Hushed Willows someone (holy) insisted

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Childbirth!

Open to @Tambourine if Kat wants to make any sort of posts. Also open to Warbone for the first bit, maybe others later. Sorry it's so long, I've been working on it on-and-off for a couple of days. :P This thread is dated May 4th — Tambourine is a little early because of stress! 

The pack had run to the Crook for safety with Warbone in the lead, and Octavia following as quickly as she could behind him. Once inside they each got settled. Octavia found it very difficult to do that, though. Lingering by these strangers she did not trust was harrowing for her, and the added bonus of the locust's endless hum from outside made everything far worse. To say she was stressed was an understatement — the locusts were everywhere. They did not seem to abate, although she did not know that they had begun to drop off like flies as soon as they had concluded their business among the willows. As badly as she wished to return to her own beloved tree, Tavi had been herded to the back of the Crook and lingered there, temporarily content with her housing options, while the pack waited out the insectoid storm. She remains adamant that her children not be born here, though. As the hours pass, Tavi is up and walking - slowly - around the Crook despite her heavy condition.

It doesn't look like a safe place to have children, not here, not in this potential mass grave; maybe it is her nerves that are doing the quaking, but Tavi thinks she feels the whole earth move as she slides along. Anyone who approaches her is met with the same low growl of warning except for Warbone — but over time, as it becomes apparent that the pack will be hunkered down here for far longer than she could ever want, even he is unwelcome around her. Tavi passes by the dark wolf from the other night, the one who had found her in such a state of pain and confusion she had been in a panic; then the other black-faced thing, the girl's red eyes setting Tavi's fur a-point along her spine. No, this was not a safe space. She had to find somewhere, quickly.

She seeks out a dark spot in the cave and slips in to it, knowing at least one wolf will have seen her attempted vanishing act; the corridor has no scent to it but the muted tones of earth, and Tavi is reminded of the den she had once worked so hard to build. She rounds the corner of the corridor to confront a passage nearly blocked by a crumbling stone wall. It looked as if something had come bursting through the stonework on its own accord, pulling down spikes of rock and crumbling the ceiling to dust. She finds a seat between two piles of loose stone, though it looks like it has not been disturbed in some time, and tries to relax. This is far from ideal, she thinks. Beside her is an unseen locust husk, which may have found its way inside by the irregular skylight lending just enough illumination so that Tavi cannot get lost. She does not see it, and would probably have moved on if she did. 

If she had the interest, she would have explored more of this strange little room. It was more spacious than she anticipated. It was large enough for at least six wolves, with ledges and divots throughout, and may make a good store-room in the future, if only to avoid such catastrophe as these locusts again. She studies the walls, her eyes skimming the rock face as if she is looking upon a beautiful painting. She sees shapes in the stone, attributes value to them, and soon enough imagines a scene carved across the cavern's inner sanctum. That shape looks like Warbone, she thinks, though to anyone else it was just an undulation in the wall's surface; that one there, small and dark, that's Reek - and her heart seized briefly. 

There was a sensation in her gut which felt like a kick, and Tavi was briefly drawn away from her study of the room. She stared straight ahead at the dark with her mouth agape, and then began to stretch out her body. Maybe it was only a cramp from the many rocks digging in to her? The babies must not like it - but as she shifted, another pain came, this time stronger. It was concentrated to her lower back at first and so Tavi lurched to her feet and tried to turn, stretching her body and twisting her neck, to try and reach her lower back with her teeth and give it a scratch. She couldn't reach it due to the oddness of her current proportions, and huffed in defeat a moment later. As she settled back to the ground, the pain once more bloomed - sharp and definite, eliciting a small whine from her lips.

Should she call for @Warbone? There was little doubt in her mind that someone could hear her struggling now, and imagined that someone had been sent to watch her — a brief sensation of paranoia dominating her mind, and she thinks of the dark-faced strangers who could very well be watching her right this second — and Tavi levels quite the look at the darkness just in case. Then, the pain comes. Different from the abdominal pain of before - she recognized it as similar but not similar, and is quickly swept away by it - and soon Octavia was overwhelmed by it. It was time. Here, of all places. In the dark of a strange cave protected by a strange man, and his strange people. 

It happened quickly enough once this new pain began. It felt like her abdomen was trying to squeeze itself flat, like someone was using her as a roll of toothpaste and needed to get that last little bit out, so why not roll the whole thing up? Except Tavi had no knowledge of this comparison; she felt the pain acutely and became a thing of grunts and groans, feeling this deep internal "pulling" and just wanting it to be over. The pain began to ebb once the first child had been brought in to the world, and there was some calm. Brief, welcome calm. Tavi did what instinct dictated and brought the child close to her belly, pulling them with a hasty forelimb, and just as its face met the sparse hairs of her underbelly, the next one fought for her attention.

