Sun Mote Copse They say that wealth is revealed in the teeth

Niamh had just wrangled free a particularly long strip of birch bark when Finley called out to her, using the nickname she’d been given some time ago- back when she had been a Blackthorn officially. She was pleased to know that Finley would still call her that, so she dropped the stripe of paper-like bark and greeted Finley with a chuff. She was a bit winded, more than she’d expected to be- but having babies crammed in below her ribcage didn’t help. 

”Heya Finley,” She said. She gestured toward the pile of birch bark on the ground, which Finley had already pointed out. ”I still hate trees after last time. These ones’re easier to rip apart.” She said with a laugh, referencing the time she’d attempted to climb a tree to steal a mouse from a hawk. A bit more seriously, though not without nerdish enthusiasm, she explained.

”I kinda figured, what where birthing is so messy...If I put this stuff down on the floor of my den, it might like...I dunno. Make it easier to clean up after? It can just be tossed or buried after. Colt’s been bringin’ me so many nice soft pelts, I’d kinda hate to wreck them with birth...Stuff.” She said. Of course, Finley had already had kids, so Niamh sought her advice. ”What d’you think? Good idea or nay?”