly nudging at the Border Collie’s muzzle. “Come back.”

No no no no no no no!

Inside her head was a prolonged scream, a cry of frustration. The girl was gone, lost to the Void. She felt not grief but disappointment; she had failed to bring the young woman back to life. She could have saved her. If only she'd been quicker. Smarter. Better. 

Bewildered by the emergence of other wolves onto the scene, the swirling chaos around her, Maegi crashed backward into the brush, stumbling away without another glance. 

She bypassed the fish.

She wasn't hungry anymore.

It was cruel. It was cruel and formidable and wrong and there was nothing sweet about it. 

The world outside of the womb doused overwhelmingly with new scents, none of which Mur could name. The ground was hard, and it was cold, and there was nothing that he could do to get away from it, try as he might. Desperately, Mur used his weak paws to climb up onto his mother's abdomen, hindlegs still splayed out against the hard and the cold. 

Whines escaped his maw as he begged for food and warmth, but he was silenced as his body was lifted and carried away.

Feel free to skip me or PP Stock if necessary to keep the thread flowing. ♥

The Gampr is the last one to arrive – having been at the other end of the island marking borders when the call reached his ears. It did not sound to him as the beckoning of leadership to the beach to meet a newcomer – no, the location was wrong and there was a note of distress in the tone. And thus he ran, long strides carrying him the distance until he arrived on the scene.

It was immediately clear that something was terribly wrong, and his pace slowed as he approached the gathered wolves. The scent of blood and afterbirth and death causes his short-cropped ears to flatten against his skull and he pauses as his gaze falls upon Poppy’s unmoving form, the situation becoming overwhelmingly apparent to him. Coelacanth’s distressed cries – and the whisper of Doe’s name – wrench his heart painfully, but the Armenian does not approach closer. Instinct dictates that it is unwise to approach a female with newborn whelps; and though Poppy has passed, he still gives Reigi and Seelie breathing room as they may still be instinctively defensive of a male approaching.

He watches in concern as Maegi departs the scene then glances to Komodo and gives the Earthstalker a solemn nod of acknowledgment, glad to see the other male here – surely between he, Reigi, Seelie, and himself they can give these puppies a fighting chance? The Armenian doesn’t have a great deal of experience in this department, but he has some rudimentary knowledge. It is most important for the newborns to be kept warm and to be fed. He is incredibly thankful that Reigi is able to provide them with life-giving nutrition, and as far as keeping them warm perhaps they should be moved to the main den? He is uncertain though, but he knows the two females will know what is best to do, so he sinks quietly to his haunches to stand guard until he is needed in some other way.

Komodo made for a forlorn audience to the scene that played out. The nameless one plucked each babe from the dead mother’s breast and placed it at her own. The one with a fearsome glasgow grin fled, and Coelacanth took to feeble attempts to wake the deceased. Stockholm arrived. The Angakkuq found that, for a moment, he was frozen in time, watching as the emotions and energy of their gathering became both tumultuous and melancholy. Wouldn’t the gods have foretold of an event such as this, and give him the means to avoid it? Did he purchase nothing with his piety? Surely, he might have been able to do something, had he known in time — preferably, when she first arrived at the island. Now that the final threshold of death had been crossed, there was no un-crossing it. 

What had he done to cause the gods and archangels to shut him out?

The two living babes were breathing and feeding and seemed to be lively in spite of their circumstances, so Komodo turned his attention to the emotional distress projecting from the Seelie and her fallen charge. The angakkuq, relying fully on his extensive experience as a medicine man, approached her boldly — but spoke kindly. There was no need for hardness here. “Y'have succeeded in makin' Undersea uh safe haven fur all,” the man guided her, hopefully stewarding the lasting implications on this event; grief was to be expected, but this might not be the big misfortune that they all assumed it to be. All souls exist on earth for a time, but physical bodies did not live forever. It had happened before, and it would happen again, and they should be thankful they had the resources to help the orphans survive.

“She chose yew; entrusted them to yew.” The man said, more quietly. Then, to Reigi and Stockholm, “…tuh all uh' us.” With his nose, if she allowed it, Komodo would attempt to dry her silkstained cheeks and clean away the tears. It was brazen — perhaps too brazen, given that it was in full sight of the girl’s mate, and was Stockholm’s place anyways — but it was an act of solidarity and heedless support, rather than something carnal, as it might have once been. Without her hormones raging, and with this unspeakable tragedy to draw them together, it felt as everything were as right as rain between them. Surely, it was not, but that’s how it felt at the moment, drawn together in unity over their grief.

her first and final link to her mother was severed, and the girl found herself tucked near the warmth of another. 

this meant little to her - perhaps some part of her new formed brain realized that something was off, yet the majority was happy merely for the warmth and for the sweet breath that filled her lungs. mercy was granted in her tight-closed gaze and sealed ears, and the babe found the provided source of nutrients quickly. peeping occasionally through a mouthful of warmth, she grew full as three of her five siblings grew cold.

Another tragedy to add to her laundry list of failures, and this was perhaps the most heartwrenching of them all.  She should have noticed!  It was the wounded raven who sat watch at Poppy's den; loyal to Undersea as she was, it had been her job to keep her charge safe.

She blamed herself, and surely that must mean that the others blamed her, too.  That is how it would have gone in Bearclaw — if Laurel had died in the whelping den they had so briefly shared, it would have been her fault.  Her fault.  Everything was her fault.  "No!  Bad dog!"  Coelacanth's intense Neptune gaze did not go without notice, and as her ghostgirl tore from the den a whine caught in her throat and died before it could be released into the air.