For as long as she could, Octavia ignored those pains and focused on the bundle of wet fur beside her. She nosed at it, licked its face, not even caring about the strangeness of the situation or the taste on her tongue; just trying to give this little bundle of life some warmth and comfort, welcoming them in to this life. The chill she felt within the cave paled in comparison to the dullness of this new life, though. She poked at them with her nose, sniffing, licking with her tongue — and then let out a pained moan when she could no longer fight her biology. 

Octavia grit her teeth tightly, and she pushed.

The second child was born in tandem with her realization that the first-born was indeed dead. Tavi's eyes squeezed shut as the second pup came sliding out of her.

She had one child embraced against one limb, and the other held adjacent with the opposite; a dark baby and a pale baby. One living, one dead. And it hurt her more than anything to see this absence. In her study of them both, Tavi learned that they were brother, and the dark one — like Reek — didn't move a muscle. She resumed cleaning them as if they were both alive, though. Maybe if she tried harder - maybe if she just warmed him up - maybe if - 

Then she noticed the dampness on her face, and knew that this struggle was unneccessary. She had one precious little boy, and she would keep him safe from the cold, and the scary bugs, and all the ruin of the world. She would do anything for him - as Tavi looked down upon the little one, she pushed the dead first-born aside with a paw, then lay with her head wedged against the gray pup's little body. Little one, she sighed in to the cave, I'll keep you safe. I promise. The sound of her voice seemed to prompt a response from the child, as he finally managed to work his mouth. A little peep came from him, then a chirp, and Octavia shifted him back towards her belly where he could eat.

The future troll and philanthropist arrived in style: inside a stretchy bubble full of goo. When it burst, his teeny paws thrust into the air and his mouth opened in an o, drawing in his first breath. Rather than cry out like most newborn whelps were wont to do, little Tambourine gave a merry little peep and began to wriggle. He was a lively one, right from the very first, as if to demonstrate to his distraught mother that he was better than his deadbeat brother.

He allowed himself to be nudged by something firm but warm, into something soft and even warmer. The wolf pup kneaded his mother's breast, mashing his face into the velvety softness of it, and instinctively opened his gummy mouth to suck in the bud of flesh he felt poking him in the forehead. Thick, rich milk poured into him and Tambourine squeaked happily without unlatching, causing him to blow bubbles that leaked out of either side of his tiny mouth.

When his belly was full, he let go with a grunt and began squirming in place, just for something to do. His fur was still damp and stuck up in spiky tufts in places. He found he still craved the comfort of suckling, despite his fullness. The milk drunk puppy quickly discovered comfort in the form of his own right forepaw, which he thrust into his mouth and sucked contentedly until he fell fast asleep.

She felt the pinch as he latched on and was instantly uncomfortable, but also too tired to really do anything about it. Her desire to see this child survive past these dangerous initial stages was too strong anyway. Tavi watched him for some time. He suckled and grew fat with milk, then seemed to fall asleep; his breathing rhythmic and mesmerizing. Eventually her attention drifted back towards the other son — the one that didn't make it — and with a subtle turn of her head she watched his lifeless form. The dust of the cave had settled across his ventral side. Where she had tried to clean his face and bring life to him, there was soil and bits of rock stuck in the fine hairs of his face. Tavi wondered what that face could grow in to if given the chance. Would he have looked like Reek, or like her? Would his eyes have transitioned beyond the baby blue that hid behind those closed lids?

She was weeping again. Tavi's face felt warm and flush, made more obvious to her by the chill creeping through the air; beneath her face the cave floor was dotted with moisture. The crack in the ceiling just above her let in enough light so that she could see some tawny tones to the dead boy's potato-body, and many dark hairs. Even at this stage there were tiny differences to him. Without really thinking about it, Tavi let out a long whine, and as the sound filled the spacious offshoot of the Crook, it turned in to a low summons for @Warbone, then in to something entirely different — a melancholic note that she held until her breath ran out. A dirge for the son she never knew.

Sorry for the wait! I'm job hunting... *sigh* >>

The first night, Warbone had paced without speaking, driven relentlessly by a feeling of uselessness. The locusts swirled inside the cave, but most had been driven inside through sheer volume of the storm and they all departed after finding no green there. Dead bodies were scattered around them, and still the massive wolf paced— back and forth, and back and forth— a silent mantra keeping him from a violent detonation. As Octavia's unease began intensify, however, the alpha reverted suddenly to a reserved front. He became incredibly still after a while, remaining poised in a position as everlasting as the sphinx, until finally the swollen female at his side sought to depart. Only then did he move, and even in this instance, h only moved his head so that his eyes might watch her.

