Moonspear your love will always be rooted deeper than any grave

He knew that it was time when he was thrown from the den, so to say, his mate making it clear that he was not supposed to be there during this time. Their communication was, as often, speechless and without any verbal affirmation, but he knew exactly what it was that she desired -- and did not desire -- of him. And so he departed, allowing her to be alone in the den and waiting outside. He could not help but feel worry lurch at his throat, not so much for her health, for he did not consider anything could go wrong, but for the faces of his children. He might not be able to tell now, but some day he would know whether or not they mirrored the face of Lazarus.

For some time he waited outside, keeping guard, standing as a lone sentinel while he kept his eyes outward to make sure that none would interfere. He waited with surprising patience considering his personality, knowing that it would be worth the wait this time.

An ear perked backward when he heard the soft grunting whines from inside of the den. He waited longer, waited until their sounds turned into satisfied suckles, before he turned towards the den and, staying his distance from its mouth, chuffed to announce his presence and wait for confirmation she was in order and some sort of signal that he was or was not allowed to enter the den to see mate and children.