Bramblepoint (M) Old wounds leave big scars

Towhee stared uncomprehendingly for several breathless moments, forgetting that Rye was there, suffering through this horror show alongside her. The puppy was grotesquely underdeveloped and significantly smaller than her paw. It was partially obscured by an amniotic sac, though there was no placenta. No sooner had she made this detached observation than another cramp—this was some horrible iteration of labor, she now realized—tore through her, bringing with it a second fetus and a gush of fluids.

Her body reflexively relaxed after that, some instinct telling her, It's over, it's all over. Towhee sank weakly to the ground, her orange eyes fixed on the two tiny bodies. They only barely resembled wolf pups, yet she knew they were two of her babies. And they were dead. Her body had expelled them likely for this very reason, though Towhee was having a lot of difficulty processing.

Eventually, she did remember that Rye was there. Her head jerked toward him, her face echoing the stricken expression on his. Soon, her focus returned to the little corpses. Through their birth sacs, she could see that they were both black, one with brownish orange streaks just like hers. It was impossible to discern any other details and Towhee was afraid to touch them to find out more. Should she clean them? Bury them? Eat them?