Neverwinter Forest light years

:x

Eshe had been absent from much of Neverwinter's going ons. Her pregnancy was more difficult than any ought to be, and so she had needed to step down; she could heed nothing but her own situation. Since seeing the pale witch of Donnelaith, she had experienced hardly any pain at all; though Eshe remembered the cryptic words, she thought seldom of them. She had told Scimitar of her supernatural experience, and since seeing the witch doctor by chance... the pain was not at all there.

That did not mean things became easier for her, however. She hungered, and still the pickings were quite slim. All brought to her what they could and for that she was thankful. But Eshe worried for her survival. With the pain gone, she feared less for the survival of her babes. 'Save them,' she had urged the white woman—Eshe was painfully aware, now, she had made no mention of herself.

Rarely did she leave the whelping den. It was situated perfectly nearby a stream, and as Eshe moved to drink after awakening from a nap, she felt a wholly different sort of pain tear at her abdomen. A little thrill ran through her; a mothers intuitive knowing told her, this is it! And so with a warning howl that surely all could here for @Scimitar Eshe moved into the whelping den. She knew she would not be leaving this place--not for a long time--and so before slipping inside, she peered to the outside world. She locked eyes with a strong looking buck, and had little time to contemplate that as another pain seized her.

Eshe entered the den.

She labored for hours upon hours, too. Nothin' worth havin' is ever easy, she reminded herself, nodding firmly. And then she'd grit her teeth and let out moans that were more whale than wolf in nature. Honey, you up there??? Honey?? Eshe was pacing left and right, and in circles. She'd lay only to rise again. Well don't come in here!!! Any minute now, I'm tellin' you!!!



No amount of panting or heaving or pushing helped. The pain was simply inexplicable. Any pushing yielded in literal crap, and Eshe moaned and groaned about that. The scene wasn't a pretty one. She wasn't patient anymore. WELL? WHAT'RE Y'ALL WAITIN' FOR? COME ON OUT, she snapped at her rear-end, her ever-chipper nature chipped down to its very core. She was soaked in sweat, and that motherly glow was now a motherly glower.

Wait, that was something! She felt something shift, and heard a little splashing or something... her water had broken! Oh!!!! Not much longer now Scimitar!!!! I don't think!!!



It was happening, now. Truly. But what she felt wasn't good. Didn't feel right at all. She bled, firstly; then she was laying, and wasn't sure what the hell to do at all. There was infinite pain, and her body did not respond as it ought to of. She wasn't on automatic, she was on manual, and she was belatedly aware she needed to push --

What came from her was still. It didn't move. And there was a lot of blood--instinctively, Eshe drew it toward her, lapped away at the sac, but when she tore the thing free of its home it still did nothing. It didn't look quite right, either. Very small. Like a little bean. This little bean had caused her great pain, and as she stared at it, she realized this little bean was not alive. Desperation struck--the first thing she had brought was death???--and she continued to coax at the babe between her forelegs. It would have been a boy. But her boy was dead. She didn't know quite what to do, so she nosed it near her teats that had swollen but likely had little to offer. There was hardly any time to think about what she'd done, either, because in no time--

something else had come from her. In the meantime, really. Perhaps even seconds after. She hadn't even felt it. She guffawed at the bloodied thing that lay there in its sack and urged it toward her. Eshe tore it free gently, lapped at it, but knew. Knew she had failed not once, but twice. Knew that her cubs were born dead. Dejectedly, Eshe lowered her head to the earth. Her efforts, all of them, for nothing. Her little ones that had listened to her ramble endlessly, and heard stories of she and their father, ...they were dead. They rest against her abdomen, and she knew she ought to say something to her mate... but could not say a thing. She hurt all over, she felt empty. She needed a long sleep; needed to talk to Scimitar.

No babies, baby... she began to cry, softly, to herself; but surely if Scimitar was there, he would hear her cries, as she did not seek to muffle them.

