Redtail Rise nesting

There was no questioning now whether or not she and her mate had succeeded in their endeavor. A look alone was telling. There was a not-so-subtle roundness to her, and a softening of several other features. Her stomach seemed to hang heavier, and she felt a little slower these days. Her spirits remained high, but there came a day where something took precedence.

Sunday Morning investigated many nooks and crannies of the Rise. She found one place that felt suitable, as a place to rest and bring forth the new young she carried, but as she begun to dig Sunday abandoned the task when deciding that it was, for one reason or another, not the right spot. It had taken her time to find this right spot. Where the mountains stood tallest, at the gentle foothill of one within the center, where the trickling of the Rises stream first began.

The earth here was not so compact that she could not dig a den for herself and her whelps. She kept it a safe distance to (and from) the stream, by her measure. As a first time mother, it was not at all expert... but her instinct to preserve and keep safe the life within stood paramount inside of her, and she trusted in that much. Sunday Morning stood outside of this whelping den now, bright yellow gaze sharply assessing for any vulnerable points around her.

Within the more sheltered and forested portion adjacent to the mountains and the rest, there was no threat that Sunday Morning would not be unaware of miles and miles before they came. Sunday Morning licked her chops, thinking of another potential thing. But no, here and now there was not nearly enough snow to create the threat of an avalanche. A landslide seemed more likely...

A quiet groan of uncertainty filled the air. Or perhaps it was her stomach rumbling in demand that it was time to eat. Sunday Morning felt overwhelmed at the task ahead, suddenly, but as she reclined to her haunches and looked to her distended belly she could not help but smile down at it and feel at ease.

It would be worth it, this work and more, for who was to come.

when her time was near, Avicus had been reticent to let anyone save Ashlar close. perhaps that's why she lingers at the fringes of the woman's periphery now, remembering her own prenatal irritability. an unusual sense of restraint from the red wolf.

eventually, it ebbs.

how are you? she asks, after a gentle bark to announce her presence here. she pads comfortably toward Augur's. . .mate? he holds her dear; she knows that much. 

she wonders why she doesn't feel the same sense of possessiveness toward him that she does with Prophet or Ashlar; Augur seemed to belong to all of them and none at once, and more of the earth than of anyone else's claim.

we have a heal'her, if you needh, Avicus offers, eyes wandering over the new densite.

Sunday Morning was not yet near this point, not yet. She still enjoyed the company of others, and had yet to isolate herself entirely. This could be the place. It felt such. A catch of red in the corner of her eye caused Sunday Morning to swing her head in that same direction.

Red Woman had come to see her!

At once, Sunday Morning lowered herself to meet her halfway, whimpering an I am happy to see you greeting at her great pleasure from this surprise. Her tail beat lowly between her hocks as she moved to deliver supplicating laps of her tongue against her chin, if permitted. Sunday Morning bore a great respect for Red Woman, for welcoming her into their family and their fold.

For granting her the opportunity to grow it. She knew it was an honor her own mother might not have bestowed upon her, but last year in the Great North had been hard. Sunday would have understood.

Red Woman spoke, and Sunday withdrew to observe and listen. Though she did not understand the words, Sunday suspected that her leader had come to see how things were. Her tail waved all the quicker for the thought, an unintentional answer to the first question: she was happy. It took an effort not to wriggle in place with the weight of her joy, but her eyes were rich with the feeling.

The question is not understood, but Sunday Morning can sense the caring in the words. She rumbles a sound of content.

Sunday sees Red Woman inspect the site she had selected. Sunday Morning loosed a questioning note, as this was a woman well versed in whelping. Her head canted, one more questioning note to follow as her gaze traced the same path as her leaders, that seemed to ask, what do you think? or, is it safe, is it good?

nothing floats her boat quite like subordination. Avicus lifts her head high, allowing the woman to groom her peach-hued ruff. a rumble of pleasure reverberates down her throat, and when she pulls away, her eyes hold a semblance of benevolence.

like Augur, the woman is silent. but so her mother had been, too, and Avicus had never felt uncomfortable with either of them.

no words needed.

she sniffs along the edges of the den, poking her muzzle in slightly to observe the small, dark space. it should do fine. she glances toward the white wolf, briefly eyeing her teats. she wonders how many future warriors are within.

are you readhy? she asks. the tone is casual, but her gaze serious.

Sunday Morning saw no sign of ill feeling toward the place she had picked. It brought relief to her features, shoulders releasing tension stored there part from the work of digging for days on end, and part from nerves. Red Woman looks back to her, and there are other words. The serious gaze causes Sunday Morning to look away, lest Red Woman think she challenged her in any way, and Sunday Morning chuffed quietly.

Her own noise was given in thanks to the woman. And it was for many things. Sunday Morning shifted closer while remaining low, turning back to Red Woman to sniff at her furs. Sunday Morning noted some sort of something, likely from a briar, caught within her furs. It was slightly thorny, and could prove to be a nuisance later. Sunday Morning loosed a questioning note, tail thumping against the earth. She hoped to groom Red Woman; it had been one of her favored pastimes to do with her mother and sisters, and on occasion her brothers. While Sunday was far from the picture of perfection, when her furs had been in place it was largely thanks to her family. Now, it was mostly Mountain Boulder who groomed her. Family still, as she saw him, her man.

And Red Woman, too. This pack of hers that had accepted her as one of their own. Family. Sunday Mornings soft eyes remained bright with her gratitude.

sorry for the delay!!

she doesn't mind the grooming, though she stiffens at first, unused to the close proximity. but a rumble in her throat bades the woman to continue, and she sighs a little, relaxing as she feels tongue and teeth pick gently through her ruddy fur, combing out any number of burrs and bits of grass and mud.

her question hadn't been answered. maybe it hadn't been understood.

instead, she ventures another question. Augur? Avicus asks, gesturing toward the huntress's distended belly. it seemed obvious, but not definite. bigh' whihhe' man?

she's happy for her loyal hunter, in siring more pups. she trusts him. they will make good warriors for the Rise.