Herbalists' Cache muradoii

calf time! @Ts'okhun @Yahkone @Pikpaksriruk @Unnamed / @Black Hawk @Suliya

she paced outside the den she and suliya had dug out. relentless, impatient. feeling as if her insides were gnawing upon themselves, her flesh gorging; her body temperature rising. a furnace smelting, sivaak suffered. a fate she had not ever saw herself succumbing to, but now that it was here:
she must face it as any warrior.
attempts to touch by either of the women accompanying her would be met with teeth. when she grew restless of pacing, she retired to the den, nesting furiously; with the vigor of a mad-woman. when she grew tired of that, it was back to pacing. a long, drawn out cycle of repetition that ended in a great crowning.
she had sung a war cry bolstered from the depths of her chest with such strength she had not ever harnessed before. demanding, demanding, demanding! threatening castration of black hawk, threatening death to suliya.
one pup led to two. two led to three. three to four. genders did not matter; each would be treated the same. they would be strong. they would scream, and if they did not scream, she would kill. instinct drove her to care for them in ways she had not intended to; tongue lapping furiously at their scruffs, their bodies. providing them warmth.
blood red eyes searching, scrutinizing.

ever the dutiful, hawk had not left her polar bears side. steadfast, vigilant; bringing her whatever she demanded. and the woman's fury was unmatched; she'd faced plenty of foes, but nothing matched the ire of a woman in labor. 

but she did not flinch. she held her ground, was there when the cubs were welcomed into the world. one after another, each of their cries a welcome song. hawk's eyes soft in a way only cubs could bring. 

sivaak had claimed her, and now, hawk had claimed the cubs. hers to watch, to teach, to protect. her chest filled with an instinct long thought put to rest. overcome with it, she would reach down to press a kiss atop sivaak's crown, uncaring if it was met with a bite. "you did good," she rumbled, tail swaying at her hind.

the first to be born.
he came into the world slick with blood, silent at first—too silent.
but then, a sound. low. quiet. a warbling little cry that shuddered from his tiny chest. weak, but alive. his body wriggled, instinct guiding him as he flailed against the unfamiliar air, his limbs trembling with the effort of being.
his mother’s tongue found him, rough, relentless. pulling him into the warmth of her body, the scent of blood and milk heavy around him. he did not know warmth before this moment, but now he craved it, his tiny mouth opening blindly, desperately.
the world had no shape yet. only sensation. heat. pressure. the pulse of something vast and living.
he would not know that his mother was watching him with judgment in her blood-red gaze. he would not know that had he failed to cry, to breathe, he would not be here at all.
but he had cried.

and then, there was the second. the first daughter, plump and full. gifted with size she would grow in to; a wrath evident in the way she screams upon her land into the soft snow. 

a violent, wailing cry. tiny paws fighting an invisible attacker, until she is nestled closer against her mother. ferocious, she kicks at her brother. fighting for the best teat so suckle on, to fill her already plump belly more. 

only when she suckles does she finally quiet. a greedy little thing.

cameo >:D

she left sapphique under watch of @Shadess and @Lafayette; certain then that there was nothing to do but wait for reinforcements.

in that time, sobeille could not sit idle. she scoured for her family, but she knew she searched for sivaak too.

sivaak, fat with pup. vulnerable.

how could she repay muradoii for this injustice? the answer was perfectly simple: treat them as muradoii treat the sharadoii. loosen their blood to nourish the earth. slaughter their women at sea.

many months sobeille spent living under the caribou-killer’s tutelage; did sivaak forget the girl watched all, learned all?

one day sobeille discovered sivaak’s scent braided among a network of caribou and other wolves. she stalked until she came upon clear signs of excavation. using deadfall as cover, sobeille listened to the thunder of the muradoii’s booming howls. a fierce tide of hatred and love alike nearly flattening her to the ground with nausea as she listened to the new lives within.

wait, strange girl. a ripple of sinuous energy quivered under sobeille’s skin.

while she watched, another woman arrived - adorned in pretty hues of caribou brown and ochre. her attractive physicality commanded sobeille’s interest.

replaced already? sobeille’s eyes darkened as she realized this woman was welcome. the lives of untold young were saved that day by black hawk’s deterring presence.

sobeille took great risk being here, outnumbered. she would do her family no justice seeking vengeance at the cost of her own life. she must wait as the killers of the sea waited under the towing tide. when her hour came to catalogue sivaak’s final accounting, the muradoii would learn that sapphique struck as whales do;

biting, tearing, dragging under until the seas darkened to scarlet.

but not today.

some miles away from the den, sobeille tipped her head back in a long howl that clawed the skies. let them hear her; let them wonder. only sivaak would know sobeille’s voice lifted for muradoii that day, a black mark hung upon the head of her children sobeille intended to collect.

I am muradoii. People of the caribou. Born, more or less, near the ocean. They call us the 'sea hunters'. We are known for our hunger and violence. Some say we are wicked, because we have no morals outside the hunt. Others think we were never wolves to begin with, rather spirits of death come to haunt the living. But it seems that our defining trait is a numbness to the world; an indifference to suffering.

I know I didn’t feel a thing as my bearer ejected me and I landed on ice, gasping.

Hell, I was just born and I didn’t have a thing to scream about. I was only flailing my legs and mouthing for a teat. It must have felt painful as hell, right? Most pups can’t get over that first breath of cold air, and here I was just like, ‘what’s for lunch.’

I would have given anything I have or ever will have just to feel that pain.

But at the time, I didn’t know that.

Not yet.

The last of them came slowly, and with much strain, biding her time, perhaps.

On this day, the depths of hell emptied, and the devils were brought to earth. It was an irony that even muradoii hunters began as the same helpless, vulnerable little things, squealing and shifting about through the belly fur of their mothers. Seeking for warmth, seeking for love.

When this one came to meet the cold air of new spring, the shock of it all left a confused silence, a little body wordlessly mouthing for air, instinct the only sense to rely on. Was it instinct then that drove her to scream with what little noise newborn lungs could muster? This warbled, broken cry. She would not know there were teeth primed to kill if she hadn't.

Cruelty, indifference, violence; Muradoii. Absent in the hearts of nature's most innocent.

For now.