Her heart ached. Her body ached. Her teats even ached. The pain coursed through her in painful waves as she mourned; she prayed, then, too. Prayed to the white witch. That magic, it could not have meant nothing! It could not have --

The greatest pain of all caused her to rise. She stood and let out a surprised yelp and lay right back down--something big was happening! She didn't fight it, and she felt her body respond on its own this time. Eshe panted heavily, pushed and pushed, and this time she was swift as she brought it to her, cleaned it... it was breathing. Tiny baby sweet little breaths. It was beautiful. Not so beautiful as the creature from the otherworld, but surely the most beautiful living thing on this earth. She cleansed it thoroughly, heard its loud signs of life, and saw it was a boy. Her little boy. Darlin', my little sweet darlin', my angel brought to me by angels. I love you--hey, don't fuss, now, I know what you want, sweet one, and she drew it toward her belly where it could latch on and sup. It felt wrong to place it near the cold bean siblings, and so she moved them away. One son. One sweet little son. And that was all she ever wanted, really. Just one. She peered at it, the little wriggly jellybean, admired it.

Pain again. Terrible pain. Terribly great. She knew what it meant now, knew that --

Was it possible, to black out during ones birth? It felt like it. Felt like she might have transcended one plane and gone to the next. She watched this birth, she didn't feel it. Not at all. She saw another son, saw her body laying still as she procured it... and knew she had to get back. Nope, wasn't right to just disappear. Not yet. Not yet.

And then she was cleaning up the cub. A second son. She smiled at him, nosed him to her belly so he wouldn't cry, but stared. To her boys, her darling boys, she murmured, You are so very loved... before she closed her eyes again, feeling nothing but her happiness. She thought of the full and happy life she had lived, and how it had all brought her to this moment. She had lost so much; but she found meaning and purpose, now, and would live and die for it.

The world is changed, somehow — and by the time the tiny inkblot gains the vocabulary necessary to express the inexplicable phenomenon that is birth, he will have forgotten the experience entirely. Already he has forgotten life in the womb — that floating, suspenseful period of coming to life — in favor of the new sensations engulfing him in a confusing, dizzying welter. There is pressure — rhythmic, pulsing waves of it — and then — and then…

Eshe’s teeth snip through the amniotic sac and out spills the inkblot, his infinitesimal muzzle parted in a prolonged gasp as his body automatically adjusts to the new, strange world — intrepid, he uses his first precious breath on a shrill and plaintive squeak. Weaker than those not born in times of famine, still the nameless jellybean — as sleek and shiny as a sea lion breaking surface — paddles furiously with his tiny turtle flipper paws. The inkblot finds his rhythm now and fills his lungs with air with the sole purpose of squalling indignation and hunger. His first strong emotion, instinctive and demanding, is need.

Eshe’s tongue, moving in warm and soothing strokes from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail, incites a frenzy in the fragile creature. His head, so heavy — too heavy — bobbles wildly as Eshe’s nose nuzzles him into the insulated fur of her swollen abdomen. He cannot hear the Southern belle’s singsong welcome to the world, but he feels it — smells it. A disembodied picture borne of sensation — teeth, tongue, nose, and belly — Eshe is the first love of his minute-long life. For long moments he continues his hungry tirade, his floppy paws scrabbling for purchase as he props himself against his mother’s flank — and then his wide open mouth bumps against a blunt peak rich with the scent of milk. With savage intensity he latches on, his will to live indomitable — his tiny tail flails like a rudder in a hurricane as his tiny paws push in clumsy rhythm.

For long moments, the world is only Eshe.

Life thus far for the Forstfur boys had been nirvana. Despite the dangers and famine that ran rampant outside, the womb had reamined a haven for the two living cubs. The duo had spent their days growing and unknowingly readying themselves for the fateful day that they would be forcefully evicted from the only place they knew. Despite what loomed ahead, the silver pup remaind blissfully unaware to what events were in store for himself and the inkblot. He spent a majority of his time in a daze-- knowing nothing and dabbling in and out of conciousness. He would often feel vibrations-- one as soft and gentle as the rolling sea breeze and the other as deep as a rumbling thunderstom-- and this would draw the the boys attention. He would respond to the vibrations with a twitch of his tiny toes, his only way of showing apprecation at this point. 

The birthing process began suddenly and at first the puppy remained unalarmed. He could feel something leaving the immediate area. He did not question what was happening and instead took advantage by stretching out his forelimbs. Hours trudged on outside as he lay in content and he did little to nothing in this time except for tune in and out to the strained vibrations that sounded just beyond the walls of Eshe's womb, not knowing of the pain that his mother was enduring. With the first puppy gone, something felt different to the child, but he did not dwell on the matter. As the inkblot left, he did not think twice of the matter and simply remained as he was. 