As she disappeared into the cleft, Warbone rose, and drove his packmates into a more sequestered brood before placing himself alone at the mouth of Octavia's chosen den. He did not sleep, though exhaustion readily beseeched him, and it was hours still after that before he heard her calling for him.

He was hesitant to squeeze into the Crook's depths. He was not afraid, but he was dreadfully worried of the new mother. She-wolves where he was from were insatiably violent after whelping, and it would sometimes be weeks before even the father was allowed visitation. But this was not Tall Timbers, and Octavia was not his brand of wolf. Besides, she needed him, whether either of them admitted it or not— and all of her stresses were not things that could be handled without help. Who else could she trust with the task of her life and the lives of her children?

Warbone emerged into the broad opening, eclipsing what little light there was to spare from that direction, and he paused there at the entrance as he took in everything there was to see. Octavia, haggard and smelling foreignly of afterbirth, was cradling two bodies; only the lighter one suckled. The darker body, separate and motionless, lay prone before her in a harsh reminder of her undue stress and the failure that had become of it. It didn't speak to her ability as a mother, though he suspected she might feel that way at any rate. The wolf remained at bay, making a quiet whine in his throat as he slid down to his belly and watched her face. "What marvel have you wrought us, Octavia?" he asked after a long moment, his tone faintly light-hearted; perhaps even reverent.

Its OK! Sorry if I inundated you with tags. Kat feel free to post whenever or just chill as a little potato. Also if either of you want me to change my posts (as I took some liberties) just let me know!

Both children slept now, but Octavia could feel the tiny body next to her, and the warmth that flowed from it. She kept her eyes on the other child, the one which had become a brick before her, though her ears swiveled when Warbone made his approach; she flicked her tired eyes his way and then returned them to the dead boy, still weeping openly despite the quiet of her sadness. His question goes unanswered. The scene before him was evidence enough that the pregnancy was over and she couldn't open her mouth to tell him more, feeling the great swell of emotion within her. Speaking now would only cause that rising tide to erupt from within her, and she had to be strong now.

Without comment, without prompting or any warning, Octavia lurched towards the dark body by her snout and grasped the head with her teeth. She tugged and brought the dead boy closer — a tender moment wherein she could taste her tears through the gaps of her lips — and then she jerked her head another way; the boy's neck snapped with a tiny pop. It was necessary for what she was about to do, just in case his weak little body had any life it in at all. It was a kindness. As she released his small face from the trap of her teeth, Octavia focused upon the belly and the legs, and began to do what had to be done — before Warbone could do or say anything to prevent it, Octavia consumed the bulk of his tiny body.

By the time she was finished picking him apart, only the head remained. Her tears had dried, and she looked down upon the puddle of parts bathed in red and shadow, and then turned away from it. The boy was gone now, and would aid her in keeping the other alive. Briefly her eyes lit upon Warbone's features, and she wondered what he thought of it — but then she decided she didn't care, and began to tend to the sleeping child at her breast. The blood upon her lips mixed with the spilled milk which had soaked in to his greedy little face, but in the dark Octavia did not notice.

Mindless to his mother's distress over his brother's fate and the looming figure nearby, Tambourine drifted. He dreamed in vivid colors, several of them which he would never see or remember once his eyes opened and limited him to earth's light spectrum. His stubby legs twitched slightly as he slept, whip-like tail stirring to thump a few times, stilling, then wriggling again. He hiccuped around the paw in his mouth, his whole body twitching, then sighed in evident satisfaction.

The instant a warm tongue touched his face, his dreams tumbled into the ether and he surfaced from sleep. There wasn't much difference for him, of course. His damp foot fell away as Tambourine's toothless jaws parted in a wide yawn. He could not only smell but taste his ilk's blood. He smacked his little lips, thoroughly enjoying the flavor, then pushed his wrinkled face against his mother's soft withers again. He rubbed it back and forth for a moment before drawing back, electric socket hair sticking up in damp little tufts.

Sated and content for it, little Tambourine loosed a single, quiet peep and curled his tiny spine against his mother's warmth. He jammed his paw back into his blunt mouth and unwittingly drifted in and out of sleep as Tavi's tongue tried to tame his shock-spiky locks somewhat. But the new mother would quickly learn that the little boy's charmingly disheveled look was here to stay.