It had been awhile, even Imaq could admit to that. But that didn't mean the she-dog had forgotten. In the days prior to her son's arrival, the huntress' presence grew even more infrequent throughout the wing of the Chambers their women had claimed exclusively for whelping. She had smelt the arrival of numerous recruits (aside from Zephyr and Kaster whom she had met once before) despite the fact that she no longer ventured far from the nursery, a notion that both unnerved her and brought her some relief. No one could replace Iana but they needed all hands (paws?) on deck with so many litters being born this year. Even if Tupilak had harbored any desire to leave the security of her den, the light contractions pinching between her hips would have made the trip outside arduous and painful -- she usually only left to relieve herself these days, sometimes stopping by Lane's or alternatively Tzila's den for a moment on the way back before the tightening and clenching of her muscles sent her back to bed.
Today, the medicine woman's nesting instinct seemed to be particularly prevalent. In spite of the petite, yet round and firm, bump that swelled her midsection, the mother flitted around the softly lit den -- fretfully rounding it in loose, agitated loops as she checked and double-checked that everything was ready. Occasionally she stopped to straighten the hide upon which her dried herbs sat at the ready, or to adjust the clumps of flora atop it. Or else her freckled muzzle snaked out, tidying the few trinkets she owned, rearranging the many pelts she had transported here from her former sleeping place -- frequently changing her mind on how to go about making the perfect bed for her newborns.
"...and all around was the bitter arctic cold and the immense silence of the North..."
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