Swiftcurrent Creek I make mountains out of stones

two days have passed since the birth of her children, and her bone-deep exhaustion has not ceased. she'd expected a kind of sudden relief, the return of her previous form and newfound energy. her children may be born, but she can do little more than curl around them and drift in and out of sleep. 

she wakes in the afternoon, aware that rain falls lightly outside and the den smells thickly of petrichor. she stirs, glazing blurrily down at her children and feeling unable to do much more than that. the hurt is a dull throb, now, though she doesn't dare test it by attempting to stand. she calls lightly into the stillness outside the den, hating her need for comfort but hating her solitude even more.

A call reached his ears. One for the help of a caregiver. He trotted towards the sound at a brisk pace, hoping that it's nothing too bad. Every medic hopes that when they approach the scene.
It was a den, the scents swirled about. Pups. His coat was dripping with rain when he approached Dawn, lowering his head to see if there is an obvious injury.
"I'm Sherigrim. What's wrong?"
The poor woman looked exhausted. Perhaps the birth was difficult and no one called for help because she didn't let them close.

He crouched down, looking within to see if there was an obvious problem with her pups. Perhaps one was deformed and she didn't want anyone to see. His sympathetic gaze crossed to her, listening to her cause of concern.

something materialized outside the den; a stranger that had her hackles prick instinctively. "I'm Dawn." stiff, curt. she ought to have known that her vague call might have been answered by anyone, even though she'd been hoping for Rosalie or Aditya, but her exhaustion had her ignore logic.

"fine. just tired." when he crouched and peered in on them, she stared daggers and drew her children close, determined not to let some rando close to the two she'd almost lost. "who are you?" he seemed kind enough, but her protectiveness coupled with her irritability made her prickly.

She was defensive and rightfully so. A new mother's instinct was to protect; especially from those she didn't know. He gave her a kind smile, ignoring her glare that promised harm if he put a paw out of place. He withdrew but kept low, letting her have her space and not feel imposed upon.
"I'm the new medic here. My friend Elve is too." He thought it best to mention in case she needed further help and Elve came instead.

"When did you last eat?" Wolves who hadn't eaten much often feel lethargic and irritable -- signs Dawn was showing -- because of the lack of energy. It could be an issue as simple as not getting the right sustenance.

"new" wasn't a very good thing to be. it meant untested and untrusted, and when he introduced himself fully she muttered only, "oh. like Pema." she'd never liked the she-wolf, and so her opinion of the man did not shift. he asked something about eating, and she blinked at him a moment before gesturing at the half-eaten body of a pika near her paws, half a day old and little more than bones. she'd picked at it all day, not because she was hungry but because she knew the importance of eating now.

His face remained unchanging at the name. He didn't know of Pema, though suspected she was a former healer, nor the opinion Dawn held of her.
He looked to the half-eaten body, noting the hesitation and slow reaction. Perhaps dehydration.
He didn't want her to be in discomfort and often wary or reluctant wolves were harder to cater for but he was never bothered. He just wanted to help.
He started to ask some questions about the pups too: "Are the pups feeding ok? He'd get some borage leaves if not, see if she wasn't producing enough milk.

 "Would you prefer something else to eat? Or a drink?" He offered, knowing that a pika may not be to her taste. Plus, he could get moss easily enough and soak it in the stream.

she hums a positive to the question, though in all honesty, she's not sure. they're still alive, and breathing, and that's enough. she's known enough loss, however, to make her sharp and wary now, and she rejected his offer of food and drink with a shake of her muzzle. 

she just as easily could have gone on ignoring him, then, and large part of her wanted to. but something bade her mutter, under her breath, "it hurts." she didn't want to admit this to anyone else, least of all Aditya, for she couldn't bear the worry in his eyes. slightly louder, then, "do you have - poppy?" it took her a moment to recall the herb that Pema had often offered, the tiny black seeds that seemed to take the edge off.

His heart seemed to tug to see the mother in this way. Dejected was how he'd describe it. He wasn't a counselor. Helping her with the depression of having children wasn't what he did. He was a Toxicologist and Medic. 
It hurts.
""What hurts?"
He wanted to help her, but couldn't if he didn't know what was wrong. To get closer would invade her space. He wanted to stay as a whole wolf. 

His head tilted. He didn't want to give her poppies. "No." That would be wrong. It would make her worse. She had to look after her children.
He hadn't even realised he'd denied her request.
He stood, "I'll get you something better."

Then he was away, assured she wasn't about to move. He moved to a cache, picking out borage leaves and ragwort leaves. It would help her sleep and not so potent as poppy seeds. Instead of plunging her into darkness, it would gently lull her to sleep and keep her aware. He didn't want to take her senses away when she had pups.

He returned to her with the leaves, gently passing them to her.
"You need to chew and swallow them." He was certain he'd given her the right amounts. All he had to do was make sure she did.

she doesn't know how to answer his question, at first, and the only answer he recieves is a sigh. she does not know how to explain the pain, deep in her sides and all-encompassing. the grief hurts, too, but that she's used to, that she can bear. he sees depression, and perhaps that she is - but all she feels is the sharp loss, the burning pain that is so much more terrible than the cramps suffered in pregnancy. 

she accepts his answer with a nod, too tired to offer anything else. perhaps he does not know it, and neither does she, but there is something gone deeply wrong with her pregnancy, and the birth that followed. but she would not relive that loss, nor tell him all that ailed her for that fear of appearing weak haunts her still.

instead, she accepts the herbs he offers, straightening slightly as to rasp a "thank you." she chews them slowly, muzzle twitching slightly at the taste. she can only trust they'd do the same as the poppy did. exhausted from the interaction, she lowers her head onto the floor of the den once more, adjusting herself around her children.

The condition of the new mother perplexed him greatly. He was uncertain on how to help her. He had limited knowledge of postnatal treatments but knew what sort of things were key. He was glad she was eating what he'd given her and hoped it would help. He wouldn't go far from her den, knowing now of her condition. Hopefully sleeping would help.

He wanted to converse with someone else who had more knowledge. It would be the right thing to do but he'd seen no other caches of other Caregivers. He was the only one. 
He nodded, "Call if you need anything more."
Sheri moved through the trees for perhaps a couple hundred meters and plopped down in the shade to contemplate.