Swiftcurrent Creek Don't call Marian, she's my alibi

Set June 1st.

"Why does it look like that?!"

She'd gone out to take a shit after enduring an entire day of abdominal cramps. The worst kind of cramps. The kind that even made her lady bits ache and moan. She'd rolled over countless times trying to get comfortable, ignoring the rhythmic pains that clawed at her insides. God damn, even her pelvis felt bruised. At long last, her bowels relented and the telltale sensation of sudden motion urged her out of her little den under the stump, where she had been for upward of three days. Grief had kept her away from her pack mates, and then the cramping. All women could relate. Who wants to go and deal with others when their stomach is on strike?

But what came out of her was nothing like a shit. It was round, slimy, kind of gelatinous, with a sickly sheen in the sunlight like some kind of amphibian. Wylla's tail was pressed tight against her hind end—which was awash in blood now that her extremely extended labour was over, because how the hell was she to know she was supposed to start pushing, like, nine or ten hours ago?—and she stooped to sniff it gingerly. It didn't smell like shit, either.

"Oh my god," she panted, staring bug-eyed at the little sac that had come out of her as it suddenly shuddered. "Oh my god it's a fucking alien, I had a fucking ALIEN living in my ass, holy shit," but we all know that's not what it was. She retreated from it initially, cowering away—she was infected, she was going to die, she knew it—but some minutes later, decided if she was going to die anyway, then she might as well get back at it by eating it.

So she carried the slimy gross whatever-kind-of-parasite-that-is back into her little den and settled down to consume it, only when she bit into the sac—which, lemme tell you, if she didn't want to barf before she definitely did when that touched her tongue—it wasn't an alien that came out, it was a crumpled little wolf pup with a slight dent in the side of its head from hitting the ground when it came out of her womb.

What, her brain slowly said as she held the thing—miraculously alive, Jesus Christ, how—and then Instinct came out of nowhere, tired of this shitshow, and delivered a swift kick to her head. Some time later Wylla had cleaned her sole daughter, aptly named What The Fuck for the time being, and placed her at her side and was still marveling at her when the sun began to set.

life aboard the SS Wylla had been, in so many words and by all accounts, rough fucking going.

what's more, god, the piss-poor treatment when she disembarked. the blatant disrespect. first of all: her transit and delivery were handled about as thoughtfully as FedEx handles their parcels.



now, she couldn’t say the sensation of her face bouncing off a rock was altogether enjoyable; she was largely protected by the amniotic membrane encasing her, but colliding with earth, she found, wasn’t exactly like gently alighting on a bed of feathers. 

to the colonies of ants populating the soil, she was definitely a meteorite blotting out the sun and hurdling from a distant planet to send their metropolis to extinction. naturally, her arrival was met with overall aversion and intense recoil. not quite the reception one might expect when debuting their life, you know? 

to make matters worse, she was gawked at like she had two hooves for antennas. not even her own mothership wanted to beam her back up! similar to a pimple, she was first scowled at, poked a few times, then left alone—but only for the short amount of time it took for Wylla to reflect on the concept of "an eye for an eye".

ultimately, her presence was just too vexatious to ignore and she had to be picked at until something popped. 

the membrane engirdling her burst and she immediately felt warmth disperse from her body. HEY! her tiny frame stirred and mustered a gurgled squawk of objection. a sense of touch was the only thing she had going for her, and so far, 0/10 stars. she would be lodging a formal complaint later.

barely able to lift her dented little gourd, Tiercel was at the utter mercy of her detainer. she squirmed and grunted and frowned something fierce as the slime was scoured from her pelt—she couldn't decide if she liked that sensation or entirely loathed it, so she chose to strongly and noisily disagree with the goings-on regardless of the compensation she recieved.

eventually, she settled down after being smartened up and arranged against the toasty warmth of Wylla’s belly. the little extraterrestrial began rooting around, parting through the highveld of silver fur and gnashing her gums against anything protruding or in her path. it didn’t take long for her to succeed in finding what she was looking for. 

the best part about being an only child? all of the pumps were available and she didn’t have to wait in line.

premium gas, baby. Tier greedily began to fill her tank, foot-pebbles pressing insistently against her mother’s teats to make glutting herself more efficient.

She'd expected a lot from the birth of her cubs. First, she'd expected there to be more of them, but was thankful there was only What The Fuck to contend with. Had there been more, they likely would have suffocated by the time she managed to get them all to safety, she'd taken so long figuring out what to do with just the one. She'd expected to feel nothing but revulsion. It was there somewhere under layers of stronger emotions—this particular What The Fuck belonged to Who The Fuck on the beach, after all—but it was underwhelming compared with everything else she'd felt. She'd expected something kind of magical but actually the whole affair was rather disgusting.

The new mother wasn't keen on repeating it, ever. Too bad so sad for your big sis aspirations, baby boo.

She also had kind of expected that kids would be able to, I don't know, eat meat like normal wolves. Could you blame her? Wylla didn't exactly remember her early childhood and Lusca hadn't been very forthcoming with important information like that. Instead, Tiercel latched onto something on her belly—I mean, those bumps had always been there but why were they so droopy now, ew?—and the most unpleasant sensation shivered through her. Wylla wrenched herself to her feet with a gasp and the beginnings of a growl, depositing her child none-too-pleasantly on the earth. "Did you just...?"

Wow, what the fuck. Apt name, kiddo. Wylla squinted at her newborn daughter, tail swishing impatiently, but the Sandman's hands were quick to rise from the earth, wrap themselves around her middle, and drag her earthward once more. Did you know giving birth was actually exhausting, even when you didn't really know you were doing it? Imagine that. Wylla's head hit the ground and she was fast asleep in seconds, leaving her exposed teats for Tiercel's uninterrupted perusal.

There was a pool of something on the ground – bits of amnitioic fluid, though he wouldn’t have the word for it. It was the blood that caused a gentle frown on his features, though he knew form scent and experience (as limited as it was) alone that Wylla had given birth. His bright eyes dragged the stretch she had walked, to the small den she inhabited. All was silent in there for now – and then he heard small murmurings from within.
 
He lingered, one paw held with uncertainty in the air. Wylla wasn’t exactly the most receptive to companionship even before she had new mother instincts and a brood to protect – and yet she also did not have a support system to fall back on during this time.
 
With reservations, the ebony male slunk away from the area, giving her the space for the moment while he hunted for the new mother. Chusi, too, would need the same assistance, as he did not trust Koji to look after her. There was a certain amount of stress that so many pups would be in their ranks, and his desire to keep them all safe, not just his own. Perhaps he had learned from his past mistakes.
 
Returning to the site of the den, the Alpha rumbled his greeting, his jaws clamped around a more plump hare. It hadn’t been an easy catch, but it would seem someone above was favoring them in their need. He paused as he neared the entrance, one ear flicking forward as he tentatively waited for a voice or sound of noise – but it remained still, and he debated on entering to make sure she was fine.

She wasn't warned in advance of her pregnancy that her hearing would become nearly supersonic in the aftermath. She was asleep in seconds and she was awake just as quickly, nervous and alert as her ears swiveled and locked onto a sound beyond the den's entry. Constantine's initial visit had gone unnoticed but the rumble of his voice outside did not. Ugh, did she need to entertain visitors now? Everything hurt and she had a small alien turd she wasn't sure what to do with.

At length she rose, displacing Tiercel momentarily with a newborn squawk as she poked her head up out of the hole. Her tired eyes lit greedily on the hare in Constantine's jaws but then flicked up to his face, wary. "Can I help you?" she asked in a voice that quietly tacked on that she was sort of busy here.

OOC: Skipping Tiercel with permission!