A queer combination of fear and guilt caused her breath to quicken, and tears pooled down her finely angled cheeks and fell onto the blessedly silent infants below.  Now was not the time to cry — it was Coelacanth's turn.

Later, when she was left with the pups, she would allow her sobs to escape.  But to cry so openly was an admission of guilt, and with so many of the seawolves here she did not dare.

She curled in on herself the best she could, paying attention now to the lives that depended on her, stimulating them with her tongue.  They were not replacements for her first litter, but they were her children just the same.  For the second time this year, Reigi was a mama.

And when it was all said and done, Reigi would seek out each of those who had arrived at the den in an attempt to make things right.  As of this moment she had newborns that needed her — again.

Coelacanth had taken to feverishly bathing the Border Collie’s face, her pert pink tongue flashing again and again to pull at the cold, unmoving flews — the lashes of her wide, sightless chestnut eyes — the soft origami triangles of her plush, folded over ears. She displayed a misplaced possessiveness over the gravid female’s cooling body and regarded Komodo’s approach with a wild-eyed flinch that was equal parts past trauma and present trauma. Tears filled her Neptune eyes as she hovered over the chocolate-cloaked body that had once housed a kindred spirit — a dog, just like her; just like Stockholm! — and dropped soundlessly into Poppy’s gore-streaked fur. “N-N-Not s-safe! P-P-Poppy — ” she retorted through chattering teeth, her fox-fine muzzle wrinkling as she tried to warn him away — but she did not want to fight with him again! Not here, not ever!

She yielded to him abjectly, gaze crashing awry, ears slicking anxiously.

The Groenendael shrunk back in defeat, crumpling once more at Poppy’s side, and nearly succeeded in making herself smaller than the soul-spent corpse they gathered around. “She chose you; entrusted them to you,” drawled the medicine man in his familiar burr, and Seelie tried to force herself to her paws but found that there was no strength in her bones to hold her up. Only when Komodo crossed the invisible threshold of her comfort zone did she stir in earnest, the gentle invasion of his nose both comforting and terrifying; she jerked to her paws and, avoiding his eyes, stumbled to `Io’s side to look at Poppy’s children. “Mur,” she proclaimed in a hiccupping whisper, touching her nose to the boychild. It had been Poppy’s last word — and surely, that was significant.

The tiny girl tugged at Seelie’s heartstrings in a way she could not explain. Surely this was Fawn — a gift to Doe, or better yet, Doe’s soul renewed! — and the tongue-tripping sheepdog spoke with soft surety: “Fern.” It wasn’t the word she’d meant to say, but she didn’t realize it — the similar vowel sound between Mur and Fern had thrown her utterly. “All Undersea’s puppies.”

Komodo didn’t know what he had expected of her — maybe to fully receive his caresses and lean into his gentle affirmations — but certainly not here, certainly not with Stockholm watching, and this was most certainly not the most important thing going on right now. Komodo stood by as Coelcacanth peeled herself away and wheeled around to regard the puppies. Yes, that’s right. Focus on the puppies. 

— but he couldn’t. They were safe with two of the most maternal figured that could have hoped to be placed with, and he could not even pretend to know the basics of midwifery. The corpse, the shell of a life taken too soon, stole the angakkuq’s attentions. Death was, in a way, sacred — the cycle of life was something to be respected — but this certainly did not feel sacred. It felt dirty and profane. 

Komodo nodded at Seelie’s naming of the pups. Sounded good to him. “We should put ‘er tuh rest, soon,” the brute digressed. “She woodn’t want tuh be ‘membered lahk this,” Bloodied from birth and smelling of death. He had not known the dog before, but he could feel her presence and knew this was not an accurate reflection of the life she lived. Komodo raised an eyebrow at Stockholm and wondered if the other brute might assist him in this, leaving to women to tend to the children.    

Stockholm remains at his self-appointed post; a silent guardian. The Gampr remains unaware of the details of what transpired between Komodo and his mate, but even if he had known, he wouldn’t have felt threatened or put-off in any way by the interaction between them that he observes. The only thing that concerns him is Coelacanth’s reaction, there is something very uncharacteristic in the way she avoids the Vedmak’s gaze and extracts herself from the situation to turn her attention to the puppies. His brows furrow, and he files it away in his mind to be addressed later.

There is other business to attend to first. His short-cropped ears twitch forward at Komodo’s words, and when their gaze meets he gives a solemn nod of understanding and rises to his paws, approaching the scene closer for the first time. He dips his head down, briefly touching his nose to Poppy’s cheek though he knows he will get no response. “I’m sorry.” Sorry they could not save her, do more for her. His amber gaze flits up to Seelie, knowing she will be torn between staying with the puppies and wanting to follow them when they remove Poppy’s body. “We’ll take care of her,” he reassures, hoping it is enough, for now.

Stockholm is not a spiritual man by most standards, but he knows the Vedmak is, and he knows he will know the right spot to bury Poppy, the right words to say. It will be up to the medicine-man to do the spiritual heavy lifting, so to speak. So the least the Gampr can do is volunteer to carry the body. With the other man’s help, they move Poppy so she is draped across his shoulders, an ironic sort of pantomime of how had helped pull the Border Collie out of the ocean not so long ago. He then allows Komodo to lead the way to where they will dig her grave together.

Closing.

The seawolves dispersed. @Reigi took care of the puppies until @Hemlock could be called to assess them; @Stockholm and @Komodo followed Coelacanth to the prettiest part of Coaltree Rise, a flower-dappled knoll overlooking the sea, to lay Poppy to rest; @Rokig, @Driftwood, @Moorhen, and @Faeryn helped dig a new den for @Fern and @Mur to shelter in.