Things didn't change until he felt a ripple that drew him southbound. He was carried away voilently from Eshe, his conciousness becoming more aware and he was forcefully removed and released into the wild of the world. He landed heavily onto the floor of the den unmoving until his mother released him from his amnotic sac. Everything that had been his life was quickly forgotten as he drew in his first breath sharply and exhaled with a wail. Wheter he knew it of not, he was living and that was what mattered. 

With this life came new senses. The one sense that caught on quickly was triggered by the intoxicating auroma of milk in the air. Despite him not knowing much, he knew he needed that. With his mother's help, he drew himself to the source of the smell and flailed eagerly to carry himself forward. When the gentle fur of his mother's underbelly trickled at his nose, the boy nosed eagerly at the furry wall to find just where the smell was coming for. Frantically, he drove his nose into her side and buried himself into her fur as he rooted for his meal. It took a moment or so but when he was proved victorious he latched on eagerly and began to suckle. As hungry gulps grew slopishly rhythmatic, the silver puppy drew himself closer to Eshe and began to knead at her side feeling nothing but warmth and content with where he was in that very moment.

This had never been his favorite process.
 
He had come to check up on his mate, only to hear the struggles within the den. Determination egged him to move forward, the worry beating in his chest only spurned by her cries, and yet it was instinct that kept him rooted to the spot outside of the birthing den.  He had been through this twice before now with his ex-mate -- Bazi had been fiercely insistent that he not step foot within, and while he felt he could test Eshe's softness on the matter, it was her well-being and stress levels that finally stirred him to sit firmly upon the ground, maintaining watch.
 
He heard her cries then -- requesting him. He would lift to his paws to go to her, only to be instantly told not to. Cowed, the dark agouti wolf sprawled further out in the darkness, his own gentle whines the only encouragement he could offer her as the minutes turned to hours.
 
And the hours continued to tick by. His worry only escalated -- the very real thought that he might not only lose the pups she carried, but herself now as well. He did not stir from position -- did not sleep, could not eat. He waited, in rising panic, and when Eshe's silent cries confirmed but two things for him -- she was alive.. but their children were dead.
 
He remained still for the moment, uncertain to go to her, or if he should leave her for now. He began to scoot closer to the den, crawling forward, with his ivory belly upon the forest floor, as his nose began to poke in. "Eshe?" His call was uncertain, his voice laced with worry.

She was downright exhausted. The process had certainly taken way longer than it ought to of, and it was taking its toll. A quiet snore came from her, but her sleep was not yet deep. Her mates worried voice roused her, and she very softly granted him admission: come meet your sons, before closing her eyes again. It was a battle to keep them open, truly. Scimitar would be the only wolf granted entrance to her whelping den--any others would be chased off. Her babes rest easy at her side, and she was in bliss despite her inability to properly keep awake.

He slipped quietly in, not hesitating the moment she beckoned to him. Her words gave him heart -- sons. Plural. His eyes blinked as they adjusted to the shift of light, and while he crouched low, his gaze sought the two forms that Eshe now cradled at her side. Two boys. It was more than either could ever truly hope for, given the trials Eshe had dealt with through her pregnancy, and he felt at a loss for words for the moment.

Spurned forward finally, his nose made to sweep tenderly across the crown of her head, and his bright eyes beamed down at her. "They're beautiful," he murmured, nosing her cheek affectionately and soon laying his own form at the den entrance, to keep intruders locked at the door.

The inky soot sprite, his side tucked against his brother and his arms, nose, and mouth filled with the fluff and comfort that is his mother, notices very little at this stage — he is a tiny blot of instinct, following the demands of his body with little understanding or choice in the matter. Still, the looming presence of his father appears to give him pause, though perhaps it is an illusion; the change in the air or perhaps the minute, barely perceptible shift of his mother’s body to accept her mate’s affectionate overture seem to still the Neverwinter prince’s frantic suckling and kneading as his head quirks without finesse to the side. He moves with the gracelessness of the newly born, his tiny tail flailing about as he turns his face back to the pinpoint of sustenance around which he affixes his tiny mouth, a piping squeak cut off quite suddenly by a babyish coo of pleasure.

He was overwhelmed with the desire to get his fill in the food that Eshe provided. His concentration from doing so did not waver as his father came into the den. Instead of turning his head or paying any mind to what wa going on, he merely fed. The pig of a pup unattached himself when his belly was full, sliding off of his mother’s teat slowly until his chin reached the floor of the den. It was there that the babe feel into a deep sleep, obviously forgetting about the turmoil that he and his brother had overcome.